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Tara
I was seventy percent certain that I would throw up all over the exquisite wedding dress before I even made it down the aisle. Er, runway.
How the heck did I ever get talked into modeling?
Even from the staging area, the music and cheers were distractingly loud as they echoed around the enormous warehouse. I didn’t understand why people were losing their minds for all this strange clothing, but I guess I didn’t understand fashion.
“You look incredible,” Laura said, rushing by me with her ever-present clipboard and headset.
My best friend had ended up planning the end of year fashion show for her design class, and I had stupidly offered to give her a hand if she needed anything. Fetching coffee, helping proofread the program, or arranging chairs were all things I would have excelled at.
Then Jessie, one of the graduating designers, got a call that her star model, the one playing her bride, had twisted her ankle. She and Laura searched everywhere for a woman who was not only a very average size and height, but a blue-eyed blonde. Apparently her “vision” of the bride character could only be brought to life properly if her final project was worn by someone exactly like me.
I’m not sure why this particular designer was such a big deal, but she was the only one who had the money for wedding dress fabric. Since she was selected to be the finale, I had to assume that she, or her family, were important somehow.
While in the makeup chair earlier, I’d overheard Jessie and Laura talking about having real people play each role in her collection for authenticity. A socialite, a rock star, an artist, and some wealthy businessman were her muses. I was apparently the only fake.
Considering I’d only had one boyfriend in my life, and it lasted less than two months, I was about as far from being a bride as you could get.
A nagging feeling lurked around the back of my mind. My older sister Angela would have been perfect for this role. She shone like a diamond in every single situation, and, unlike me, she loved the attention.
When I found out this morning that I’d been recruited, that is, talked into it by Laura, I’d immediately done some online research. I’d only had half an hour to watch a few videos on how to model, and how to deal with fear. I still felt tragically unprepared, but I couldn’t let my friend down.
“Don’t touch your face,” one of the black clad makeup artists reminded me as he dashed by.
Somehow, now that two-thirds of the show was over, I started to see an order to the swirling chaos in this cavernous staging area.
Each designer had three to five models wearing their outfits, and hovered around them protectively. They would be announced, then those models would walk, one after the other.
I was the final one to walk in the final group, which meant the longest possible amount of time to fidget and freak out. There was no way to sit without wrinkling the dress. I couldn’t take a sip of water without ruining the lip gloss. So I stood in the corner, trying to breathe.
I watched as the second last group, three men and a woman, took their turns walking out to the stage. Oh god, my group was next.
“Tara, time for your shoes!”
Jessie waved me toward the area that might as well have been a portal to Hell. The shoes that went with this dress were too small, but we hadn’t had time to find anything that fit better and I’d have to make them work. With the tight waistline of this dress, I couldn’t even bend over to help.
“Lift your skirt, I’ve got it,” she said, pulling off my slippers, as I daintily held the layers of silk above her head.
Jessie really had to jam the heels onto my feet. Biting back a whimper, I wobbled, and a hand caught my elbow. Looking up into blue-black eyes, I nearly whimpered again.
“I’ve got you,” he said, smiling warmly.
My nervous trembling was just as bad, but suddenly it had a different focus. He was at least six foot four, perhaps in his mid to late thirties, and built like a linebacker. His perfectly cut short black hair, unusually even tan, and flawless teeth told me precisely which character he must be from Jessie’s lineup of living dolls.
“You must be the billionaire,” I stuttered, noticing his thick, diamond-encrusted watch.
“You’re an incredible bride,” he said gently. “Is the lucky man here in the audience tonight?”
It wasn’t natural for me to speak to a man who was that good-looking. He looked like an action star or something. His eyes were dazzling as he leaned closer.
“No,” I said quickly, shaking my head and then thinking better of it, as I didn’t want to dislodge the fancy clips holding up my hair. “I’m a last minute replacement.”
He winked, the slight lines around his eyes crinkling adorably. “I’ll never tell.”