I narrow my eyes now, immoveable, making sure to straighten my back as much as possible, so I have to look down at him.
“Enlighten me.” I sneer, and he smiles for the delivery.
“Kira Volkova is your weakness.”
I nearly swat his words away like a fly. Defiant to my core to prove him of his ignorance, but instead, I reach for the knife in my right pocket. The clanking cock of his gun stops me, and we lock eyes so intensely that I might as well fake out, just to see what he’ll do.
“Stay out of my way.” I sneer.
“As long as you’ll return the favor.” I grit my teeth and stand my ground as he backs out of the room with a grin that makes me want to chuck my knife at him and risk getting shot by his poor aim. I resist this urge until the door closes, and I leap forward, locking the door quickly and shoving my knife back into my pocket.
Just as I’m about to turn back towards the bed, I hear Kias talking to someone on the phone as he walks toward the elevator. Good thing the hallway echoes so much in this hotel. I press my ear to the door to get a better listen.
“Yes. We’ll all be attending the show. Kira Volkova will be escorted out. Indefinitely.” The elevator doors close, and his speaking dulls as it starts its descent.
Well, fuck.
As much as I hate to do this, I have to stay here. Kira will be back soon, and I at least need to warn her about Kias. He’s up to something, and I don’t think the San Giovannis are at the center of his plotting as of right now.
I sit back on the bed, rest my eyes as the storm picks up outside, and wait for Kira to arrive. I shouldn’t get too comfortable because I need to find somewhere else to stay tonight, but the longer I wait, the more groggy I feel. Eventually, I give in to the sleep wanting to consume me, and I begin to dream.
I am awakened by a crack of lightning hitting a tree by the hotel and an even louder boom of earth-shaking thunder. It’s almost 3 a.m., according to the analog clock on the nightstand. I rub my eyes and tilt my head to see that the space next to me is empty. Kira hasn’t come back, but my headache has. Damn, I drank too much in one go last night.
I think to text her— a thought that hadn’t occurred to me after my run-in with Kias. I guess it didn’t cross my mind because just seeing she was okay meant more to me than any logical way to go about it. As I try to figure out a good course of action to take, I close my eyes and drift back to sleep.
My alarm wakes me to a very dreary morning in Paris. But I need to get ready within the next five minutes if I hope to make it to the Venue in time for the run-through. I’m told they normally do the run-through a day ahead, but there is an exception for this show, given the fact that we had a lot of prep time. I don’t ask questions about these things anyway; I just do what I’m told.
As I sprint out the door and down to the elevator, I check my phone, but I haven’t received any messages. Yes, I’m still completely done with Kira, but I want to know she’s okay. It’s killing me internally that I don’t know where she is and don’t know why she never came back to the hotel last night. As I step out of the elevator and run through the lobby, I grab a bagel from the breakfast nook and continue down to the car waiting for me.
The driver doesn’t ask questions, but if he did, I’m sure he would be wondering where Kira is. It’s better he doesn’t ask a question, better that my mind stays far away from anything Kira-related. I just have to get through today, quickly warn her about Kias, and never think of her again.
The car stops in front of theLouvre Museum, where just beneath it is theCarrousel du Louvre. It’s the legendary place where today’s show is being held. Nerves I didn’t know I had, begin to set in, and I wonder if I’ll ever go back to normal. Kira has left a mark on me, and I don’t suppose it will leave so easily. I’m going to need to do something to get her out of my head after this is said and done. Damnit. Here I am on the biggest day of my career, and all I can think about is Kira.
I walk up to the entrance and follow the signs that security has laid out. As I head down the steps at the end of the long marble hall, I hear the chaos of show day. I thrive off this energy. Every single person in this place has something to do, and they are not taking a second to themselves. All is as it should be, and I’m focusing only on the show— for now.
I make my way through the crowd of models running around, technical directors talking in earpieces, photographers following people around with cameras, and Personal assistants running about to make everything happen for our run-through to go easily. I find my way to Ruby, my stylist for the night. She greets me with a warm smile.
“Good morning!” She turns the chair to me, and I take a seat as she spins me back to the mirror.
“Morning, Ruby.” I grin as she begins to mess with my hair. I zone out for most of this, thinking about the lines I need to say and trying to imagine the walk I need for each look I’ll be modeling today. The music in the background is the chatter of a thousand voices, like a crowded restaurant with tiled-bathroom-acoustics. After probably an hour, I look up to see the metal clips in my hair, and I think she did something to my face.
“And you’re good for fitting.” She squeezes my shoulders, and I stand, following her finger pointed straight at the corner of the room. I make my way to it, meet with a man I vaguely remember from our time at the Miu Miu mansion, and he hands me my first look in a bag. Quickly, I change into it as other stylists flock to me to help ensure everything is done properly and I don’t rip a seam or something horrendous like that.
The moment I’m in the look, they push me in the direction of the runway, and I join the front of the line of models waiting for their call to walk around once. It’s a dress rehearsal, I remind myself when my heart begins to beat too fast, and my palms get sweaty. Fuck. I hate this feeling— the nerves. When my name is called, I suck it all up and throw it aside, one foot in front of the other.
Everything goes perfectly with the dress rehearsal, but the one thing missing is Kira. Some guy stood in for her, just in case this means she isn’t showing. Apparently, there is an entire team dedicated to getting her here by the time the show starts. Evidently, numerous people will not be happy if she doesn’t follow through with her contract. We’re nearly five minutes from showtime, and I’ve yet to see her.
If she doesn’t show, perhaps that's a good thing. She’ll be safe from whatever the Mikhailovs plan to do, and I can rest easy knowing that forgetting her is the hardest hurdle I face. I take deep breaths as the lights just beyond the entrance to the runway dim. This is it. This is my moment.
“You’re on in one minute.” The stage manager flicks a finger at me, and I feel the hands of every model taping me on the back for good luck. Something about this feels wrong, though, preparing to walk on stage, not knowing if Kira will show. This is my moment. I need to forget about her to get through this.
I glance out in the last few seconds before taking the plunge to see the entire Mikhailov brood lining the front row of the runway. If Kira shows up, she’s screwed. And again, I have to stop myself from thinking this way, remind myself I’m mad at her, and this shouldn’t matter.
“Go.” The stage manager waves a hand in my direction, and I shoot up the stairs like a rocket, pacing myself as my feet near the exposed section of the runway. After one last breath, I propelled myself onto the stage, following my feet in line with the beat of the music as the tempo slows down.
The instrumental begins, and I stop at center stage as it grows even darker. A projection of kaleidoscope colors spins around me as I stand in the center of the stage. Vines drop from the ceiling, and fog hovers over the surface of the reflective stage. Kira should be out by now, but I remain composed, waiting for the music to grow quiet. I bite the bullet when everything stops because I know this is my cue to speak.
“I’ve long awaited a journey that could captivate my senses and enlighten me to my innermost being.”