Suckered

by Gina LaManna

  “No,” she said softly. “These are positions for life. And no, they are never given up easily.”

  The weight of her words sunk in. I examined the floor tiles while I processed them. “I see.”

  “I followed some signs abroad, which is how I ended up here,” she said. “There were clues that led me to Fashion Week. And it makes sense, really—Fashion Week in Milan? It has everything. Glitter, fame, fortune, media…if a person wanted to work his way into The Violet Society, this would be a prime opportunity.”

  “How does it work? The whole initiation process.”

  “I don’t know.” She sucked on her lip in thought. “Nobody knows, as far as I can tell.”

  “How do you know so much?” I asked. “Have you met a member in person?”

  “On that note, it’s time for me to go.” She turned around, fiddled with the lock, and cast one final glance over her shoulder. “Break a leg out there, Lacey. Don’t let your necklace get away from you.”

  “Um, thanks?” I said with a weak wave, startled by her abrupt departure. “Bye.”

  She disappeared before the echo bounced back.

  Chapter 29

  Since I was already nervous, I decided to use the restroom. I experienced minor difficulties in accomplishing this simple task due to the rather stiff nature of my dress. I finally figured out the logistics. Prying myself out of the stall, I reached the sink to wash up just as the door opened again.

  I looked up and smiled at Angelica. “Oh, hi!” I shut off the faucet and grabbed a paper towel, turning to face the supermodel. “Listen, I’m really sorry about this whole mix up. I didn’t mean to get stuck wearing The Miranda.”

  Her eyes briefly flicked to the diamonds around my neck. “It looks better on me.”

  “Yes, it most certainly does,” I agreed. “But it’s for your safety, I promise.”

  “Then why you teached me self-defense yesterday?” she drawled, her Eastern European accent coming on strong. “I can fight myself.”

  “Fight for yourself,” I automatically corrected.

  She didn’t smile, instead lighting up a cigarette. Which was ironic, since there was a sign at her left elbow that said No Smoking. Since her feelings were probably hurt already, I let it go.

  “You ruined my career,” she said, stepping closer to me. Clouds of smoke filled the room. “You ruined me.”

  “You’re still in the show!” I backed against the sink, careful not to lean against the edge. I’d already split the seam once—I couldn’t drench the dress in water, too. “I’m sorry, but it’s for your safety.”

  “I was supposed to wear The Miranda.” By now, she was two steps away from me, her lips pursed and eyes blazing. “It was supposed to be mine.”

  “Yes, but wouldn’t you rather be alive after the show than wearing The Miranda and…in deep trouble?” I couldn’t bring myself to say dead. It was too depressing, since I was the one now wearing The Miranda, and I didn’t feel like ending up dead today. “It’ll make you more famous, if anything. You can do an interview about how you were in so much danger, you had to bow out of the show.”

  She hesitated for a moment, her eyes fluctuating between that vacant look of hunger and mild irritation. Finally, she flashed a tight smile. “Yes, you’re right. I suppose this is true. Anyway, the bathroom downstairs iz terrible. Move, please.”

  She brushed past me, walking into the first stall and dropping her cigarette into the toilet with a hiss. She moved to the next stall and hiked up her dress, a gorgeous, black piece of artwork that dangled off her chest in a way that had me gawking. There were no straps, and how it hung onto her body was pure magic. Then I gawked some more when Angelica went ahead and did her business without bothering to shut the door.

  “I’m going to, uh, wait outside,” I said, shielding my eyes. “Talk to you later.”

  “Wait one second, I’m talking to you!”

  I pretended not to hear her, pushing open the bathroom door before she finished speaking.

  Unfortunately, someone was waiting outside for me, too. This had to be the most eventful trip to the ladies’ room in all of history.

  “Hello, gorgeous,” Beckett drawled. “It’s about time you came out of there, I was starting to get worried.”

  Before I could react, he linked one arm through mine and marched me away from the restroom. I tried to push away, but his grip was far too tight. So I settled for a glare.

  “What are you doing?” I hissed. “Let me go!”

  “You really do look ravishing, darling.” He spoke loudly, so that anyone who overheard might think we were a couple.

  I bit my lip, torn between wanting to slap him and wanting to hear what he had to say. If I’d learned one thing in Milan, it was that Mr. Magic didn’t suddenly appear somewhere without a reason. “Why are you here?”

  “I take it as a good sign that you didn’t slap me yet,” he said.

  “I considered pushing you down the stairs instead.”

  “Thank you for refraining, since this is a new suit.”

  “Yes, I’d hate to scuff it up.”

  “Most certainly.” He turned to face me, looking like a darker, more exotic James Bond.

  Beckett was different than Anthony. Beckett strode with more flare, dressed with more polish, spoke with more suaveness. There was no doubt that Beckett was movie-star handsome, but something about Anthony exuded masculinity from the inside, foregoing the extra flare. All of a sudden, I missed Anthony.

  “Why are you here?” I asked. “I’m busy.”

  “I’m saving your life. Can you find time for me now?”

  “Saving my life?” I blinked. “From who, exactly?”

  “Whom,” he said smoothly.

  If I didn’t stop rolling my eyes, I was going to give myself another headache. “Whom.”

  He smiled. “If I didn’t respect Anthony so much, I might’ve considered buying you a drink. I like a woman who’ll say what’s on her mind, and you really do look lovely.”

  “You’re lucky I haven’t said half the things on my mind,” I corrected. “Please don’t talk about my fiancé like you know him.”

  “I don’t know him, but I do know of him.”

  “How?”

  “How do I know anything?” He adjusted his tie. “Word travels quickly, and I keep one ear to the ground.”

  “So are you kidnapping me?” I gestured to his arm, still latched through mine. “Do I have any say in where we’re headed?”

  “Where would you like to go?”

  “Maybe the coast,” I said sarcastically. “I hear Cinque Terre is nice.”

  “It’s gorgeous. Usually I buy a woman dinner first, but we can skip right to the honeymoon if you’d like.”

  “Yeah, right,” I said. “I can’t even plan a honeymoon with my fiancé, let alone some stranger.”

  “Lacey…” He frowned, shaking his head. “We’re not strangers any longer.”

  We marched together down the stairs, an odd sort of pact between us. He’d saved my life once, and he claimed to be doing it again now…I decided to take my chances and play along. For now.

  “Why haven’t you set a wedding date?” he asked as we reached the bottom step. “Does Anthony have cold feet?”

  I looked his way. “Are you married?”

  “No.”

  “Then how do you expect to give me advice?”

  “No advice from me. Just morbid curiosity.”

  I sighed. “It’s not about Anthony, it’s just…it’s complicated.”

  “It doesn’t sound complicated.” He shot me a sideway glance. “You love him, he loves you. There’s a ring on your finger…what’s missing?”

  “What are you, my therapist?”

  “I consider myself a jack of all trades, actually.”

  “Can you be the jack of all trades at leaving me alone?”

  “You are so feisty, I almost wish you were single.” He leaned in, air kissing me on both cheeks with exqui
site politeness. Then he looked up and nodded toward the trailer where Lizabeth and Anna sat chatting. Before he pulled away, he whispered in my ear. “Don’t leave Lizabeth’s sight until after the show. For any reason. Keep Meg by you as much as possible. Anthony, too.”

  “What about after the show?”

  “I’ll be watching then, don’t you worry.”

  “Hold on, buddy. You never told me who was after me. How do I know you saved my life?”

  “I guess you’ll just have to believe,” he said with that disarming smile. “Break a leg, Cinderella.”

  Chapter 30

  Breaking a leg hit too close to home, I thought, as a herd of assistants shuffled me backstage with all of the real models. Meg grabbed one of my arms as Lizabeth rested her hand on the other. The three of us made for a sparkling Lacey sandwich.

  “…hair touch up. I have a makeup artist waiting in the wings, she’ll redo your face right before you get on stage,” Lizabeth said. “Anna’s at her station already—she’ll add a few more stitches to your…”

  “Derriere,” Meg said. “That’s the classy way to say ass.”

  “To your dress,” Lizabeth said. “Right before you go on stage.”

  “Psychic coming through, please make way.” Meg elbowed anyone in range, guiding us through a throng of assistants in all sorts of black.

  Lizabeth continued with a tirade of instructions. “You’ll sweat under the lights, don’t worry. Just keep moving and look straight ahead. Put one foot in front of the other. If you can, make eye contact with the photographer in the front row and when you get to the end of the runway…”

  The list went on and on and on until I couldn’t handle it anymore. “I’m going to break my leg and go to the hospital instead,” I said. “It’s easier than doing this.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Lizabeth said. “It won’t take you more than two minutes.”

  “I can jump in if you need assistance,” Meg said as the three of us reached Anna. “Bet that dress would really show off my figure.”

  Anna turned white as a ghost, clasping a hand to her chest. “Please, no. Don’t do that to me.”

  Lizabeth gave a subtle shake of her head. “Lacey, you’ll be great. Get in line behind those girls—you’re just behind Angelica.”

  “But that’s the end of the line.”

  “You’re the grand finale. Now go!” Meg and Lizabeth pushed me into the corral of glittering women. I didn’t pick up my feet, and the Cinderella slippers made a weird screeching noise against the floor. A few heads turned my way.

  “Where’s Clay?” I said.

  “Took Arnold for a walk,” Meg said. “Where’s Anthony?”

  “Anthony, crap!” I hadn’t heard back from him, and Lizabeth had confiscated my phone on the walk over. “He’s coming here. Call him.”

  “Take a few deep breaths. You’re hyperventilating.” Lizabeth pinched my nose until I couldn’t breathe. When she let go, a makeup artist was attacking my face with a wand, and I couldn’t breathe again, since powder was swirling up my nostrils. “You’re up!”

  “What? No! Wait!” My cries were drowned out as Lizabeth spun me around and Meg shoved me forward, all in one motion.

  Somehow, I managed to land on my feet. Somehow, I marched one foot in front of the other. Somehow, I landed in the middle of the runway. Somehow, the lights found my face.

  The cheering faltered ever so slightly as I paused, center stage, amid a hundred thousand people. I raised a hand to shield my face from an attack of flashing bulbs.

  “Get a move on, chickadee!” Meg’s chant came loud and clear. “La-cey. La-cey. La-cey.”

  I’d never been more grateful to have Meg in my life than at that very moment. Her chant served as a drumbeat, a beat that helped me shuffle a few awkward steps forward in tune with her rhythm. By the time I’d made it halfway onto the runway, I was really starting to pick up steam.

  Making eye contact with one or two photographers, I had a moment of panic when I realized I’d never asked Lizabeth what to do with my face. I swiveled my head to watch the rest of the girls as they marched back from the end of the runway—evenly spaced, perfectly in sync, all with that hungry look in their angry eyes.

  I tried for furious. I stomped the floor. I hadn’t eaten in hours, so the chances I looked hungry were high. Then, the song clicked to a new one, the beat peppy, fast, and lively, and I practically high-stepped my way down the catwalk.

  Things went well until I reached the end of the runway and all of the instructions went out of my head. Lizabeth had shown me at least fifty times how to hold my hands on my hips and tilt my head, but none of it was coming back to me.

  So I stood there like an idiot, and I waved. And then I smiled a really big smile. And then I laughed, because I couldn’t think of anything else to do.

  The world went quiet.

  The confused group of photographers bounced back first. They rebounded by lifting cameras to their faces and snapping pictures left and right.

  I blinked back stars. Through the stars, however, I saw a face.

  Anthony.

  I met his eyes briefly. He stood off to the side, a little out of the way. My gaze was ripped away from his by a movement along the aisles. Two people were streaking their way through the crowd, making a beeline for Anthony. From one side came Alessandra. From the other, Beckett. Neither of them looked happy, and both of them were sprinting toward my fiancé.

  I couldn’t think. My stomach churned, my heart raced, and all I could think about was warning Anthony. He smiled up at me, oblivious. For some reason, he wasn’t reading my mind. He just kept smiling. And smiling.

  So I faced him. Then I took a running start aimed at the edge of the runway. My legs moved faster than I could think, so when I ran out of room on the catwalk, I took a flying leap. And I closed my eyes.

  Chapter 31

  My eyes flashed open. Strong arms held me tight.

  I stared into Anthony’s dark gaze, my emotions torn in two—half my insides were grateful he’d caught me, spared me a broken leg. The other half was mortified that I’d leapt off the stage in the middle of Fashion Week.

  “There are two people coming for you,” I whispered as he tilted his ear toward my mouth. From a distance, it might have seemed that I was unconscious. “You have to get out of here.”

  “Feeling dramatic?” he said. “You didn’t have to fly, Lacey. I saw them.”

  My eyes flashed open. “I was trying to save your life, buddy. You don’t have to be so harsh. At least pretend I helped.”

  His eyes twinkled. Leaning in, he kissed me on the cheek, a long, squashy sort of kiss. “Sugar, I love you.”

  I relented, curling in close to his chest, hiding from the world. A zillion photographers had probably captured my swan dive and already posted it to YouTube. Also, it probably looked less graceful on camera than it had in my head. It was just a hunch.

  “I love you,” I whispered. “Now, can you put me back?”

  “On stage?”

  “I have to finish!”

  Anthony cleared his throat.

  I tightened my lips. “You are so immature.”

  “Hey, you never said—did you get a sitter for tonight? For Arnold?”

  “I missed you too,” I said, glancing over Anthony’s shoulder. Alessandra and Beckett were nowhere in sight. The only people rushing toward us were of the medical variety. “Put me back, please.”

  Anthony had another idea. Instead of setting me on stage like I’d asked, he dipped me low to the floor, planting a real, swoony-like kiss on my lips. When he pulled back, I gasped for air. There was a moment of quiet, and then the crowd went wild.

  Finally, when the kissing and clapping died down, he plopped me back on stage. I gave a shy, awkward wave. It took a few flustered steps toward the catwalk exit before I realized I’d lost one of my shoes during my stage dive.

  It was hardly a Cinderella story, but at least I’d kept Beckett and Alessandra
away from my fiancé. I had no idea why they’d been rushing toward him, and there were no answers that made sense.

  “What an amazing performance.” A man’s face popped up, his nose close enough to touch mine. “Was that dive planned?”

  I turned toward the person asking the nosy questions and realized that I knew him. I couldn’t remember his name, but it was a famous person. Daniel? David? Anderson? I really needed to watch the news more often.

  “N-no,” I stuttered. “It was—”

  “Was that choreographed? It was adorable.” This time the reporter was a woman, camera crews flocking behind her.

  “What? My falling off stage?”

  “Falling for Your Fiancé!” The woman raised a pencil as if she’d just had the best idea in the world. “What a headline. Freaking amazing. Lizabeth is a marketing genius.”

  “It was an accident,” I said. “Not on purpose.”

  The reporter scowled. “But you fell straight into his arms! It’s perfect. Don’t ruin it. So frickin’ cute.” She leaned in, kissed both my cheeks and then maybe my mouth. “Thank you for making this night wonderful. The story will sell like hotcakes.”

  “Because I fell out of my shoes?”

  “Can I get your name, by the way?” she asked. “Who are you? Why did you replace Angelica last minute? You are so frickin’ cute, by the way. You’re gonna rock this story.”

  “I’m Lacey,” I said. “Lacey Nobody.”

  “Oh, you are so humble. What a darling. That is adorable.” She scribbled a few things down. “You two looked so in love. Tell me, was it all an act?”

  “No,” I said. “I love my fiancé.”

  “His name, what’s his name—”

  “Look, I’ve…I’ve gotta go.”

  “When’s your wedding? Can I come?”

  “Sorry, I’ve gotta go—”

  “There you are,” Lizabeth said. Then she shooed the reporter away and turned a concerned gaze on me. “How are you feeling? Are you okay?”

  “Can we say adorable?” The woman reporter chirped, pushing closer. “That little routine out there was so frickin’ cute. I don’t know how you come up with it all. And you went with a normal girl instead of Angelica? The Morgan Collection is going to frickin’ blow up this paper. I just love it. Lizabeth, let me kiss you!” The woman leaned in, kissed both of Lizabeth’s cheeks, and stepped back, waiting impatiently for a response. “So? How did you get the idea?”