32

Chapter 32
Arin
Much to my disappointment, Dominic is already gone by the time I wake up. Last night had been an absolute pleasure, but I feel a little lonely now that he’s gone. I can’t tell if I’m being selfish for wanting him to be around more, but apart from dragging him out of his office and forcing him to take a day off, there’s really nothing I can do.
He gets up before I do in the mornings and doesn’t arrive until I’ve gone to sleep. Entire days pass where I don’t get to see him. And if I do, it’s in passing or in some peripheral way, like spotting his shoes at the door and his jacket slung over the back of the couch. Sometimes the only way to know Dominic still even lives here is the scent of his cologne lingering in the air.
It’s such a terrible feeling—living under one roof while feeling like complete strangers.
But the only thing I can really do right now is throw myself into my work.
September rolls around, bringing with it milder weather and more frequent rainstorms. Local businesses are already breaking out the pumpkin- spiced lattes and fall color palettes even though we’re still a ways away from October. I actually really enjoy the autumn months because it means I can start wearing my turtlenecks and knit sweaters, as well as dress Felicia in those cute yellow Wellington boots to keep her feet dry.
The first Friday of the month is one I’ve been looking forward to for a very long time. Today’s the day that Miriam takes me to see the venue she’s chosen to set up for my fashion show. It’s a momentous occasion, so I decide to bring Lana and Felicia along to see how everything’s coming together.
My little girl skips out onto the runway, marveling at all the bright lights suspended overhead. “Mommy, look!”
“I see you, sweetie. Be careful not to fall off the edge.”
Beside me, Lana whistles. “Damn, babe. This is really freaking cool!
How many guests did you say are coming?”
“Roughly three hundred,” Miriam says, checking her iPad for notes. “It’s a jam-packed show. My team’s been working really hard to drum up hype. Marina is getting a lot of traction on Instagram, specifically.”
“Is there a reason you made the place look like a train station?” my best friend asks, glancing at the grey runway. The edges are marked off in yellow, just like the edge of a subway platform.
“It’s supposed to be symbolic,” I explain. “People from all walks of life come and go through the station. It’s a place of transience, where you can rub elbows with people from all sorts of backgrounds and who have different histories. I want it to reflect the diversity of the line and the variety of people I want to make up my target audience.”
Lana chuckles. “That’s some artsy stuff right there.” I frown. “Do you think it’s tacky?”
“Hell, no. I think it’s great! It really lends itself to the ambience.” “Mommy!” Felicia calls from the end of the runway. She waves at me
with a laugh, standing just above the pit where the photographers will be stationed. They’ll have the perfect vantage point to snap all sorts of pics of my clothes.
I’m just about to ask Felicia to come back when I spot movement out of the corner of my eye. On either side of the runway are rows upon rows of seats, organized on rising platforms so my guests will have an unobstructed view of the show. Somewhere between the fifth and sixth row near the back, I see the silhouette of a person. I can’t quite make out their features because there isn’t enough light, but that doesn’t stop the cold shiver that slithers down my spine.
“Excuse me?” I call out. “This area’s supposed to be closed.”
The man—at least, I think it’s a man—doesn’t respond, doesn’t budge an inch.
“Hello?” I try again. “You’re not supposed to be here.” “What’s going on?” Miriam asks me with a frown.
I gesture toward the stands. “I thought you said we’re the only ones at the venue today.”
“We are.”
I turn to find Johnny, who’s lingering just off to the side in the wings. He’s already making his way forward when I say, “Can you check that guy out, please? He’s giving me the creeps.”
I pick Felicia up while Johnny hops off the platform and climbs up the steps.
“Hey, bub,” Johnny snaps. “You taking a nap or something? This is a closed set.” He reaches out to shake the person’s shoulders, only to freeze.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, my stomach churning.
Johnny backs up with a deep laugh. “It’s only a mannequin, Ms. Wilson.
Nothing to worry about.”
Lana laughs, too. “You had me worried there. I thought it was a creepy stalker or something.”
I sigh a breath of relief, but that doesn’t stop the discomfort crawling just beneath my skin. “What’s it doing over there?”
“Maybe one of the contractors in charge of the setup thought it’d be funny?” Miriam wonders aloud. “Oh, well. No big deal, I guess. Why don’t we go check out the makeup and hair stations next?”
I nod slowly and start to follow her backstage, but I can’t shake the feeling that we’re being watched.
It happens again a few hours later when Lana, Felicia, Miriam, and I head out to a café for a quick bite to eat. I can feel someone’s gaze on me, but I can’t for the life of me pinpoint where it’s coming from.
“So our model list is finalized,” Miriam says, flipping through several documents on her trusty iPad. “All the makeup artists have their call times, your designs will be carefully transported to the location the day prior to the show, and only high priority guests will be in attendance.” She turns the screen toward me. Several names stand out like bright spotlights. “After the actual show, it’d be a good idea to rub elbows with them. Networking goes a long way in this business.”
I nod, albeit distractedly. “Right. Yes, of course.”
“Do I get to sit next to a VIP?” Lana asks, pumping her eyebrows. “Maybe I can find myself a handsome celebrity boyfriend.”
Miriam taps around on the screen to pull up the seating chart. She points at one of the seats closest to the front of the stage. “This is where you’ll be.”
“I chose your seats myself,” I say with a smile. “Did you make sure to save one for Dominic?”
Miriam nods. “Oh, yes. He’ll be right here.” She points at the iPad, his name typed in an incredibly small font over the square box representing his seat. She slides a laminated pass to me, the words ALL ACCESS printed in
bold on the front. “He’ll need this on him when he arrives.”
It’s arguably the best seat in the house. Not only will he be the first to admire my clothes as the models step out to strut their stuff, but he’ll also be at the perfect angle to see me in the wings. My heart races at the thought of him there, watching me with pride. Everyone else will be watching the models, but Dominic will most certainly be watching me.
My skin crawls.
There it is again, that weird, cold feeling trailing along the back of my neck.
I turn in my seat. No one is there. The café isn’t even busy, so it’d be easy to point out anybody suspicious. A couple on a date, a businessman taking a lunch break, a family of three picking out cupcakes by the display window, and the barista behind the counter, but that’s it.
Am I overworked? Because the only real explanation is that I’ve accidentally fried my brain with all this fashion show preparation.
“Earth to Arin,” Lana teases. “I mean this with love, babe, but I think you need a nap.”
“I’m fine,” I insist.
“I wanna nap,” Felicia mumbles tiredly against a bit of her chocolate chip muffin.
Miriam chuckles. “Such a cutie. It’s totally fine if you want to head home. Sit back and relax a little.”
“But the show is next week.”
“And we’re ready,” she assures. “It’s going to be marvelous, Arin. Don’t you worry. Your designs and passion for fashion will speak for themselves.”
Try as I might, I can’t take a deep enough breath. Maybe I’m feeling strange because I’m letting the pressure get to me. That has to be it. Now that my biggest dream in life is just seven days away from becoming a reality, I think my body is having some sort of physical reaction to all the excitement, stress, and general disbelief and wonderment.
And all I really want right now is a good long hug and kiss from my favorite absentee mobster.
“When is Dominic supposed to be finished with work?” I ask Johnny. He isn’t seated at our table, but the one directly beside it, sipping at an Americano.
“Not until late, Ms. Wilson.”
“Take me to him,” I say. I turn to Lana. “Will you take Felicia home?”
“Sure thing,” my friend replies.
My bodyguard, on the other hand, doesn’t seem as enthusiastic. “He’s very busy. I’m sure Signore Costello would rather not be disturbed.”
I’m not annoyed with Johnny. I’m really not. But if I’m not firm with him, then I’m genuinely worried I won’t see Dominic until New Years. “I want to see him,” I say, plucking Dominic’s all access pass off the table as I stand up from my chair. “Just to say hi. It won’t take long.”
“But—” “But what?”
“I’ll get in trouble.”
I pat Johnny on the shoulder. “You let me take care of it, okay?” He nods reluctantly. “As you wish, Ms. Wilson.”