There’s a hitch on “added” she doesn’t bother to hide.
“I’m not here to pull your little capsule off the schedule,” she adds, noticing whatever flashes across my face. “We’re past the point of no return.”
Valencia’s gaze slides over the rack behind me, taking in the tags with my name, the looks locked and ready.
“You’ve done well for yourself. Most influencers peak at free protein powder and affiliate links.”
“I’m full of surprises.” I force a thin smile.
“I’ve noticed.” Her eyes find mine again, sharp now. “Runway this size, coverage this big, guest designer spot… it’s a lot for someone so new.”
“It’s a lot for anyone,” I say. “New just means people finally started paying attention.”
“Optimistic.” Her lashes lower, just for a beat.
There’s a muffled swell of music from the other side of the curtain. The first segment must be starting. Models rush past us toward the wings, heels clicking on the concrete.
“You look… nervous.” Her gaze dips to my hands, then back up. She tilts her head. “It’d be a shame if nerves got the best of you right when people finally started paying attention.”
The stakes slam back into me all at once. And underneath it, like a bruise: the knowledge that this woman has had Dom. She’s touched the same skin I kissed on the beach, heard the same voice in the dark, touched and felt his… The thought sickens me.
“He’s not here yet, is he?” She studies my face a little too closely.
“Who?” My jaw tightens before I can stop it.
“You know who.” Valencia’s mouth curves.
She glances toward the vague direction of the runway, where guests are still being seated, then back at me.
“It’s a big night for you. I would’ve thought he’d already be in his seat. Front row, camera-ready. Very… supportive boyfriend.” The last two words are dipped in something bitter.
“My supportive boyfriend’s whereabouts are not your concern,” I say, before I can stop myself.
I know his schedule by heart now. I know his flight landed an hour ago. He texted me a picture from the car, telling me he’s on his way.
“Of course.” Her tone is light, but her eyes aren’t. “He does like an entrance. Though, he’s never been late with me, if you know what I mean.”
Something ugly twists in my chest. For a second, I see them together instead of here. Valencia in some hotel room, Dom younger, undressing without thinking twice what it meant. I hate that my brain gives me the image so easily.
She watches me absorb it.
“Look, Jessie,” she says, almost idly. I raise my brow at the nickname. “I’ve worked with enough athletes and artists to know the pattern. They go through… phases. Infatuations. They get very intense for a while. Very all-in. Until the season ends, or the press shifts, or something shinier shows up. Then they move on. It’s not malicious. Just momentum.”
“I don’t understand what you’re trying to tell me,” I say flatly.
I know what she’s trying to say. But if she’s going to be a bitch, she needs to come out from behind the sugarcoated curtains and show her hateful face for real.
“Don’t take it too personal if he doesn’t show up.”
She gives a small shrug.
I remember the feel of his thumb under my chin on the beach. I remember everything he’s said and done to me this past week, both over the phone and in person. He calls me before and after each game, FaceTimes me from his hotel room at night and falls asleep on the phone with me.
And I remember something else. This is my night.
I straighten up slowly, releasing my death grip on the rack.
“You done with the… gentle warnings,” I say, trying not to smile. “You’re very good at them, by the way. I can see why people pay you.”
