Page 127 of Pink

The lights to her mother’s hospital room were dimmed when Gigi stepped inside the sterile-smelling space, and she didn’t bother to turn them brighter. It wasn’t like she needed more light to clearly see the state of her mother’s battered body and face tucked into the stark-white hospital-issued sheets.

Blackened eyes. Kimie’s top and bottom lip had been split something terrible, the swelling making it far more horrifying. And probably sore. Bruises colored her mother’s skin everywhere. They seemed to have no start or end. A bandage on the side Kimie’s head covered the wound Kayla had mentioned.

Gigi wasn’t even getting the full picture because a quick glance at the note board on the bottom of the bed said her mother also suffered a cracked rib, sprained wrist, and more but she had to stop reading.

She hurt looking at her mom. Kimie seemed so small in the bed, attached to an IV and leads monitoring her vitals. The soft beeps of the machines weren’t enough to cover the sniffles escaping Gigi as she moved to the side of her mother’s bed.

As if Kimie felt her presence, her bruised eyes peeked open. Though swollen, she still found Gigi standing there. She tried to smile. It just made Gigi cry harder.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” she whispered, bending down to kiss her mother’s tender cheek. Her fingers wrapped tightly around Kimie’s hand, and her mother grabbed back. “I’m so sorry.”

“Gigi … don’t cry, my baby. It’s okay.”

Every word had to hurt.

It sure sounded like it.

“It’s not okay. This shouldn’t have happened, Mom.”

Kimie let out an exhale that rattled. “What have you gotten yourself mixed up with here, Gigi?”

Pain and guilt clogged up her throat.

She didn’t have an answer.

Certainly not the right one.

• • •

It was well over an entire day later—hours before her runway walk—when Lev finally showed up. Between the manicurist doing her nails, the woman touching up her spray tan, a waxer who fit in a quick appointment before the hairstylist would arrive to add the extensions into her hair along with a color to finally remove what remained of the faded pink in the ends, Lev arrived. Amidst the chaos of her team bouncing between phone calls and last-minute changes for many details regarding the day in the new Plaza suite, he strolled right in like he owned the place. Like it was a perfect time.

Gigi didn’t know whether to be impressed by his arrogance.

Or pissed.

Despite her repeated attempts to contact him, either on her own or through one of the several enforcers still on her post, he had been radio silent. Entirely.

At his approach, she stood from the chair facing the bay windows of the hotel suite; windows that had been allowing the manicurist better natural lighting while giving Gigi something to stare at as people continued touching her.

All of her.

Her hair.

Hands.

Limbs.

Face.

Everywhere.

She couldn’t breathe without a new set of hands finding her body. Add that on top of the fact she hadn’t been able to talk to her mother—who was still in the hospital—for more than a few minutes that day and then Lev’s sudden presence with no warning, and Gigi’s nerves hit their limit.

“Where have you been?”

She could count on one hand the number of times she raised her voice on an event day. Not because she worried about losing her voice as that didn’t really matter. No, because she liked as much calm as possible in an already overstimulating, chaotic environment.

Lev didn’t even wince at her anger, his gaze taking in the scene of her team rushing through the room and barely giving him any thought at all. They had their own jobs to do, after all, and if they didn’t do it, then she couldn’t do hers.