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I’d rather run than surrender.
Modeling for Conway Barsetti wasn’t ideal, but it would give me something I couldn’t find anywhere else.
Protection.
I’d be surrounded by people all the time, living in the shadow of one of the greatest designers of our generation. A man worth billions had serious power. He wouldn’t care about protecting me, but he would certainly care about his brand.
Maybe this was a blessing in disguise. “I’ll be there.”
3
Sapphire
10.
They stuck the number against the tiny black bustier they’d provided. It was so tight I could only take a half breath. Even though models didn’t wear thongs on the runway, I was required to wear one from his line—that way every detail of my body could be seen.
The black thong matched the lace of my top, and there was a tiny pink flower right below my cleavage line for color. I’d never worn lingerie in my life, so it was my first time being put on display like this.
And I had to wear it in a room full of strangers.
A woman did my hair and makeup, transforming me into a woman I hardly recognized. Body makeup was rubbed into my skin, hiding even the slightest blemish from being visible. My hair was three times bigger than usual, and there was so much mascara on my lashes that my eyelids actually felt heavy.
I couldn’t believe I was doing this.
But what other option did I have? Anyone could judge me for making money with my body, but when I was on the run from a psychopath, I didn’t have many options. I didn’t speak Italian, so finding work was difficult. I needed something that required very little talking.
And modeling required no talking.
The other nine girls were perfect for the part. Tall, beautiful, so thin I wondered if they ever ate, and perfect. Some of the girls made friends with each other, and none of them could contain their excitement for being selected in the top ten. I wasn’t sure how many models they were looking for, but I would assume only half of us were likely to be picked.
I doubted I would make it to the next stage.
But then again, I didn’t know how I got here to begin with.
“Line up.” A middle-aged woman in glasses clapped her hands and pointed across the stage. We were inside one of the Barsetti studios, an entire auditorium full of rows of seats. The balconies were decorated with elegant Italian designs, and an enormous fresco was painted across the ceiling.
The girls filed into place, starting at number one.
From left to right, we formed a line. I was the last one in line, and I wondered if my placement had anything to do with my odds. Maybe the best candidates started at the front.
The man who had selected me stood in one of the aisles, the other two men sitting with their clipboards. He held his phone to his ear, listened to something, and then shoved it into his pocket. “Conway Barsetti is arriving.” He sat down with the other two men, leaving the aisle seat open.
It turned dead silent in the auditorium. People weren’t even breathing. The girls sucked in their invisible stomachs and pinned their shoulders back, ready to impress a man who was impossible to impress.
I straightened my posture and mimicked them as much as possible, but it didn’t stop me from feeling stupid. I didn’t know how to be sexy. These women were masters at it, knew exactly what a man like Conway Barsetti wanted to see. I was totally clueless when it came to stuff like this.
But if he didn’t pick me, I would ask for other work. I wasn’t leaving this place until I had an income. Italy was expensive, and I couldn’t rely on good people giving me free food all the time. I had to pull my own weight. I would clean toilets if that’s what it came down to.
The silence continued to stretch endlessly, everyone afraid to breathe too loudly like it would disrupt the anticipation. I hadn’t seen a room become this tense for anyone in my life. Even when the President of the United States appeared on TV, people weren’t this rigid. It seemed like I was waiting for a king.
A ruler.
At the exact same time, both doors swung inward and opened the entryway. Sunlight entered the room, and the silhouette of a man appeared. In a black suit and royal blue tie, a man bearing broad shoulders and endless power entered the auditorium. His presence infected every inch of the room, filling the air with his potent authority. I felt it with every breath I took.
A young woman followed behind him, a clipboard in hand with her pen held in her fingertips. She constantly stayed a few feet behind him, her body just as poised as the models on the stage.
