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Giselle sauntered into the room.
“What are you doing here?” Chyna asked her. She was sure that Giselle would have been trying to help Marco run the show.
“Marco,” she told her, walking to the black bag. Chyna rolled her eyes needing no further explanation.
“Where are my assistants? I can’t get into my dress alone,” Chyna asked.
“I am your assistant.”
Chyna’s mouth fell open. Giselle was so proud. She only worked for Marco specifically. That damn man!
“Well, get your ass over here!”
Giselle snapped her fingers twice.
Chyna hurried over to her. Why would Marco have Giselle help her into the dress? It wasn’t his style. As Chyna was about to ask, Giselle unzipped the bag, and Chyna’s mouth dropped open. That w a s not her dress. Her dress was long with flowing shades of purple sequins that draped artfully across her body in a pattern resembling waves crashing in the ocean. It was a one-of-a-kind designed just for her by Marco himself. It was crafted specifically for her body. She had practiced in it and completed a full photo shoot in the dress. She had never seen this one.
“I hope Marco knows what he’s doing,” Giselle whispered.
It was the first time Chyna had ever heard her doubt him.
Fifteen minutes later, when Chyna was secure in Marco’s new creation, she made it to the backstage area. Her dress was pinned and hidden beneath a long white robe that was embroidered with her monogram beneath Marco’s logo. Brigitte, Giovanna, and Ravenna flitted around her, anxious to begin the show. She couldn’t even address them. She was too nervous.
She had never been afraid of anything, but she had never been put into a dress like this with no forewarning and no practice for a production that was imperative to her career.
Marco’s introductory words rang through the speakers. It was immediately followed by a thunder of applause. He was a raw talent with a booming voice that was as soothing, seductive, and stimulating as a Siren. He was in his natural element, charming an audience.
She could see him in her mind’s eye, gorgeous and tall. Intoxicating with a smile, he could cast a spell with those dark, dreamy eyes.
Assistants lined up models in order while a famous American singer began her latest number-one hit to open the show.
Marco appeared backstage an instant later, pushing people into place, adjusting hair, and demanding overall perfection.
Chyna’s green eyes bored into his back from a distance. She knew he could feel it, and then he pivoted around, quirking a smile at her. She continued to shoot daggers at him, which just seemed to amuse him further. He turned away from her then, finished off the last model, and disappeared back behind the curtain to watch the show.
“That man is insufferable,” Chyna groaned.
“He is a genius,” Giselle said in a voice that sounded like she agreed.
Chyna couldn’t help continuing. “I want to rip off his head and post it on a stake sometime.”
“But, most of the time, just his clothes, so he can work his genius on you, no?”
Giselle responded.
Chyna gaped at Giselle. She was always so incredibly prudish.
Giselle broke out into laughter. “I’d try not to look that shocked on stage,” she suggested.
Models were already being ushered back offstage to be escorted into the party to be put on display immediately. Time was moving fast, and Chyna wasn’t prepared to step onto that stage. The room emptied more and more until even Brigitte, Giovanna, and Ravenna were kissing her cheeks and wishing her luck before they disappeared.
As soon as the very last model left backstage, Giselle stripped Chyna out of her robe and began unbuttoning the train of her dress and letting it loose behind her.
When she was finished, Giselle admired her handiwork, her top lip turned up as she scrutinized with intense, hard blue eyes. “Are you prepared?”
No! Hell no! She couldn’t do this.
Marco was insane to even pull this shit on her, but she nodded, certain her face showed every evident concern.
“You’ll do fine,” Giselle reassured her. “I’m certain Marco wouldn’t do something he thought would ruin the show.”
“Let’s hope.”
“Chin up. Watch that step,” Giselle reminded her.
Not that she needed the reminder. She almost rubbed her ass at the thought. “I can do this,” Chyna said confidently, walking carefully up the steps.
She waited for her cue, her intro, the music—anything that would let her know when to begin, but nothing came. A hushed silence passed over the crowd, and suddenly, the lights were extinguished. A soft whisper, no louder than a hum, filled the room at the abrupt darkness, but it too died down. Was this her cue? She was’ supposed to have music and lights! Where was her cue?
She was terrified to walk onto a fully lit stage in this dress, so the thought of doing it blindly in the dark was atrocious.
When nothing else happened, she took it upon herself to make the decision. Her six-inch sparkly nude platforms created the only noise in the room as she clicked slowly across the black stage. What was the point? No one could see her, and it was dangerous. Marco better have something up his sleeve.
Chyna had obsessively counted steps all summer. Marco had some small fascination with knowing the length of every stage. He wanted his model to know where she was going and what she was doing. Then, she would have no excuse if she messed up because he had given a warning. She silently prayed that all that instruction was for this moment. She finished walking to where she anticipated center stage to be, and then she turned to face the darkened audience. She wasn’t foolish enough to begin walking down the runway in the pitch black, even if she had been training for it.
So, she waited.
Then, it happened.
That damn man!
Candles flared to life on both sides of the stage at the end of the runway. They slowly traveled up the length of the platform as more and more lit up. Chyna’s eyes rose to the perimeter of the enormous auditorium where more and more candles started glowing along the wall, in vases, and in the hands of models and patrons alike. The darkness faded, and soon she was awash with gorgeous, soft, ambient light.
She would have laughed if she could have. Instead, she stayed in character, producing a brilliant smile. Her dress was coming to life. She had thought it was gorgeous but plain when it had been hanging in that black garment bag. How could she have ever doubted Marco?
