was nearly four years old, and it had become my ultimate goal as a result.
I remember the day she’d added a magazine cutout to my cork board and explained its significance. The image was of her at twenty-two years old. She was a super star in the world of fashion, with a face that decorated lifestyle and fashion magazine covers. She got paid to attend ritzy events and became the face for high-end cosmetic lines. She walked all the famous runways and went on dates with celebrities to appease her publicist.
She had been at the pinnacle of her career, living a life of glitz and glamour, when she met and fell in love with my father, an up-and-coming football star who played for Dallas. They married and had me not long after. That was when she decided to turn in her modeling career for motherhood, something she would never let any of us forget.
“After walking for Amante, you’ll be the most photographed, the most sought-after, and the most talked-about model in New York fashion,” she’d said, with eyes bright like she was lost in the spotlight of her past. But the pressure I detected in her words was clear.
Don’t mess this up.
At twenty-six years old, my career’s current stagnant state signifies failure in her eyes. She has set a ticking time bomb over my head, and it grows louder with each passing year. But for me, modeling is simply a stepping-stone I should have leapt from years ago. Tonight, I plan to do just that.
Tonight, everything changes.
After fifteen years of carrying my robotic self down the runway without so much as a hair color change—which I desperately wanted—and letting every photographer think they owned my time and body, I’m ending it all. I’ll fulfill my duties on this catwalk tonight, a dream I’d always thought I wanted, but then I’m moving on. My chance for something more is finally coming.
I feel an invasion of my breast and look down. Robin’s hands are there, groping me to her satisfaction as she glues on the soft nude cup and smooths it out to form a second skin. “Good,” she affirms, patting one breast and reaching for the final piece of my ensemble. She wraps a thin gold belt around my waist twice and secures it in a knot at the small of my back.
“Now,” she says with a finger on her mouth and her brows turned down. “I just need to finish fastening you. She tugs the fabric together across my lower back where the dress is supposed to link together.
Embarrassment colors my cheeks. “It won’t close?”
She waves a hand to tell me not to worry then holds up a leftover piece of the dress fabric she’d cut to make modifications. “I’ll just stitch this right on to cover the gap. No one will even notice.”
Relief flows through me as she goes to work. Robin isn’t doing anything abnormal. Last-minute fixes are common in the world of runway fashion. Most of my catwalk outfits were stapled, glued, and stitched together at the last minute to ensure a perfect fit. All that matters is how I carry the fabric beneath the lights, how the fabric sways as I make my signature walk down the narrow aisle, and how I will manage to successfully draw every eye in the house to me.
One last time.
Robin presses the final piece of fabric to the top of my bra cup and steps back to assess her handiwork. “Gabriele,” she shouts to her right, jerking her head at me to get his attention.
His eyes grow wide, and a smile blooms on his gorgeous, freshly shaven tanned skin. He begins his strut toward us, pausing mere seconds with each interruption to greet his models with affection. Then he takes my hands, and his eyes sweep over every inch of me.
“Stupenda, mia cara. Molto bella, Maggie. Semplicemente bellissima.” His eyes pour over his work, which is now floating majestically over my body, from the shimmering and perfectly placed sequin, to where the skirt of the dress meets the floor with just a slight amount of overhang. My four-inch stilettos almost did the trick.
Gabriele bends and clutches the fabric at my feet then jerks it up. His narrowed gaze snaps up next, meeting Robin’s eyes. “Higher,” he snaps at her then points to the shoe rack on the other side of the room. “Go. Fast.”
She nods in understanding then dashes off just as he takes a final step toward me, eyeing