Page 22 of When Fashion Turns Deadly

Battling a new kind of apprehension, Isabelle looked down at the chocolate croissant on her plate. Somehow, she didn’t think she was off to a very good start.

Chapter 8

Marit led Isabelle into theransacked bedroom. Despite the reassuring words she’d offered Isabelle at the restaurant, unease over what lay ahead gnawed at her frayed nerves. She pointed at the twin bed next to the one she’d been using. “Go ahead and leave your bag there. I haven’t had time to clean up yet, but we’ll make some space in the closet after we’ve been to casting.”

Isabelle lowered her bag onto the bed and surveyed the room. “This is what you came back to?”

“Yeah.” Marit suppressed a shudder.

Isabelle walked to the window. She examined the casement and peered outside.

“It’s pretty unlikely that an intruder would come in through the window,” Marit said. “He’d have to be Spider-Man to have scaled that wall to the fourth floor.” She grimaced, remembering that someone had actually entered Isabelle’s fourth-floor window in Vienna that way once. “I think he somehow made it past the concierge downstairs and had access to the lift and our door key.”

“It looks that way,” Isabelle said. “The fire-escape stairs wouldn’t grant easy access. They’re on the other side of the building.”

It wasn’t the most comforting observation, but right now, Marit had other, more pressing concerns than ready access to the fire escape. She glanced at the time on her phone. “We have twenty minutes before we’re supposed to meet Esmee downstairs. If we’re going to get you backstage with any of the designers, we need to focus on what the casting agents will be looking for.”

“You know?” A sliver of hope shone in Isabelle’s worried eyes.

“In general, yes. And Lars wasn’t kidding, Isabelle, you have the look. You just need to add the right moves.” She walked into the living room. “Come here. I’ll show you.” Marit positioned herself at the front door and waited until Isabelle was standing in the center of the living room. “One of the first things the agents are going to ask you to do is to walk for them.”

“Why does that sound terrifying?”

Marit laughed. “Just forget they’re watching and focus on the way you move your body.” She straightened into a familiar pose. “Back straight, core tight, shoulders back and down.”

“Back straight, core tight, shoulders back and down,” Isabelle repeated, imitating Marit’s position.

“Great. Now your arms.” Marit began walking. “They should swing slightly, and your hands should be relaxed. Your arm movement helps keep your pace steady.”

“And I have twenty minutes to get this down?”

“Sixteen,” Marit said. “But you can totally do this. Try it from there.”

Taking a deep breath, Isabelle assumed her starting pose and started to walk.

“Good,” Marit said. “Remember to keep your shoulders relaxed, and try not to move your hips too much. They should remain straight.”

Isabelle made it as far as the bedroom before making a half turn, just as Marit had done. She groaned. “Why isn’t Cole or Lars doing this?”

“Because they aren’t women. Besides, they wouldn’t make it through the wait in line, let alone receive a call back,” Marit said, moving to stand beside her. “You’ve got this. You already look better than most of the new models out there. This time, let’s do it side by side.”

They walked across the room together two times before Marit had Isabelle walk it alone again. She adjusted the tilt of Isabelle’s chin once and the length of her stride twice. By Isabelle’s fifth time across the short distance, Marit knew her friend’s aptitude for picking up new physical skills was not limited to self-defense.

“That was fabulous!” Marit said, clapping her hands. “Seriously, Isabelle. I’m really impressed. Add one of your beautiful smiles and you’ll be on every callback list you try for.”

“It’s going to be really hard to smile while I’m trying to remember everything I’m supposed to do with my arms, chin, hips, feet...” Isabelle looked at her with an uncharacteristic hint of panic. “Women train for years to work the Paris Fashion Show. Not twenty minutes.”

“True,” Marit said. “But some women are naturals, and some will never get it no matter how hard they try. You, my friend, are a natural. I’m not exaggerating how well you’re doing. You may not feel comfortable with it yet, but no one would ever guess you’ve never modeled before.”

“It’s a lot harder than it looks. And even though you’re a great teacher, with so little practice...”

Marit shook her head. Now was not the time for Isabelle to lose her confidence. It would manifest itself in the way she moved. “You’ve got this, Isabelle. You really do.”

Isabelle still didn’t look fully convinced, but she mustered a smile. “I’ll do my best.”

It was a big ask; Marit knew that. She gave Isabelle a hug. “Thanks for being willing to try.”

“Let’s just hope your agent approves of me.”

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