Page 13 of Destino

“Oh? Did you tell him thank you for helping us with our store?”

“Yep, and he wants to celebrate!”

“Oh goodie!” Mira sassed. She found the dress Fabiana had chosen and froze. A Spanish style emerald-green glamour dress she had decided not to include in the collection. The top fit like a corset and would push her breasts tastefully upward. This corset however had ties to either side instead of the back, which was done to accentuate a trim waistline. The hem of the dress was raised higher in the front above the knee, with ruffled slips of chiffon underneath to give it a whimsical flow when the person wearing the garment made a step forward or backward. It hung silkily low to the back in a train of fabric that swept across the floor. She could object. Fight with Fabiana until they were both hoarse and stressed to the limit. Or she could concede and get the hell out of the trailer and back out into her operation before her line was called to grace the catwalk.

She gave in.

Mira slipped the dress on and did her best to tie the corset strings on either side. She eased her feet into three-inch high heels and stomped out.

“Brava!” Fabiana clapped.

“It’s too much and you know it.”

“This line is going to take Milan by storm, and you will be an even bigger success! You need to dress like one. When Kei picks up the morning paper in New York and sees you on the cover dressed like this, he’ll finally call you and beg you to reconsider. Isn’t that what you want?”

The question hit her hard in the throat. Her stomach clenched over the mere thought of Kei trying to force another proposal on her again. No. She didn’t want him back. She just wanted to know he didn’t hate her, and he didn’t think she used him for her success and abandoned him. Maybe someday they could be friends.

“Now, about this make up.”

“I can let one of the makeup guys do it.” Mira groaned.

“Nonsense, no one can do your makeup like me. Sit down.”

****

The techno swing beat thundered around the audience and nervous designers backstage. Statuesque models over six feet tall climbed up a set of small stairs to the runway. Mira checked the girls lined up for the final display of eveningwear. Each model sported the very best of her creative expression with their hair styled in a 1920’s motif with deep finger waves. Some over accessorized with long waist length pearls and orchids behind their ears.

Zenobia, a six-foot two model from Ethiopia would be crowned the darling of Italia. Mira dressed her in an apricot and golden yellow, flat shift dress with a wide circular neckline that stretched past her collarbone circling her shoulder blades. A wide belted trim gathered the material tightly just below her hips, allowing three chiffon ruffled layers to flow just above her knees and drift to the back of her calves. She flipped the rest of the style by making the top so sheer you could see the dark points of Zenobia’s nipples and adding iridescent golden stones in the fabric to give a sparkle from every angle.

Proud of Zenobia’s beauty, she stepped back nodding. The model winked and took to the runway. The roar of applause from the spectators let her know that the audience loved it. Mira glanced over her shoulder for Fabiana who appeared magically at her side. Her friend put a protective arm around her, and they embraced.

“You did wonderful, sweetie.”

“We did it, Fabiana. Without you at my side, I could never pull this off. I love you.”

“I love you too. And I got the easy job. You my dear are the visionary!” She kissed her cheek. The models from her line began to circle to do a final runway walk, and Mira wiped at the tears she held back. Her dreams had become a reality. Each time she successfully launched a collection felt like the first time. This was her passion.

Fabiana patted her on the back. She gave her a gentle push, and Mira grabbed Zenobia’s hand to step out on the runway with her after the last piece of her collection returned. The crowd seated on both sides stood, clapping once she headed down the shiny catwalk with Zenobia at her side smiling.

Camera bulbs flashed and clicked at every side of the runway causing her to blink, and her heart pounded. This part of the show was hard to do when all the focus narrowed in on her. Zenobia let go of Mira’s hand allowing her to strut down the runway alone. Mira sashayed the rest of the way, the train of her dress moving fluidly behind her, catching the breeze with each step. Tossing her long curls she smiled and blew a few kisses at the press and some fellow designers she recognized.

Once she neared the end her eyes locked with the bluest pair in the room. He sat front and center watching her. He wore all black, even his tie. It had to be close to eighty degrees, but he looked untouched by the humidity. His dark hair was tapered low to his ears and a wave of thickness was combed back from his face. And his eyes. Jesus, the man's eyes were as blue as rain. Even from the elevated point of the catwalk she couldn’t get past his eyes. Mira’s steps slowed, and then she stopped. In this crowd of celebrities, dignitaries, the richest of the rich, he claimed an air of authority. Those around him, and it had to be at least seven men seated, all wore tailored black suits like his. Mira swallowed down a breath and felt her heart hammer hard and fast in her chest. She tore her gaze away from his beautiful stare and shifted it to the stunningly gorgeous raven-haired brunette at his side.What is she nineteen, twenty?This woman should be on the runway not her. She had the same devastatingly blue eyes, and golden olive skin. A burn of envy for how she sat next to Giovanni broke the spell he cast over her and severed the glimmer of attraction they shared. Was she a girlfriend, or worse, his wife?

Lorenzo leaned in and whispered something in Giovanni Battaglia’s ear. Neither man looked away. They were definitely discussing her. As if she were in a display window and Giovanni was deciding whether to make the purchase. A man seated behind him touched his shoulder and Giovanni nodded. He stood. Her breath hitched in her throat. He extended his hand to the brunette and the woman accepted it graciously. Together they turned and walked out. He never glanced back. Lorenzo followed with his hands in his pockets. Suddenly the clapping and camera flashes returned her to reality.

Realizing she lingered far too long at the end of the runway, she gave a slight bow, and blew a few kisses to her audience, before turning and heading back. Hurrying down the steps behind the curtain, she nearly collided with Fabiana who was making a beeline to her. “What happened at the end of the runway?” her friend whispered, concerned. Everyone behind the curtain applauded her for a job well done.

“Huh?” Mira asked confused.

“At the end of the runway you froze. Something wrong?”

Mira blushed, “I did? It must have been the lights.” She walked off to thank her models and staff.

****

The circus behind the curtain came to a close. Several head designers gathered in a conference room to do a Q&A with the press. Once it concluded, they filed out exhausted. Fabiana saw to the business of securing their equipment and garments to be shipped back to Naples. Mira wandered through the thinning crowd headed for her trailer. She daydreamed throughout the interviews of how wonderful it would feel to release the ties to her corset and shed her dress. The sun had set and the after parties in Milan were in full swing. She needed to put her feet up before making her appearance then retire for her much anticipated vacation.

“Signora?”

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