Blindsided (38 page)

Mom walks into my hotel room with the room service guy and drops onto the bed next to me. I groan and roll over, covering my head with the pillow.

“Go away,” I whine, exhaustion wracking my whole body.

Corey left some two hours ago after far too much time creasing, fisting, and tangling these sheets. He also completed the sleep section, which, according to him, topped off the tour of my bed sheets. But still…two. Ugh.

“Rise and shine!” Mom sings, the door closing in the background. “There’s coffee in the pot and bacon on the plate.”

I sit up, the sheets falling away to reveal the bra I threw on after Corey left. “Bacon?”

“You obviously slept well if you’re mentioning the bacon.”

“Yes. This bed is comfortable.” For sex. I haven’t had enough sleep experience yet… “The show is at five, right?”

Mom nods her head. “But there are a few before we also have tickets to. I thought you’d like to come along and spend the day by the catwalk.”

I only really want to see mine, but I know Corey is practicing early, and New York is no fun on your own. I was hoping I could wrangle Mom into a trip to Lady Liberty because I know she loves her, but that’s obviously totally not in the cards.

“Sure. Why not?” I didn’t come last year, after all.

“Corey’s busy, isn’t he?” Mom smirks, piling some food onto a plate for me.

“Um…”

She laughs. “Honey, you’re twenty-two. You don’t have to accompany your mommy to everything anymore. I promise. I can take Alex.”

“Oh, yes. I can see Alex in the front row of Vera Wang wondering what couture piece he can snag for the next event.”

“I’ll have you know they approach me for this.”

“I know. That’s why there’s a room full of free clothing in our house.”

“Well, yes.” She smiles, handing me the plate. “I called Alex this morning. He wanted me to assure you he had great joy finding Cole’s Playboy collection from when he was fifteen and subsequently enjoyed teasing him until he drove him out of the house.”

“Alex videoed that, right? Right, Mom?” I fight my giggles.

“I told him you’d never approve of him wanting to marry me if he didn’t.”

I choke on my bacon. “Ex-fucking-cuse me?”

Mom’s eyes widen. “Oh, he hasn’t proposed!” she says hurriedly. “He just brought it up, and well, we’ve been dating for a few years. I told him to talk to you.”

“I’m not sure asking me is the traditional move.”

“Well, Ada already gave him her blessing over biscuits and gravy yesterday morning.”

I set my fork down with a sigh. “He fell for the six-sugar thing, didn’t he?”

“Honey, so badly.” Mom shakes her head. “I should have warned him. Incidentally, the cookies are now on top of the fridge.”

“Smart move.”

“Just…out of curiosity… What would you say if Alex were to bring it up with you?”

“Ada’s sugar addiction?” I tease. “I don’t know. Cole would be pretty annoying to have as a big brother, don’t you think? I mean, that Playboy thing…” I shake my head.

“Leah. Please be serious.”

I look into my mom’s eyes and see hesitance, something I’m not used to seeing. I don’t understand it because my father is a giant dickhead, and there’s nothing I’d love more than to see her find her happily ever after. She’s acted enough—she deserves the real one. And I fucking love Alex.

Still, though… “Tell Alex he’ll have to ask me himself.”

I can’t breathe.

That dress—it’s mine. So are the shoes. And the purse. And…and the jumpsuit? That’s mine, too. So is the shirt and skirt on the next model. And that pantsuit? Mine. The coat? Mine.

Mine. Mine. Mine. Fucking mine.

My dream. I’m looking at it now. These designs I once scribbled haphazardly onto paper are real. They’re not dreams of a sixteen-year-old. They’re now my reality, every one perfectly tailored and shaped and enlivened.

My eyes are stinging, but I’m swallowing back any ounce of emotion. I’m trying not to see the pencils scribbling on sheets as the world’s most famous people jot down the designs they like. I’m trying not to throw up over the realization that these people like my work.

That these people, who’ve been to years and years of these shows, like
my
work.

That they don’t know that they’re sitting almost right next to the designer.

I don’t think about the fact that the royal-blue evening gown I’m following with my eyes was originally designed with my mom in mind or that the pale-pink-and-black one following it is my vision for Ryann.

But, as it turns out, I’m thinking about a whole lot of everything, because my mind is whirring at a million miles per hour.

Because that’s my dress and my jumpsuit and my evening gown and my skirt and my pants and my purse and my jacket and my coat and my sweater and my dream.

Mom links her pinkie finger with mine in a silent show of solidarity. She knows how hard this is for me. I want to sit here and cry and toast champagne. I want to remember this as the single greatest day ever.

Because, despite the circumstances, I can sit here, front row, and watch what was once in my head walk past as a physical thing.

And there are no words to explain that.

I take a deep breath as the final model disappears backstage and applause fills the room. This is mine. For me. And no one even knows it.

One hour of watching my future clings to me.
Damn.

I stand up with Mom, our pinkie fingers still linked, ready to break for some food and a drink. She guides me through the bustling people and into the restaurant set up for the show.

“I’m proud of you,” she whispers in my ear so quietly that it’s barely audible to me. “That was incredible.”

I nod because I can’t speak. My eyes keep going back to the door that leads to the catwalk—to where my designs just were.

“Grace, darling!” Quinn appears, and obviously, he’s left the backstage to his staff. He embraces Mom then turns to me, a proud smile on his face that no one but I can understand, before sweeping me into his arms. “Leah. You fucking star.” He kisses my cheek, his words, like Mom’s, barely even a whisper. “How do you feel?”

I shake my head because I still can’t speak. If I speak, I might cry.

Mom passes me a glass of wine and I drink.

“Surreal,” I murmur into it. “Now don’t talk to me anymore.”

Quinn laughs and asks for a whisky. The amber liquid is passed across the bar to him and he throws it back in one swift mouthful.

“Fuck Fashion Week,” he says under his breath. “I’d rather be behind my desk, staring at my prodigy’s designs.”

Mom gently touches his arm. “You mean in the Bahamas, on a beach, with some gorgeous model, staring at your prodigy’s designs.”

“Darling, if you’re offering…” Quinn eyes her.

“Ew!” I cough, looking between them.

Mom laughs. “He wishes, Leah.”

“And for what it’s worth, those wishing wells? Bullshit,” Quinn adds, leaning in to me.

I laugh as one of mom’s friend approaches her. Julia LaFor, editor at the fashion magazine
Riot.
Her articles are always cutting edge, her grasp on the fashion world unparalleled. I have many of her predictions pinned to my boards at home, and surprisingly enough, I haven’t met her.

Until now.

“And this is your daughter? Leah?” Julia asks Mom, who nods. Julia turns to me, beaming widely. “Wonderful. You’re the star of the show, sweetie!”

I freeze, but somehow, my facial muscles don’t move. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”

“Your line? Lea V.? We’re all fascinated by you! So young with a collection to rival the golden designers? Fascinating.”

“I think…you have me confused with someone else,” I say apologetically. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Julia eyes me, a funny glint in her eye. “Really? Word got out just before the show that you’re the girl behind them all. We’ve all been wondering ever since news of the Lea V. line became public knowledge amongst us. Is that incorrect information?”

I look at Mom. Fear paralyzes me. It spreads through my veins, because no, no, no. This isn’t happening. People know? Outside?

“Mom?” I whisper, bile rising up my throat. “Quinn?”

“It was lovely to see you again, Julia,” Mom says, kissing her cheek cordially. “But I believe it’s best if Leah and I leave now.”

Mom wraps her arm around my shoulder and guides me away, Quinn following. As soon as we leave the main room, Mom fielding a whole bunch of people, she turns on Quinn.

“Was this you?”

“If you think I’d jeopardize your daughter’s safety for my company, you don’t know me.”

“He didn’t,” I whisper, gripping on to Mom.
Oh, God
. “It wasn’t him.”

I look up at her, and she can surely see the tears filling my eyes, because I can feel them. They threaten to spill over, stinging and taunting.

Only one other person knew.

“Son of a bitch,” Quinn growls, guessing correctly. “Get out of here. Get back to your hotel and let us deal with it.”

“But—”

He cuts me off, his dark-brown eyes blazing. “Leah, I’m your boss, and I’m telling you to leave and let my team deal with this. Do you understand?” he cuts me off, his dark brown eyes blazing.

I nod, Mom’s arms tightening around me.

“And if that sorry bastard comes to see you, then you kick him on his butt. You hear me? I watched the Jaguars do it last season—if they can, you can.”

Again, I nod. Because I don’t have a choice.

Mom pulls me outside and into a swarm of photographers. Their flashes—they’re blinding. Their questions—they’re endless. Am I really Lea V.? Have I really kept this secret for six years? Is that why I haven’t made my acting debut?

Three security guards approach and circle us. They guide us through the band of insanity outside and toward the cars.

“Leah!”

His voice cuts through me. It prickles across my skin as if I’m a voodoo doll and someone is stabbing me repeatedly with needles, each pin agonizingly painful.

“What?” My voice is stronger than I am inside. I’m crumbling, breaking.

Corey pushes past everyone toward me. “Shit. Babe, you have to know—”

“I know,” I reply, gripping the door. “I know everything.”

I get into the car and slam the door behind me, turning away so I don’t have to look at him.

I don’t know what hurts more—that I’ll never be the designer I wanted to be or that the guy I trusted with such a big part of me has betrayed that.