He brushes his hand over my head before picking up his plate. “Everything is fine. You don’t need to worry about anything except being brilliant today.”
“I’m nervous, but I’m also really excited. This fashion show is what I’ve dreamed about since starting school. I wasn’t sure I’d ever get here, but now that I’m here, I’m not sure how I feel.”
“That’s understandable, you’re probably overwhelmed with warring emotions,” Bush says, knowingly.
“I am,” I agree. “I want this day to be over with, and at the same time, I want to make it last. What if it doesn’t go well?”
“Say it doesn’t. What does that mean? Are you going to give up?” Bush asks before taking a bite of toast.
I immediately shake my head as I swallow a bite of scrambled eggs. “No, of course not. But it could be a setback. I’ll have to rethink my designs.”
“I thought you were already working on new designs,” he says, jerking his head toward my sketch pad.
I lean over and snatch the sketch book from the floor. Excitement hums through me as I flip through its pages. Dresses, jackets, sleek lines hiding strength beneath beauty. Pockets where no one would look. Seams reinforced to hold more than fabric. Fashion that protects.
The idea still sends a thrill through me. Women shouldn’t have to choose between looking beautiful and feeling safe. My pulse quickens as the realization settles deeper. This isn’t just another collection. It’s something bigger because it has a purpose. It meets a need.
“Those are really good. I think you’re going to be busy after the fashion show, but say the worst happens and not a single buyer takes a nibble. You have these, and I can guarantee you that every Old Lady would be interested in wearing these designs. Hell, I bet the Demon Dawgs would be willing to invest in a business that would help keep their women safe.”
Emboldened by Bush’s words, I finish off my breakfast before hopping in the shower. I dress in an outfit I designed myself. The black pants have wide legs and deep pockets. The matching jacket has multiple pockets with bright silver zippers. Underneath, I’m wearing a teal, backless silk shirt that will help me stay cool inside the venue. I slip on black boots before grabbing the rollaway bag loaded with everything I’ll need for the day.
In the common room, I find everyone waiting. Tony nervously paces. He’s wringing his hands until he spots me.
“Finally! We need to get going, or we’ll be late. They wouldn’t let me go upstairs to get you,” Tony complains, jabbing a thumb at Chill and the others.
“We won’t be late,” Chill says. “Calm down.”
Tony scrunches his face, and I’m certain he’s about to deliver a retort, but Viper slings her arm over his shoulder before turning him to face the door. “You really don’t want to tick her off, trust me.”
Bianca and Rattler laugh as we all follow them outside, where two SUVs surrounded by six men on bikes wait for us.
“We’ll escort you to the venue,” Bush explains. “We’ll be inside and around the building. You’ll be safe, I promise.”
“I trust you,” I tell him as he leans over to kiss me.
Backstage hums with energy.
Music pounds through the walls, the bass vibrating through the floor beneath my feet as models rush past, stylists shout instructions, and cameras flash somewhere out beyond the curtain. The runway lights spill through the gaps in the drapes like bright white sunlight.
“Zara!”
I turn just in time to catch a garment bag Bianca tosses toward me. She’s already halfway out of one dress, laughing as Izzy helps her tug the zipper down.
“Hurry,” Bianca says, breathless. “I’m up again in two minutes.”
I grin, pulling the next piece free. “You’re doing amazing.”
Bianca winks. “Your designs are amazing.”
Viper steps up beside us, tall and confident, already dressed in one of Tony’s daring pieces. She rolls her shoulders like a fighter preparing for a match.
“Crowd’s loving it out there,” she says.
As if on cue, a ripple of applause echoes through the curtain. Then louder cheers.
Viper smirks. “Told you.”
My pulse jumps with excitement.
