“No, listen!” He leans closer, lowering his voice even though the music makes it nearly impossible for anyone to overhear. “Stefano Bellanti.”
My brain freezes.
“Wait… what?”
“Stefano Bellanti,” he repeats, almost reverently.
For a moment, the entire room seems to fade away. The music. The shouting. The smell of beer and leather.
Stefano Bellanti.
One of Chicago’s most celebrated designers.
Tony squeezes my hands harder. “He was at the show. He loved our work. Loved it. Zara, he offered me a position at his fashion house.”
My mouth falls open.
“Oh my God, Tony.”
“I know!” he exclaims. “I thought I was going to faint.”
Bush chuckles beside me, folding his arms as he watches Tony vibrate with excitement.
Tony continues breathlessly, “But that’s not the best part.”
“There’s more?”
“He’s been trying to reach you.”
My stomach flips.
“Me?”
Tony nods eagerly. “He said he wants to talk to you about your designs. Apparently, the event coordinator gave him your contact info.”
For a moment, I can’t speak.
The idea that someone like Stefano Bellanti might want to work with me feels surreal.
Tony beams. “Can you imagine?”
The excitement in his voice fills me with warmth—and something else. Something heavier. Because even as the possibility sparks in my chest, another thought pushes forward. My other designs. Designs that help women keep themselves safe.
Tony squeezes my arm. “What do you think?”
“I…” My voice trails off.
“I mean,” he continues excitedly, “this is everything we’ve worked for.”
He’s right. But the images flooding my mind aren’t runways and spotlights.
They’re only sketches right now, but I can see them out there in the world. Hidden pockets for holding blades and other defensive weapons. Clothes that let women leave their homes and still feel safe.
“I want to design something different,” I say slowly.
Tony tilts his head. “Different how?”
I describe my ideas to Tony.
