She shakes her head with a pained expression. "I thought I was on fire. The runway, the other models, the flowers. Everything was in flames before my eyes."
I can't help but gently cup her face in my hands. "I'm so sorry."
"I tore that beautiful, handcrafted dress off myself, jumped into the decorative fountain on the runway, and screamed wildly." Her eyelids close, and I can see a tear glistening at the corner of her eye. "Save yourselves, you idiots, the world is coming to an end, I screamed. Over and over again.Get out of here, you're all going to die."
The drop detaches, glistening as it runs down her cheek, and reaches the delicate skin between my index and middle finger. It lingers there, cold and moist.
"I destroyed everything and ruined Kahlo's reputation. The press mocked the fact that his designs apparently drove their wearers crazy," she says more to herself than to me. "Touch av lyxhad to face accusations of mistreatment of models and unprofessionalism in their selection process. It was all my fault."
There's nothing I'd rather do than take some of that guilt away from her. So I respond gently, pulling her closer to me. I press my lips to her forehead. "No," I say softly, "you mustn't think like that."
She places her hands on mine. "My parents sent me away. First to therapy and then wherever I wanted to go. They just wanted me to stay away because I'd caused enough damage." Her fingers tremble on top of mine. "Granting them that wish was the only thing I could do right."
Every word she says is true, and I can feel it without needing any proof. Still, I can't comprehend how I never came across any information about this tragedy. A scandal of this magnitude would surely have made headlines.
"So that's why you've been hiding?" I venture. "They dragged your name through the mud back then." That would be a plausible explanation.
Her headshake surprises me. "My father has always had one truly important rule: no scandals atTouch av lyx. The public must never find out."
How did Gustav Blohm manage to keep any traceable evidence of this incident from surfacing? "But during Fashion Week, there's a lot of buzz. Photographers, television."
She bites down on her lower lip so hard that it turns a deep shade of red. "The disaster was just a footnote in the media. Thanks to the bridal veil, my face wasn't easily recognizable. Officially, the woman who lost it on the runway was a messed-up model whomTouch av lyxnaturally distanced itself from. The employees were paid substantial amounts to keep silent."
So they denied that Sky was their daughter and forced her to go into hiding so that no one would find out what had actually happened. "Wow, that's..." Terrible. Who does that?
"It was the right thing to do, just like their wish for me to check into therapy as Marie Nilsson," Sky replies quickly. "My parents fixed everything I'd destroyed." Her eyelids flutter. "Everything, except their marriage."
Is she suggesting that her parents got divorced because of Sky's mistake?
I abruptly stop in our motion, place my finger under her chin, and make her look at me. "I'm sure you weren't the reason for their divorce—at least not you alone," I say because I genuinely believe that. She needs to stop blaming herself for everything. It's not right and certainly not the truth.
She lets out a tired sigh and shrugs. "Did they tell you that?"
"No," she admits. "I haven't seen them since New York. But whenever they used to argue before, it was about me. I was theproblem. They would have had a harmonious relationship if I hadn't been there."
I can't quite piece together everything I've just heard. Thousands of thoughts are swirling chaotically through my mind. Questions. Answers. Speculations.
The truth.
Sky has told me her truth.
And now, there's more chaos inside me than ever before. I don't know what to think. Not about her story, and even less about myself.
"Now you know," she whispers at some point. "For years, I hid and made sure no one would connect me to my family. But now..."
Now she's here. The life-threatening injury to her father brought her back.
To Stockholm. ToTouch av lyxand the life that means the world to her.
"I understand," I say, and I truly do. At this moment, every detail she's ever shared with me makes sense.
I know she's the real Sky.
That I see everything about her—everything that makes her who she is.
Another tear rolls down her cheek, and I catch it. My fingers move to her hair, pushing a strand aside, tracing along the outer edge of her ear, and then to her neck, where I feel her pulse.
"You must hate me," she says in a choked voice.
