Chapter 50
Kjell
The makeup artist from Touch av lyx looks at me as if I'm out of my mind. "Sky? There's no one like that here."
"But she must be here," I reply. "Sky Blohm, the..." I wanted to say daughter of Gustav Blohm , but I keep quiet just to be safe. "Long red curls, a beautiful face, deep blue eyes. Some people also call her Skady."
She shrugs and reaches for a makeup brush, dipping it into the container in her hand. "I'm sorry," she says, then turns back to the model. "I've been the only redhead here for over three hours."
Part of me can't believe it, and even though I try to understand what that means, I can't quite grasp it.
"Thank you, I'll keep looking," I mutter and leave the dressing room.
In the hallway, I look to the right and then to the left. There's no one in sight.
"Okay, to sum it up: she's not in the audience area, and she's not in the dressing room either. Apparently, she hasn't even been backstage today," I mumble to myself, the one last newspaper intended for Sky tucked under my arm, massaging my temples.
What if she really isn't here? What if her father instructed her to hide?
In the background, music starts playing. The show begins. I have no choice but to head back to the front. There, I can at least give Sky's mother the newspaper and ask her to pass it on. That's my only chance because after the threats from Gustav Blohm's lawyers, I shouldn't get anywhere near the company headquarters or the Blohm Villa.
I won't get to see Sky reading the words I've written just for her. I won't be there to find out if she understands what I'm trying to say. But at least she'll get the article.
With heavy shoulders, I walk through the hallway toward the door leading to the public area. Even though I have little hope, I keep looking around for Sky.
Unsuccessful.
The show is in full swing as I reach the foyer once again. The host calls out one label after another. I enter the dimly lit room, which is filled to the last seat. Chloe Morrigan and her team watch from a separate loge. I quickly make my way past the rows of seats and head toward where I saw Sky's mother earlier.
Onstage, a model is wearing a magnificent feathered gown. The white plumage sways elegantly on her body, and the audience applauds.
"Ladies and gentlemen, that was the presentation by M.D.E . What a dress, isn't it?" the host asks from the edge of the stage.
Enthusiastic whistles fill the room, and the music grows quieter. I'm almost at my destination, and I can already see Sky's mother in her seat.
Clutching the newspaper tightly, I approach her.
"And now, the penultimate design for this evening. From the brand-new label, Stj?rnor i skyn Designs ," the host announces, met with a restrained round of applause from the audience.
Melancholic piano music fills the air as I take the final steps toward Sky's mother. Suddenly, there's restlessness in the room. The audience starts whispering, and I see puzzled faces. A stylishly dressed lady points toward the runway.
Automatically, I turn toward the stage.
There's no one there.
Only a runway illuminated by a soft yellow spotlight and the music with its slow but intense melody.
The host wipes his hands on his pants and looks questioningly toward the side exit of the stage.
"Is something going to happen today?" someone from the audience calls out to the front, causing the music to stop.
Eerie silence envelops the room. It's as if the crowd is collectively holding its breath.
I don't know why, but I find myself doing the same.
My gaze shifts back and forth between the spot where the model should have appeared and the host.
He nods.
Gives a signal.
The music resumes.
And then I see...
Her.
In a dreamy azure-blue evening gown, Sky steps onto the stage. Shoulders pushed back, her gaze determinedly fixed on the audience, she starts walking.
Her open hair sways to the rhythm of her steps, the dress clings to her long legs. The high slit reveals the golden strap stilettos with each stride, and the fabric, attached like a cape to the right shoulder strap, flutters up.
The audience applauds.
Accompanied by the melodious music, she glides down the runway, and as she reaches the front, her model expression gives way to a radiant smile. Everything about her shines.
She strikes a pose, the flowing fabric enveloping her for a moment, adding an air of mystery to her beauty.
The first whistles can be heard in the room.
I'm so captivated by this sight that I can't think anymore. All I know is that this dress looks damn similar to the one in her design portfolio.
Sky twirls around and walks back on the runway. Elegant and fluid, full of grace and pride. The applause grows louder, and it dawns on me what just happened.
She did it!
This is her design that she's presenting on the runway at this very moment. And not only that: it would have been easy to send a model out, but she didn't.
She's showing herself to the world.
"Ladies and gentlemen, that was the presentation by Stj?rnor i skyn Designs ," the host announces as Sky reaches the end of the runway.
Stj?rnor i skyn Designs ?
Not Touch av lyx?
Did he mention that earlier? Maybe.
Hold on a second. Stj?rnor i skyn means Stars in the Sky .
This must be Sky's own label! But what does it mean?
Before I can finish my thought, Sky approaches the host and signals him to hand her the microphone. Then she motions to someone backstage to lower the music.
"What are you planning?" I whisper in disbelief. She couldn't possibly...
She raises the microphone to her mouth, smiling as the soft piano music plays in the background.
"Good evening," she says and starts walking slowly. "I'm Skady Blohm."
Oh.
My.
God.
She lowers her eyes for a moment, only to look up with full intensity. "Gustav Blohm's daughter."
I can't believe it.
A murmur runs through the room.
"All my life, I've been chasing a lie," she says, her gaze scanning the audience. I have no idea if she can see anything from up there, but she certainly doesn't seem like she's giving up.
Only about ten yards are between us, and I smile just because she might see it. I nod at her even though I know she doesn't need anyone to encourage her.
She has more than enough of that on her own.
"Someone very special once told me that only the truth matters," she continues, now almost at the end of the runway. "Back then, I thought I understood what he meant. I was sure it wouldn't affect me."
Again, her eyes sweep across the audience, and this time, I know who she's desperately trying to find: me.
Inevitably, I step onto the stage.
"Now I understand how wrong I was," she says, locking eyes with me. "And I've realized that there are multiple truths in every life." She swallows hard. "The ones others want us to believe in." A wistful smile flickers across her face. "The ones we cling to with all our might." She places her hand on her heart. "And the ones hiding behind other truths."
With her last words, I step into the spotlight's beam, which extends beyond the stage.
We look at each other.
"Sometimes we make the wrong decisions for the right reasons," she says, her gaze intensely fixed on me. "Because we lack the courage. Because we're afraid of losing something." She looks at me meaningfully. "Or simply because we want to protect someone."
Warmth wells up within me, just from these words. From what they trigger in me and from what they make me understand.
She read the article.
And she understood every single word, the love hidden between the lines.
She smiles tenderly at me. "I'm Skady Blohm, Gustav Blohm's daughter," she repeats the words she began her speech with. "And today, I'm not only here to present my design but also to do something even more important."
She reaches her hand out to me. In a trance, I let the last Sanningens ?gonblick slip from my hand and move toward her.
"For years, I've been hiding from myself and from the world," she says as I place my right foot on the slightly elevated runway. "I believed in my own lies so much that I couldn't see your truth," she continues, facing me.
I cover the remaining distance between us. I take her hand gently and draw her closer to me. Delighted whistles can be heard from the audience. She looks at me intensely, and suddenly, it's as if everything around us disappears.
There's only us. In the bright spotlight, accompanied by soft piano music.
However, I now place my hand on hers and bring the microphone closer to my mouth because the whole world should hear what I have to say.