Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
BIANCA
Whalers Charity Fashion Show, Portsmouth Arena
“You go on just before lunch,” Marie says. “Are you sure you don’t mind being last?”
The arena’s lobby is decked out like a garden party, complete with round tables covered in pink and white tablecloths and dainty parasols parading as umbrellas, all enclosed by a small picket fence and surrounding a stage and runway.
Guests are buzzing at the numerous bars set up to serve Mimosas.
Loosening my hands from their grip on each other because I’m wringing them like someone’s maiden aunt, my nerves are bubbling.
I don’t know if it’s over walking down the runway pretending to be a model or the impending staged blow-up with Brody that has me wishing I could get something stronger than a Mimosa.
“It’ll be fine,” I answer her absently, looking around for Brody. The rest of the guys from the team have arrived with the expected fanfare from the crowd of 500, maximum capacity.
I glance at my wrist for the time and tap my too practical Apple Watch. I was already told by our fashion consultant that I’ll have to remove it.
“It’s still early,” Marie says. “We have a half hour before the show starts.” She puts an arm around my shoulders. “You’ll do beautifully. The outfit you’re wearing is gorgeous. You should take it home with you.”
I laugh, more from nerves than amusement.
The noise level is starting to rise, and some people are taking their tables. Luckily, my mother and brothers arrived earlier when I was calmer, and I seated them near the end of the too long runway.
After practicing my walk earlier, it felt longer than an ice rink and colder. I glance at the stage, which is set up at the beginning of the runway at the far end of the lobby, hiding the doors to the arena. There’s a hall that connects to the dressing rooms and a staging area for media.
We’re standing outside the fenced tables near where Mom and my brothers are sitting with Cherry, Sabien, Ax, Delaney, and Link. Nora Shade is making her way to the table now as we watch.
“Are you sure you want Nora to sit at the table with you for lunch?”
“Yes. She’s supposed to be representing the Holden family, right?”
Marie rolls her eyes. “I wish the rest of the Holden family, besides you, were here.” She winks. “It’s too bad they’re all at Kara’s hockey game today.”
“Yeah. What a shame.” I don’t hold back my sarcasm, and she laughs. I hastily add, “Nothing personal against them. It’s just that I’m nervous enough. They’ll be visiting next weekend.” Unless we can pull off our breakup by then.
Sadness slams me like a door shut in my face. Last week, Brody told me about the visit; I was looking forward to it, maybe even a little excited and hopeful.
I barely hold back a scornful snort at my stupid self.
“I’m sure they’ll love you.” Marie squeezes my arm, rescuing me from my self-derision, and I return to watching the front entry for any sign of Brody.
Cherry and Delaney leave the table and head in our direction.
“I’m sure Brody will be along soon,” Marie whispers as the others reach us. “But we need to go to the staging area to get ready. The show will be starting in fifteen minutes.”
When he arrives, I’m surprised by Brody’s sense of urgency as I watch him shove through the crowd without stopping as he finds me in the backstage area where I stand half hiding in an alcove.
The space is set up for the media. All kinds of photographers, reporters, and influencer types are assembled here.
Many of the WAGs pose and take informal questions.
Chase’s wife, Emery, gets a lot of attention, and I study her grace under fire, wishing I could be so cool and warm at the same time.
Brody reaches me, taking hold of me like he’s saving me from an oncoming mac truck, and pulls me further into the alcove.
“What’s wrong?” All my sadness, turmoil, and distress about the end of our relationship fall away because I know something is wrong. I’ve never seen this troubled expression before, making him look pale and ferocious at the same time.
“Have you heard from Bigelow?” His eyes soften as he stares at me, but his grip on me stays firm, and I feel the intense energy pour from him like he’s made of thunder and lightning.
“No. Why would I?” I get a sick feeling, but he looks almost relieved.
“Just wondering because I know you were supposed to pay him—”
“I did. I sent him the money he agreed to, two thousand dollars. It was a lot, but—”
“Good.” He looks around like he’s worried someone is watching us, but so far no one’s noticed us where we’re almost fully hidden.
“How did you find me here?”
His dimple makes a quick appearance. “My Brooks radar.”
I laugh, and bittersweet pain follows.
“Why the concern about paying Bigelow?”
“Loose end. I wanted to tie up loose ends.” He looks at me, sadness dimming his blue eyes, and I know he’s keeping something from me. “Have you seen Jett?”
“Not yet, but he said he’d be a few minutes late.”
He nods. “I also want to make sure you’re not out of pocket for any expenses—”
A shout cuts him off.
“Brody and Bianca, pose for some pictures.”
As soon as the photographer shouts, pointing his camera in our direction, we’re swarmed with more shouted questions and cameras popping.
Brody holds onto me as we step into the spotlight, and the barrage of attention covers us like a blizzard. I’d probably start shivering from nerves if Brody didn’t have an arm around me. As it is, the practiced smile is frozen on my face.
Gary Edwin from Bar Stool Sports waves a hand, and I nod to him.
“Then there must be a conflict of interest between you and Jett. What does he think of that? Why hasn’t he fired you?”
I tell them what I told Martini of Cavalaro Motors.
“There’s no conflict of interest at all.
My interests and Brody’s are perfectly aligned.
If there’s any sticking point in the future, I’m sure Jett will step in and handle it.
We’re a large full-service agency with multiple agents and assistant agents who play different roles for our wide variety of clients. ”
I can’t tell Edwin the real answer to the question—that Brody threatened to go elsewhere if Jett fired me—but I think he guessed the answer anyway.
What he can’t guess is that our marriage is fake and only temporary.
I whisper to Brody, “Why would reporters, and especially Gary Edwin, be asking this line of questions again now? We covered these issues weeks ago.”
“I’m not sure, honey—Brooks.” He clears his throat and smiles. “Don’t worry so much. He’s good, and he’s on our team.”
“Speaking of family—”
“No need to meet them if we can finesse it. No need for any more complications than we already have when our marriage is…”
“All over?”
He nods, but it feels like he’s holding something back.
“Nora is here,” he says. “Maybe we shouldn’t wait until after the show to stage our fight.”
“I know what you mean, but I can’t do that. Everyone’s worked so hard on this, and the money we raise is for a good cause.”
He swipes his hands through his hair, and I know he’s not telling me something. I’m about to ask when I remember I have no right and close my mouth, flattening it to a thin line.
Backstage is a whirlwind of activity, laughing women, and clothes.
So many beautiful clothes. I’m dressed and ready to go when Marie and Cherry find me watching from my stool set in the corner, makeup all done so I look like a touched-up photograph of myself, far more polished and perfect than I’ve ever looked.
And with the heavy-duty Spanx, I’m a full dress size smaller.
Too bad I can’t take a deep breath and feel far too much like an over-stuffed sausage, or I might invest in one for future use.
“You look gorgeous. You ready to take the stage?” Cherry’s smile is broad and infectious.
“You have five minutes,” Marie says. “Let’s go.” She takes my arm, and they walk me to the wings of the runway.
It’s odd that my nerves have nothing to do with walking down the fashion show runway wearing a sexy designer dress while hundreds of people watch me.
But I know the angry bubbling in my gut is all about Brody.
Maybe that’s why I’m confused when the audience stirs and I notice they’re not watching me, not smiling.
When I look out over the nearing end of the runway and see Bigelow, my confusion grows, and I slow down. Then I notice the trail of people behind him, some with cameras—official paparazzi-type cameras, large and intimidating.
“Hello, Bianca.” His smile isn’t right.
“Bigelow?” I stumble to a stop on the runway, feeling the quiet buzz of the crowd around me grow while flashes pop from the oversized cameras.
Trying to make sense of his presence here, I automatically search the crowd for Brody.
Before I find him and before I can work out exactly what the heck Bigelow is doing here, a sense of dread overwhelms me.
I almost fall, but arms surround me from behind, and I recognize Brody’s scent and the feel of his solid body behind me. The crowd is loud now, some laughing, some chattering excitedly, and Bigelow walks right up to the end of the runway.
“Look who I’ve run into,” he says, staring at us and then looking around. “You getting all this, guys?” he says to his minions. There are half a dozen of them aiming cameras at us.
“Back off, Bigelow,” Brody shouts as he pulls me against him and tries to move me backward toward the curtains and backstage. But I’m frozen in place.
“What do you want, Bigelow?” I shout.
Brody whispers, “Never mind him. Let’s get you out of here.”
“I’ll tell you what I want,” he shouts back, quieting the crowd, coming closer. “How about the truth, Ms. Brooks? Tell everyone all about your hoax. All about the fact that—”
“Shut up, Bigelow,” Brody grits out. Shock makes me speechless.
The crowd is pin-drop silent now and riveted, sensing this isn’t part of the show, but something else entirely.