Page 90 of VOGUEish

“The competition was tough this year. The covers we received were amazing.”

Isabella snapped her attention to the stage.

“The judges all made comments about how any one of them would have won in years past. But not this year. This year the bar was moved not a notch or two, but a mile or two. So, without further ado, Cover of the Year goes to…”

The room fell silent. Thoughts rattled against skulls. Cameras hung in the air. Tweets were populated and ready to share.

“Naked Runway.”

Whispers. Nervous laughter. Scattered applause.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Amanda Goldstein said loud and distinct. “They are the laughingstock of our industry. And we’re giving them a fucking award?”

Isabella cringed.

Frankie elbowed Isabella. “Go accept the award.”

“But you—”

Frankie gave her a look of exasperation. “I had nothing to do with the cover. Ms. Fairway said if we won, she wanted you to accept the award.”

Isabella managed to walk gracefully to the stage. She accepted the award and stepped up to the microphone. “On behalf of Naked Runway, I’d like to say thank you.” She glanced around the room and made eye-contact with Amanda. “According to Amanda Goldstein, we don’t deserve this award. She’s wrong.” Miraculously, her voice was strong. “Naked Runway is, and always has been, the best fashion magazine in circulation. To hint that those who worked so hard on the cover weren’t worthy because the magazine has gotten a few black eyes lately via tabloid gossip is just petty and wrong.” She amazed herself by how resilient and mature she sounded.

Amanda huffed but said nothing.

Isabella continued. “You can bet your SKIMS that Anonymous in NYC is a reader of Naked Runway, and she believes the magazine deserves this award. And I can guarantee you our readers will be behind our win.”

Isabella paused. Had she said enough? How long did an acceptance speech have to be? She scoped the tables in hopes of finding a friendly face. Someone, besides those at her table, who was happy Naked Runway had won. She started at the front tables and made her way back. All the way back. To the exit—back. To…

Her breath caught.

To Chandler. He looked sexy and broody and oh so very casual in jeans and a white T-shirt. What was he doing here? There were reporters everywhere. No way could he want the attention.

An ache she’d thought she had under control reared its ugly head. Sometime over the last few days, Isabella had realized she had ultimately been to blame for his identity being leaked. Had she not talked about him on the phone with Chloe, Amanda wouldn’t have had that information, and there would be no scandal to leak. Which meant she owed him an apology.

Only apologies were for lily-livers.

Which left her with the option of doing nothing or the offering up of a grand gesture. Out of those two choices, the grand gesture would be considered the fun choice.

This was her year to make fun choices.

She exhaled and started speaking. “Furthermore, just so we’re clear, when I say Anonymous in New York City believes we deserve this award, I know what I’m talking about because…I am Anonymous in New York City.”

There was a collective gasp.

“Way back during my senior year in high school, I was bullied at my prom. Chandler Roman, aka the Pillar, came to my aid by introducing me to a woman who changed my world. It was because of her I had the strength to face my classmates the Monday after prom. Chandler was at the hotel in attendance at a wedding reception in which he was the best man. As best men tend to do, he’d drunk plenty that night before I literally ran into him as I ran away from my classmates. As I sat on a bathroom floor bawling my eyes out, he sat in the hallway and talked to me until this woman arrived. During that discussion he urged me not to send a dick pic to the mean girls who’d egged me to do just that. Of course, I did send one, and I hinted that it belonged to him. It did not. It was one I took from a magazine advertisement.

“Something good came out of that awful night for me.” She kept her gaze locked on Chandler. “I met a man who taught me Prince Charming isn’t just a fictional character. He’s real. It wouldn’t be until ten years later that I learned the name of my Prince Charming.”

Pain touched Chandler’s face, and he turned away, as if preparing to leave.

“Chandler,” Isabella said. “I’m so sorry.”

He turned and made eye contact with her.

“Just so you know, you are my once in a lifetime. You’re the man I gave my heart to. I know I’ve given you every reason to not love me back. But I need you to hear me say, I love you.”

“You love me?” The thick emotion in his voice made Isabella wince.

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