Page 10 of The Wrong Move

The goals and dreams she shared with me in high school came to life, and I’m about to witness her brilliance. I’ll likely appreciate it more than the others, too, because we shared secret daydreams about our futures before college.

Scanning the crowd, I wonder about the influential guests and if her designs please them. If they don’t, well… An odd sensation builds inside my chest at the thought. My fists clench, and I’m thinking about ways to help and protect her if the media decides to focus on that. I have been in the spotlight for unfavorable reasons, and I don’t want Giana to experience the pain of being publicly humiliated.

She will kill it.

Then I lock eyes with Holden Hayes, the best point guard for the LA Stars and my main competitor. I never took him for a fashion lover. Front row seats?What the fuck.

Jesus, Charlotte, was standing space really the best you could do?

How did I overlook this event and not know Giana would be here? I need to get my head out of my ass and look at the world beyond basketball.

Hayes is sitting beside some teammates, and near them are some NFL players. Why were the LA Sharks overlooked to be represented here? It’s no secret I have a healthy passion to win on the court, and that’s now spilled over to a fashion show. If any of them even look sideways at Giana…

The music switches a beat as the room darkens and silence falls over the crowd. Spotlights brighten the stage, and pink and green stage lights flick over the runway.

Applause.

The presenters walk out and address the crowd, then announce the first fashion label. I’m zoning out between checking out the guests and thinking about training tomorrow.

The first group of models walks onto the runway with exaggerated steps, looking straight ahead. The presenters describe the fall and winter line with soft oranges and pinks, dominant colors among the beige.

My interest piques when the male models walk out. Is this what I should wear to get Giana’s attention? Not a chance.My brother, Jobe, is known for his outlandish outfits, and even he wouldn’t wear anything that colorful.

I sit through three more designer parades before someone announces, “Our next label debuted in Italy, and we are honored to have them joining us tonight. May we presentLeto Designs.”

I push off the wall. The presenters have my full attention.

“What you’re seeing tonight is more than clothing on a runway. It is an innovative creation to take art to the fabric. Isabella Leto and Giana Monroe have worked tirelessly to create forms that function as both fashion and art.”

Each model appears wearing a flowy, sexy yet classy gown. Giana’s art is splashed over the entire dress. After stalking her work, I immediately recognize her style. As more models grace the runway, the presenters continue.

“Giana has been on the cover ofVoguein Italy, France, Turkey, and multiple times here in America.” The applause has me smiling, and I tap out a quick text to Charlotte.

Can you get hold of the issues of Vogue that feature Giana?

“And Isabella Leto has thirty years of fashion under her stunning designer belt. She knows what the people want and changes her designs every season to give us something fresh and awe-inspiring. Her designs have been worn on television and the big screen, and even by the First Lady, who was photographed in a Leto Designs hydrangea flare dress while in France.”

An image flashes onto the screen of the First Lady, and goose bumps trail along my arms. But with every piece paraded by the models, I only see myGiana. Each model fades into the distance as I envision her in the dress, laughing, twirling so the material fans out. Off to the side, the real Giana gazes at her creations with pride.

Damn. My chest swells with emotion.

“The beautiful artwork of Giana Monroe highlights her love of nature, and thanks to this collaboration, we get to wear these beautiful designs. Let’s hear it one more time for Leto Designs.”

The crowd cheers, and I’m there cheering along with them as the last model takes the runway. Isabella and Giana walk out holding hands. They take a bow, and the crowd stands, the applause louder. Giana’s gaze roams over the crowd. She waves and smiles with joy. Just when I think our eyes will meet, hers dart in the opposite direction.

Giana’s smile is broad, and I want to bottle it and memorize her happiness. We have both found our paths in life. Her success will take her around the world and farther away from me.

I have not even got her back yet, and the idea of her leaving cuts deeper than a blade through the heart.

I cough and straighten my spine.

That’s when she sees me. First, her head tilts to the side as if she is figuring out if it’s really me. Her brow pinches ever so slightly.

Good.

She is thinking about me, even if she’s thinking,Why?

I offer a subtle nod, then mouth,Congratulations.

---