“I did keep it a secret. Someone hacked in and figured it out.”
“No, you tried and failed to keep the location a secret but you told the whole world about the secret.”
She looked down. “I’m trying to help. And it worked. We saved the park.”
“By doing just what the resort would have done, by exploiting and possibly destroying the resources that are already there.”
“No, that’s not it at all.”
“It is. Look, Melodia. Why couldn’t you just stick with what you do best? Make appearances, share your opinions at the press conference, smile and wave and look pretty! We almost won. They were catching on. Without destroying “Glow bay.” He held up his fingers in quote marks.
Her expression looked stricken, and she just about wilted in front of him.
His conscious pinged. He knew she was sensitive about how useful she could be. But this is exactly what he was talking about. Converse with people who knew, who understand the country and the issues. “Look, Melodia. I know you have a lot to offer. I just think you should consult with people who know.” And he had trusted her. She had agreed to keep it a secret.
She stood straighter, a fire burning in her eyes. “No, Daniel. I know what you mean. And you’re right. I’ll stick with smiling and waving. I’m good at that. Internationally superb. I’m about to sign a multi-million dollar deal. Let me know if you need another flash of my white teeth.” She whirled around and left him standing in the empty hallway. He could go after her, but he stopped. They were a mess. One argument after another. No matter how fascinated he was with Melodia, they had never completed one day without arguing about something. And he had work to do. His phone pinged. The police boats had arrived and they were putting up signs and ribbons warning people to stay away. But Daniel knew it was a nightmare. And especially come nightfall, the place would be packed.
Chapter 12
Melodia had just finished the best runway walk of her life. The cameras ate her up. She was made for the dress and they moved as one. As soon as she exited the stage, her mouth broke into a large grin. A group of men in suits approached. She recognized one as the largest designer in all of Italy and the maker of the dress she wore. Two followed who looked to be assistants, judging by their hurried and anxious expressions. And the others seemed to be decision makers of some kind. She cleared her throat to speak.
But they ignored her. The man immediately began a long description of the dress, its features, where it would be seen, and who had purchased it already. The whole clothing line that would follow would be similar. And on he went, not once addressing her. She automatically stood appropriately, turned when needed, lifted arms, held her chin at an appealing angle and kept her eyes trained elsewhere. But her heart tore in two. She had forgotten. In the brief time her opinions had mattered she had once again expected to be a human to these people.
The men finished talking and walked away. One of the assistants noticed she did not follow and hissed her over.
She moved her feet, and played her part, the dress hanger. She didn’t blame the profession. You could be very successful and make excellent money as a model. And she knew she could perform as expected, especially after they gave her another chance with the big designers. Her father’s words echoed in her mind. “Just smile pretty, honey, it will get you far.”
One time one of his friends had followed her down the hall to the kitchen. “You’ll smile pretty for me, won’t you honey?” He rested a hand on her shoulder.
She remembered her confusion, the test of her loyalty. Her father was nowhere in sight, but his encouragement to make the men happy, to smile for them rang in her ears. She swallowed her revulsion at the memory, and hid the pain behind a trained, distant expression. That was the first of many visits down the hallway to the kitchen.
Years had gone by, therapy, and she had dealt with all these memories, felt like they were behind her; but they surfaced again now, why? She wished to brush them away back where they were, so that they pained her no more. Something about being heard, listened to, the thrill of making a difference, the magic of Daniel. Her face warmed as she thought of him. The expectation to be something more had sparked inside her and everything else paled in comparison. It festered away at her past complacency and dulled the allure of a modelling career.
She followed the men and assistants down the next hallway and into an office. They discussed the dress, still. She wondered if they knew someone wore the dress. At the thought, a laugh grew in her throat and she had to choke to stifle it. The designer stopped talking and looked her in the eye. She held her breath, not knowing what to do. Then he said, “Well done. You are a good match for this dress, pleased to have you working with us.”
Then he went back to his discussion.
And Melodia wildly blinked back tears. One of her team, who had likely been in a panic until they found her, held out a tissue.
When she was finally back in her room, in a flat overlooking the city, she washed her face, put her hair in a bun on top of her head, slipped into some yoga pants, and relaxed on her balcony.
The sounds of Milan below her, sent relaxing vibes. She had arrived at the pinnacle of her modelling career. A major designer, no,themajor designer in all of Italy just hired her to specifically model his newest line. Her agent had been shouting with so much excitement that Melodia had held the phone away from her ear. Milan was gorgeous and she could travel through Italy on weekends. Plans for Siena, Venice, and Rome were already mapped out in her mind.
But she missed Daniel. And she wished things were different. He was the first man to almost see her as something more, to appreciate something about her other than her beauty.
She snorted, but that is what attracted him to her in the first place, so really, was he any different? But she missed him, perhaps all the more because he said things like, “your mind is beautiful.” She let out all her breath in one great sigh. Then she pulled out her laptop to check on how the campaign was wrapping up in Torren. And her searching reminded her of the debacle she created for Daniel’s lovely bioluminescent bay. She refused to call it glow bay simply because the name seemed so abhorrent to Daniel. People still tried to access the bay. The police were still employed in a blockade around the entrance, by sea and land. She shook her head. One news article attacked the crown for employing the police unlawfully. If the land were public, all should have free access. They were accused of creating their own royal resort. There had to be another, better way to protect the bay. Her mind started spinning and she typed furiously on her keyboard. If she hurried, perhaps she could help. She could get everything in place in a couple days.
* * *
Daniel clutcheda folder of papers in his grip. Melodia had left it on her table, with a note, “some suggestions.”
As he read through the fifty page document, he was astounded at her research, at her thoughts, at the emotional way in which she delivered them. He had called a press conference that same morning so that he could express these ideas. Then his assistants were at this moment typing up press releases and writing opinion pieces and sending in letters to the editor with the same material. He shook his head. Melodia was a genius. And for the first time, an image of her beauty did not come to mind. He was filled instead with thoughts of her humor, her courage, her desire to throw herself into the cause.
His phone beeped. And he smiled. The last minister was on board. He said Daniel’s latest information had been enough to convince him.
And so they’d done it. So much fanfare to get to this point, and the solution, the win, came in the quiet of the palace hallway as a text to his phone. He should tell Melodia right away. He should tell her a lot of things. But he didn’t know how, and wasn’t sure she would welcome his visit. And he was still angry about the bay. If he reached out when he was feeling warm toward her, they would eventually be pushed into a situation where they were at odds again. Perhaps it was time to let her go. His fingers flew across his phone, texting. But he could let her know the good news. She deserved that at least. “At last we won. The ministers are all in agreement. The park is saved.”
She whipped out a response. “Not yet. Must save the bay.”