Page 10 of Worth Every Moment
Pain splices my hip, but it’s not nearly as bad as whatever has happened to my ankle.
I can’t look up.Can I hear gasps?I don’t want to see the faces in the audience staring at me. I can’t move; my ankle is agony.Could I have broken it? Is that possible?
A clammy sweat breaks out over my body, and the harsh thump of the music resonates through my bones as though I’m lying on top of a speaker.
The model behind me is approaching, which means I’ve only been down here a second or two. She’ll likely walk around me. Or over me. I’m roadkill. Runway kill.Shit. I’m out of time, out of rhythm. I’m messing it all up. I try to stand, but my ankle gives in. I can’t walk. Panic roams through my mind like it owns the place.
Will I have to crawl back?Maybe I could roll off the raised runway and hide out of sight until it’s over. But I can’t do that. I have to finish the walk.
A figure lunges from the seats, his hands slamming onto the runway before he hauls himself up. It’s impressive, how limber he is. How easy it is for him to push up here in his suit. The watch on his wrist.The watch?I hone in on him through the pain. I’d recognise those hands anywhere. Gorgeous, masculine hands…
Seb crouches beside me and his concerned eyes meet mine. I’d love nothing but to throw my arms around him, but we’re already making a scene. Ruining the show. Dominic will be furious. Seb reads my face for a second, maybe two, then nods, realising I won’t abandon the runway.
“I didn’t meanliterallybreak a leg,” he hisses.
I try to smile, but it warps into a grimace as pain lances through my ankle and up my leg, and Seb winces at the sight. He leans towards me, his mouth close to my ear when he whispers, “I’ve got you.” He eases a hand around my waist and loops my arm around his neck. “Lean on me.”
He helps me to my feet and lets me use him like a crutch as I steel myself to walk the rest of the show, all evidence of pain shoved down so deep that you’d never know I was suffering.
He walks the runway like he’s done it a million times, looking every inch the model even with me hanging off him. In another life, he could have done this too.
When we reach the end of the runway, and we’re finally hidden from view, I collapse, slumping against Seb.
“Jesus,” he mutters.
Dominic runs over to us, looking Seb up and down, without so much as a glance at me. “Who designed your suit? What a shame it wasn’t one of mine. That would have been perfect.”
Seb looks horrified. “Perfect?” I try to communicate using only my eyes that this is how Dominic is. The clothes and the show are the number one priority. I never expect more from him.
Dominic huffs. “I’m just saying, you would look fantastic in one of my suits.” He plucks at Seb’s lapel. “This one is not quite—”
“Get your hands off,” Seb growls, and Dominic springs back in alarm. “What the fuck were you thinking, making Erica walk in those stupid shoes?”
Dominic’s lips purse and he turns to me. “Erica. Shit, darling. That was messy. Can you get up again? Can you walk?” He grabs a silk dress from the nearby railing and holds it out to me. “I need you in this in thirty seconds.”
I’ve never missed a show or pulled out. Not once. My body revolts at the idea of abandoning a show halfway through. I try to keep the pain out of my voice as I say, “I… I’m not sure.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Seb accuses Dominic. “She’s in pain. She’s not walking again tonight. And it’s your fault. It’s barbaric to have women walking around on those things.” Seb indicates my broken shoe.
Dominic’s mouth falls open, his brow creasing. “You… you…” he stammers, hardly able to say a word in the face of Seb’s fury. “You know nothing about fashion.” He turns back to me, waving the dress in my face. “You need to get it on. Now.”
Seb yanks the dress out of Dominic’s hands. “If you don’t take this fucking thing away, I’m going to tie it round your neck and hang you with it.” Dominic’s hands fly upwards and he reaches out for the dress, a terrorised expression on his face, but Seb isn’t finished. “She could have broken a bone. Look at her.” He points aggressively at my ankle, which is swelling up like a balloon.
“Seb, don’t,” I say through the pain, digging my fingers into his arm. His jaw clenches and he gives a little sideways jerk of the chin as though he’s mentally telling himself to settle. He shoves the dress back at Dominic, the silk now all crumpled.
Marni appears with a bottle of water and painkillers. She helps me take two and then produces a plastic bag full of ice for my ankle.
“Erica, Erica,” Dominic frets. “The show must go on. It has to be you. The showisyou. You and me, Erica. What can we do? Can we get a shot? Some painkillers injected right in there? Steroids? Someone?”
“Shut the fuck up,” Seb says. “She’s done. She’s not going back out.”
Dominic presses his lips together, furious, as he surveys me. Then he lets out a breath and turns to Seb, fingers steepled. “If you still want to buy my coll—”
“I don’t want to buy your fucking collection,” Seb says through gritted teeth. “I want to make sure Erica is okay. If you aren’t going to help me, fuck off.”
Dominic backs away, half-cowering. Once he’s put some distance between him and Seb, he starts barking orders,redistributing my outfits to other models, and making sure the rest of the show isn’t a second out of time.
“You fashion people are nuts,” Seb mutters, making me laugh, even through the pain. “It’s too noisy here.” Before I know it, he’s lifted me in his arms, using his body to shield my ankle as he pushes through the other models and staff.
