Page 42 of Vengeful Vows

“Slightly away from your body. The walk is simple. Start with one foot in front of the other and go heel to toe, like rolling forward.”

In the ridiculously high-heeled sandals she’d made me stuff my feet into?

Excitement buzzes in the air, fed by the electronic music thumping in Amelia’s main showroom.

One of her assistants hurries over and stabs diamond drop earrings into my lobes, and I wince.

Magazines make this kind of event look elegant, but I’m learning it involves a whole lot of pain.

A necklace is clipped into place, and my hair is fluffed.

“We’re looking for a hip sway,” Amelia goes on. “Engage your core.”

Since I can’t breathe, that one’s easy.

“Shoulders back, but you don’t want to appear stiff.”

How are both possible?

“Pause at the end of the runway and strike a pose. Pop your hip.”

Without dislocating something?

“The intention is to make all the women want the dress.”

No easy task, I’m sure, given the comma in the price tag.

“You’ll want your body language to read as open so that our guests can see every angle of the dress, the way it shows your curves?—”

“Which is something I don’t like.” Since I’ve started seeing Marcello, I have a few more of them than I’d had at Alessandro’s engagement party.

“Are you listening?”

“Are you still talking?” I fire back. At this point, I’m trying to figure out how I don’t trip over my own feet as I execute the pivot before heading up the runway.

“Bella!Pay attention.”

Aware I’ve gotten lost inside my head again, I apologize. “Sorry.” If one of her models hadn’t come down with a cold, I wouldn’t be here at all. Well, I would. I’d be in the audience like I usually am, and where I prefer to be, enjoying every moment of the evening.

After all, every event she puts on at her upscale Rêve de Mode boutique in River Oaks is spectacular.

Amelia invites all her clients and the media, and not just through an email blast or posts on social media. Instead, she sends handwritten invitations, promising a sneak peek at all the upcoming fashion trends. Champagne flows from a fountain, and an award-winning local chocolatier provides desserts. For guests who prefer something different, the patisserie at the Sterling Uptown sends over dozens of macarons in flavors that match her theme.

And she offers a discount on purchases, something only available on those nights she hosts an event.

Which means there’s standing room only in her store.

When the model who has just showed off a luxurious winter coat that can maybe be worn a few times a year in Houston returns backstage, two of Amelia’s assistants strip her and help her into a sleek, satin jumpsuit.

“I thought those things were out of style. Why are women still torturing themselves like this?” Because I’m nervous, I’m babbling.

Ignoring me, Amelia takes a step back and critically looks at me before nodding.

“How do you pee when you wear something like that?”

The assistants accessorize the model with a gorgeous silver armband shaped like a snake.

Maybe I shouldn’t complain. The evening would have been worse if I’d been forced into a jumpsuit.

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