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Lolly comes strutting toward me, her hair piled high in a fascinating updo that makes her look like some kind of futuristic beehive. Her uniquely shaped white feather dress looks almost like a fountain as it flows upward and out from her body. And she winks at me as we pass on the catwalk.
Lifting my chin, I take charge, strutting down the long stage above the audience to show off another of Iris Van Herpen’s newest line. My first outfit for the night is made up of golden scalloped frills that arch around my body, covering my breasts and everything from the hips down with metallic swirls. But when I walk, it ripples with me, looking almost like the movement of some exotic creature of the deep.
Somewhere, in the sea of photographers, I hear Donnie’s signature Italian accent, and when he tells me to give him a twirl, I do it.
Because in the fashion industry, he’s done more for my career than all the other agencies and employers combined.
Dani Richlieu showed me my passion.
But Donnie took me under his wing and welcomed me into modeling with open arms.
“Over here, Mel!”
“No, over here!”
The calls are all around me, but the rest fade into the background. And after I give Donnie a special shot, I keep on walking until I reach the turnaround point. Hitting a few different poses, I work the crowd. Then, I turn to head back the way I came.
Cami’s on the walk as I head back in, and we do a brief exchange as well, sharing a coy smile before I leave the audience in her capable hands.
I’m breathless from the excitement as three dressers surround me the instant I’m behind the curtain. They swiftly get to work, stripping me from my first outfit to the next.
“I’d offer to help, but I’m not so sure you’d end up wanting it,” Gleb says cheekily as he comes to stand nearby.
He keeps his arms crossed over his chest—a silent warning to any wandering eyes—but in the hectic rush of putting on a good show, no one cares whether I’m naked or not. Except maybe my husband.
“Thanks,” I say dryly, but I can’t help but smile because I know he’ll be performing his own kind of wardrobe change on me when we get home.
And I can’t wait.
“You know, you can join the front row,” I remind him. “I did ask them to save you a seat. You might actually get to enjoy the show this time.” Not that I want him to leave, but I can’t imagine my fashion shows are all that fun for him when he’s stuck backstage. All the action’s out front.
“Not a chance,” he says. “I don’t mind leaving this task to a bodyguard most of the time, but only I get to keep a close eye on you when you’re stripping naked.”
I roll my eyes at him, and refocus my attention on helping one dresser pull a snug, jewel-encrusted sleeve up my arm.
Since I’ve made massive headway in my modeling career this year, Gleb insisted that I take on a bodyguard. And while it sometimes feels like I have a full-time babysitter, I know he’s right.
It can be a little unsettling when strangers come up to me on the street. And it happens a lot now. They recognize me from my billboard in Times Square—a shot Donnie captured during one of his photoshoots for Impress. Not to mention the numerous slots I’ve occupied in fashion shows since a modeling agency decided to take me on.
But despite the shift in my status as a celebrity, and the life adjustments that have come with it, I’m happier than I’ve ever been in my life.
I’ve certainly been busy, which is a good distraction since Gleb is spending a considerable amount of time making trips to Upstate New York for his top-secret mission Pyotr finally gave him permission to tell me about.
Apparently, while the Veles continue to lie low and rebuild their numbers, Gleb’s main task these past eight months has been communicating in secret with his brother Sascha, who’s working as a spy in Mikhail’s operation there—at the estate, Gleb rescued me from, once upon a time.
It still makes me queasy knowing what goes on there. Which is the only reason I can stand Gleb’s extended absences. Because he and Sascha—and the rest of Pyotr’s men—are going to take the sick bastard down. And I can’t wait for that day, and the day I get to keep Gleb closer to home.
Still, despite his frequent trips north, when Gleb is home, he’s an amazing father, and a better husband than I ever could have dreamed.
“Mel, it’s you!” Tina calls, and I scramble to get my feet in my new pair of heels.
But I still take the time to give Gleb one last parting glance.
And he sends me off with a dashing smile.
I love how willing he is to let me take the spotlight. His support of my career means the world to me, and all those fears that plagued me about losing control of my life were for nothing. Because rather than holding me back or tying me down, Gleb has offered me the world.
He makes it safe. He makes it fun. He gives Gabby and me the kind of love and protection that means we don’t have to fear what’s around every corner, what’s behind every door, or lurking in every ally. Because with him watching over us, no one would dare to touch us.
