Page 99 of Have To Be Mine

He grinned. “Consider it done. You really think this is going to work?”

I shrugged. “It has to. If it doesn’t, the swimwear still gets attention because everyone is going to be talking about the spectacular failure. It’s a win-win.”

“You don’t mind them chalking this up to a disaster?”

“It won’t be the first one I’ve navigated.” I looked my cousin up and down, thinking I had judged him too harshly when he’d shown up here. He had the Hollywood good looks of all the LA Blackwells, of which there were many. I figured I might as well put it to good use. “After you do that, you want to be in the show?”

He laughed. “Seriously?”

I gestured to my bare feet and untucked shirt. “Lean in or stand out.”

He started laughing and kicked off his loafers. Then he stuffed his socks into his loafers. “Lean in.”

“Good man.” I clapped him on the shoulder.

“Good luck,” he said before walking over to where the influencers were gathered.

No matter how this all ended up, no one would be able to say I didn’t go for it.

32

KRISTA

From where I sat trapped in gridlocked traffic, I noticed when the hilltop exploded with light. Even through the rain, golden beams shot straight up into the sky in defiance of nature’s fury. It had to be Dash.

The show was happening. He was actually going to try pulling it off. And I’d left him. I ran away when things got complicated and my own fear became too much to handle. I convinced myself he didn’t need me anymore. My job was done and I was fleeing for my own sanity.

“Miss?” The driver turned around to look at me. “The traffic, it’s not moving. Could be another hour, maybe more.”

I stared at those lights. At the challenge Dash was facing on the side of that hilltop. An hour. The show would be over by then. I’d miss everything. I’d miss my chance to tell him I was sorry and tell him I’d been wrong.

“Unlock the doors.”

He looked at me like I’d lost my mind. Maybe I had. I didn’t care anymore. He unlocked the door and I paid him, including a generous tip. Then I pushed open the door and stepped out into the rain. It was coming down harder than I’d thought, immediately soaking through my T-shirt and cargo shorts. Thank god my white bra was very sensible and I wouldn’t be giving any of the locals a show.

“Miss! Your luggage!”

“Take it back to where you picked me up please!” I didn’t look back. My luggage didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except getting back to the show. Back to him.

My hiking sandals gave me the grip I needed on the wet streets. And Dash had made fun of them. Who was laughing now?

I ran, pacing myself to run a seven-minute mile. The road was steep. Of course it was steep. Everything in Santorini was either up or down. My lungs burned within minutes, but I was in decent shape. All that running and PT and I was using it to save my heart instead of in battle.

Rain streamed into my eyes, making it hard to see. My feet slipped on the slick cobblestones. I kept running. Cars honked as I wove between them, jumping onto sidewalks when there was no room on the road. My hair came loose from its ponytail and whipped around my face. I probably looked insane. I definitely felt insane.

But I couldn’t stop.

The lights grew brighter as I climbed higher. I could hear music now, something with a driving beat that carried down the hillside. The sound of voices. Applause. The show was in full swing and I was missing it.

I pushed myself harder. My legs were screaming by the time I reached the entrance to the show. I bent over, hands on my knees, gasping for air. My chest heaved and my heart hammered so hard I thought it might burst through my ribs and bring the contents of my stomach with it. Then I looked up and forgot how to breathe for an entirely different reason.

It was magic.

The runway stretched before me, gleaming wet under the golden lights. The illumination caught the rain as it fell, transforming each droplet into a tiny spark. The whole scene glittered and shimmered like something out of a dream. It looked like a scene straight out of Greek mythology.

Models walked through the rain like goddesses. Their hair was wet, slicked back, or falling in perfect waves. They were bare-footed, every elegant step across the wet runway creating tiny ripples that reflected the light. Their makeup was somehow still flawless—bold eyes, glossy lips that caught the light. And the swimwear. Oh God, the swimwear was stunning. Gold accents gleamed against jewel tones. Fabric clung to wet skin in ways that were both sensual and powerful.

The wet crowd was on their feet. Not huddled under umbrellas looking miserable but standing, cheering, completely caught up in the spectacle. Phones were everywhere, capturing every second. This wasn’t just a runway show anymore. It was an event. A moment in time that people would talk about for years.