The Allure of Julian Lefray (The Allure #1)(62)

“Nice tits,” one assistant said as she finished measuring my chest.

“Uhh, thanks,” I replied as she ran in the opposite direction, having acquired the measurement she needed.

“Is this your natural color?” a hairstylist asked as she ripped the hat and ponytail from my head.

“Yes,” I said, squinting from the pain. Well, it was my natural color before you ripped all of it out

She ran her fingers through the tangles, yanking as she went.

“It’s beautiful. Yes, we’ll leave the color. No time to change it. I’ll freshen up the cut and style it while they do your makeup. Let’s go.”

She wrapped her hand around my bicep and began to pull me after her.

“Hold on!” the woman between my legs protested. “I’m getting her inseam.”

Her hand was two millimeters from my vagina and I’d never seen her in my life.

“What exactly will I be wearing?” I asked the gaggle of people swarming me.

No one appeared to hear me.

In ten seconds flat, I’d gone from Josephine to Cinderella. Except, while Cinderella had evil stepsisters and one fairy godmother, I had Martin and fifteen bitchy birds flitting around me.

There was no time to reflect or consider the sharp turn of events my life had taken. While one woman did my makeup, another woman attacked my haggard nails. I had a woman sizing my feet as another sewed me into a dark blue couture dress.

“I don’t actually know how to walk down the runway,” I admitted after being sewn into the dress. I’ll be honest, a part of me purposely waited to tell them until after they’d sewn me in so that they’d feel pity and let me keep it.

“Honey, how old are you?” the makeup artist asked.

“Twenty-four.”

“So you’ve been walkin’ for at least twenty-three years. Keep your head up, take confident steps, and look where you’re going. Don’t look down, you’ll only trip yourself.”

“But my gown is really short.”

She met my eye in the mirror and shook her head. “They just tailored that dress to your body specifically. It’s the exact length it should be for you to walk just fine. Now stop complaining.”

Alrighty then. That was that. I stayed quiet, trying to conceal my nerves as they finished up working on my face. When I opened my eyes after they’d finished with my eye makeup, Nikki stood behind me in the mirror. I met her eyes and she smiled, seemingly impressed with how I looked.

“It’s time to line up, let’s go.”

I tried to talk some reason into her one more time.

“Are you sure there’s not an actual model they could get for this? I am honestly the least qualified person in this place.”

She laughed. “Yeah, well, when you’re gorgeous, people forgive you. They sure as shit ain’t puttin’ my ratchet-ass cankles out there.”

She yanked me to the side and I almost tripped in my three-inch heels.

“This is your spot.”

I looked to where she was pointing and my heart leapt in my chest. I was positioned among half a dozen super models I stalked on Instagram at least once a day. Charlie Whitlock stood in front of Gigi Hadid. Cara and Giselle were taking a quick selfie. Me? I looked back toward Nikki to find that I was now utterly alone; I wanted to throw up everywhere.

“Places, everyone! The show is about to begin!” Martín yelled from the front of the line. “Walk slow. DO NOT SMILE. Own that runway and then line up quickly for the finale. There is no time for delays.”

He glanced down at his clipboard and I took a final breath as deep bass started bumping through the speaker system. I loved the song.

“Oh!” Martín yelled, drawing our attention once again. “Most of all, remember that you’re all fucking supermodels.”

I felt the vomit rising in my throat.

There’s no way this could end well.





Chapter Thirty-Six


Julian





I skimmed my hand over the breast pocket of my suit, right where my phone lay hidden away in a pocket. I knew as soon as I pulled it out, the show would begin. Even still, I itched to pull it out and check in on Josephine. All day I’d tried to come up with some sort of casual way to reach out to her: How is your Saturday going? Hey, that song you like just came on the radio. What’s up with the unrest in the Middle East?

Thanks to my better judgment, I’d yet to send any of the texts I’d drafted throughout the day. She’d see right through my veiled attempt to pull her back to me. I had to give her space and hope that by Monday, she’d be ready for things to go back to how they’d been before. (That is, us pretending to be friends while subtly eye-fucking the shit out of each other.)

My sister and I were front row center at the Marc Jacobs fashion show. I was mostly out of my element, but I was wearing a new navy suit and Lorena assured me that I fit in just fine. She’d conveniently left out the fact that I’d be one of only a handful of men in attendance. There were beautiful women surrounding me, celebrities I recognized from the latest blockbuster hits, pop stars, and other faces I vaguely recognized from TV, but all I cared about was the phone in my suit pocket and its lack of text notifications.

“You look really handsome,” my sister said from the chair beside me, nudging me with her shoulder.