Breathe Out (Just Breathe, #2)(103)

We stand silently for a minute not sure what to say as Nathan speaks on the microphone.

“Have you found her yet?” I check.

“No,” Chris sighs. “Have you changed your mind?” He smiles, hoping that I may have.

“No,” I reply gently.

Chris shrugs his shoulders. “Had to ask.”

“I understand,” I say, surprisingly not uncomfortable with his attempt.

“And, without further adieu, ladies and gentlemen,” Nathan declares. “Emma and Chris.”

Chris takes the few steps up to the runway first, offering his hand to assist me. We take our time walking down the catwalk as nothing but flashing lights can be seen. Chris and I have a little fun with our walk, smiling and goofing as we hit the end of the platform. The crowd roars with laughter and applause.

When the lights turn on, Chris escorts me down to the main floor and we stand, waiting patiently as everyone moves forward to inspect my dress and ask questions. Good thing I peed right before we made our entrance because the room is packed with almost a hundred people, not counting the catering staff.

“Emma,” one reporter shouts. “Where’s the dress from the premier?”

“It’s here,” I offer. “This was the alternate dress Nathan made for me.”

“An alternate dress? What do you mean?” the reporter continues.

“Nathan wasn’t sure if I would wear the original dress, so he made this one just in case,” I explain.

“Why is that, Nathan?” another reporter prods.

“I had two visions, the first one was the dress that Emma wore to the premier. However, I was nervous that she may not wear it . . . it is quite revealing,” Nathan shares.

“So, where is the other dress?” the reporter requests.

With a giddy smile, Nathan walks beyond the news crew to the wall behind them that is covered by a curtain that looks like it’s part of the decor. Nathan reaches up and tugs on a hidden tassel. The curtains open, unveiling a large wall length enclosure with the dress resting on a manikin in the middle of it with plenty of room for the outfits my friends are wearing. There are large pictures from the premier of us wearing the clothes scattered on the wall.

The crowd gaps in awe as their cameras lift and lights flash.


“What is that neck piece made of?” a female reporter asks.

“Solid gold,” Nathan shares.

All of the women gape in wonderment — I don’t doubt picturing themselves in the dress.

“So, Emma,” one reporter begins, pushing her microphone at me. “Are you and Chris an item yet?”

“No,” I sweetly offer. “Just friends.”

“By the looks of the fun you two were having up there, I’d say there’s a spark . . . a connection,” she probes.

“There’s always a level of comfort and ease between friends,” Chris comments. “But, I did ask her if she’s changed her mind just before we came out.”

“Of course you did,” the woman goads.

“You can’t blame me, can you?” Chris baits.

I laugh as she replies, “Not at all. So, Emma.” She sticks the microphone back in my face. “Some people have been saying that your answer for Chris has something to do with the supposed relationship that’s between you and billionaire-bachelor, Joseph Covelli?”

“No,” I somewhat lie. “Who’s making those statements?”

“People,” she answers.

“What people?” I challenge.

“People on twitter,” she expands. “There’s have been several photos of you and Joe scattered across the internet.”

I laugh. “It’s amazing what people can do with Photoshop these days,” I reply. “Besides, Joe and I are friends. Our best friends married each other. We’re bound to hang out when we all get together.”

“You’re the only two in the group who aren’t dating someone,” she presses. “Are you two dating each other?”

“No,” I chuckle.

“You’ve got to give me more of an answer than that, girl,” she playfully demands. “You’ve got a captive live audience watching and wanting to know.”

“Let’s just say,” I begin, pausing for a little dramatic effect. “I’m not the kind of girl that does relationships.”

“So, are you a lesbian?” she stipulates.

“I don’t see how my sexual preferences would matter with regards to whether I date or not,” I sternly comment while presenting a smile.

“Do you plan on being a part of the event for Nathan’s first fashion show in New York?” a male reporter jumps in.

“I’ll be attending, but we haven’t discussed my level of participation,” I reply. “As happy as I am to support my friend, I think I should leave the modeling up to the models. They’re professionals. Besides, I’d probably trip or something if I did.”

The reporter laughs at my insinuation. “You don’t seem like the clumsy type, Emma,” he challenges playfully.

“I’ve been known to be a little ungraceful from time to time on my feet,” I muse back.

“What were your thoughts when you first saw the dresses?” another reporter inquires.