Curves Couture-Completed

Chapter 7

Chapter7

"Don't stop!"

I groaned out loud then persevered. Grunting hard, I pushed onwards.

"Yes, that's it! Heave it up. Higher!"

I groaned again but did what I was told.

"Yes, that's it. A few more. Yes, more."

I felt exhausted. I didn't think I could keep this up much longer. I huffed out a hard breath and then puffed some more.

"Alright. That's a wrap for today. I'll see you here tomorrow. Same time. Don't be late."

I watched all strung out as my instructor left the private gym that belonged to Erin's company. I was relegated to the back burner along with all the other women in his life as his career took off again in a flying start. Erin and Janice were a hit. So much so they rivalled the celebrity couples both on screen and off screen. Brangelina and Delena didn't hold a candle to Erinice. Even their joint names had a luscious appeal of the exotic.

I tossed my sweat-soaked head back as I grimaced in disgust over my own pathetic nature. It had been weeks since that first photoshop, when I left Erin at that shoot and went for my ice cream, never to see him again. That ice cream cost me plenty, certainly more than just excess calories I didn't need. For it seemed even while I sat there scooping in spoons full of delicious, creamy indulgence, the awe-inspiring awesomeness of their shoot was reaching the ears of the who's who in the industry. Contracts were being drawn up and schedules planned even before the first shot was hot off the printers. I never stood a chance. All I got was a phone call, advising me of the change in plans. Then, I was being hoisted off onto one of the many Erin employees, and he was off on a round-the-world photoshoot tour with none other than Janice as his escort. Still, I had to hand it to my sister; she had every opportunity to brag or even offer a mild 'I told you so,' but she only packed up and left. And I moped over the few calls I received from Erin each week and did my best to read more into his business-like words.

I was pathetic.

I was beyond help!

I shook my head in despair and raised my aching body to my feet, staggering unsteadily on my feet. It has been nearly five months since that day I stupidly agreed to model. Now, here I was, working my ass off in gyms, eating celery sticks, and smiling insanely at every flashing cameras, but that wasn't the worst of it. All that I had been working for would come to fruit this weekend.

I was to make my formal debut on the runway. I looked down at my toned and fleshy body. It was an incongruity, but it worked. I was toned where it mattered and yet retained my feminine fleshiness everywhere else. I looked to all intents and purpose—hot!

I had never been prouder over my figure. I looked as a woman should. Healthy and lush. I was not some skinny scrawny figure. At a size sixteen, I was still considered a plus-size model, just not the weightier kind. I was now acquitted for handling the cat walk without too much unseemly wobble to my steps.

I was confident in my looks and appearance, and more importantly, I had the prerequisite for success down pat—I was perpetually angry! I wore angry on my face with every breath I took, and that was all that was needed of me for assured success.

I actually sent Rafael into raptures when he saw the new me. My long locks had since been shorn off to set off my angry look better, according to Rafael. The new highlights it sported brought out the hidden hues in my eyes and made the natural flush of my skin more becoming. I looked sporty and wholesome and, more importantly, younger than my twenty-four years. Not quite long in the tooth in normal years, but for an upcoming model in the making, it was a steep climb to make in such advance years. Especially when my competition being then, newer models, trotting off the assembly lines, were still very much in their teens.