Don't Remind Me

Chapter 41: The Party Poopers

"Are you nervous?" Azaan murmured beside me in the car.

"Is gasoline fucking flammable?" I griped back. He chuckled darkly at that, wisely silencing himself.

He didn't tell me to not be nervous. And I appreciated it. Nothing annoys me more than when people attempt to fill awkward conversations with empty words about impossible things.

"Just stop being nervous!"

"Just stop feeling angry about your Dad's indifference."

"Just ignore the hate graffiti against you and your family, that is adorning the walls of Karachi!"

"Stop being so depressed all the time! Live a little!"

"Forget the past. You need to move on!"

News Flash: I CAN'T!

There's no "off" switch for emotions. Dammit. I feel what I feel.

"Don't bite me for saying this...but...I uh...I think you look beautiful tonight." He coughed self-consciously, eyeing the two armed guards watching us expressionlessly from the opposite seats. I melted inwardly at his discomfort. That's how I know this is real. Because no matter how much of a lady's man he pretends to be, he is nervous when it's for real.

"You haven't even seen my dress." I fingered the cool silk red trench coat shrugged over my strategically chosen dress. "I'm sure you'll change your mind when you see all of me."

I'm done hiding myself.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure I won't." He winked at me, flashing a brief grin.

I couldn't help feeling slightly glowy inside.

"You look...professional." I eyed the photographer gear slung around his neck. A counterfeit Press Pass dangled from his jeans pocket. His plain black tee, and red Ferrari baseball cap fit his frame to perfection. He was even chewing a mint gum, to "Get in character" as he had informed me.

"Duh." He snapped the gum lazily.

Then the car slowed down for the security scan at the Hotel's entry gate. Heart hammering, I involuntarily reached for Azaan's hand. He didn't say a word as his large fingers closed over mine. I think I heard him say my name, but the pulse was too loud in my head to be sure.

Showtime.

.............

The plan was supposed to be pretty straightforward. Supposed to be....

Sneak our models and clothes a day before the event. Gatecrash the cat-walk. Make a scene. Walk out.

Simple.

The key was to grab our confiscated security passes from the "Friend" we had inside the Bridal Couture Week management team. Since our allotted prep rooms were already in use by someone else, we had to splurge on a couple of huge honeymoon suites in the swanky hotel where BCW was being held. Razi was in charge of making sure that our models didn't blurt to their friends about our plan. He was eerily good at scaring the "Barbies".

Shay was pretending to be an upcoming designer debuting at the BCW. She was our cover. Also, she was having way too much fun faking a British Accent, and loudly complaining about the lack of quinoa at the salad bar.

Her husband insisted on joining our "Flubbing suicide mission". Faris was acting as her bodyguard, and It was hilarious, seeing him glower at Razi whenever the "Real" designer lost his temper around his wife.