Hello, lovelies! Here's the first official chapter of The Model's Bodyguard and I really hope you like it. It isn't long or all wow but then again what beginning of a story is? Please give it a chance and I assure you I won't dissapoint. I'd love to know what you think! Please remember to VOTE, COMMENT, & FAN if you like it. (: <3
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I ran out of my room at the sound of my alarm clock, throwing on any pair of clothing I found suitable enough to walk out of the building since I had already overslept about twenty minutes. My mother would be asleep in her room so I went over to her so I could say goodbye. She was laying in her bed, looking a little too frail, thin, and pale for me to be happy. It pained me so much to see her like this.
Quietly as if not to ail her, I tiptoed to her side and laid a soft kiss on her cheek, feeling her unsteady breathing, before carefully tiptoeing back out of the room. I glanced at the kitchen before leaving, feeling a bit hungry but I could not eat. Not now. I was minutes away from an important photo shoot and if I ate now then I'd be bloated. The hunger was manageable; I was used to it.
So I walked out of the white double doors of our apartment and made my way down to lobby. As usual, I was greeted by the staff whom I had known ever since I lived here at the Plaza. It had been about four years now.
"Good morning, Milani." Allan the doorman greeted. I gave him a warm smile as he opened the door for me.
"Good morning to you too, Allan." I said and he smiled at me. The New York City air was hot on my skin as I exited the building since we were only in the middle of June so I was happy to get into the cab. I refused to take a private driver. That only took away the magic of New York and made me feel genuinely... fake.
I gave the cab driver the address of the building I was supposed to go to for the photo shoot and looked outside the window at the constant thriving energy of the city and its people. New York was lovely.
Once we arrived I gave the driver his money with a generous tip and stepped outside of the cab then looked up at the tall skyscraper above me. I had the suite number so all I had to was get there and get there quick because I was awfully late.
I knocked on the door as soon as I stood before it and it was instantly open by a frantic woman who seemed extremely relived to see me here. I smiled hesitantly and she rolled her eyes. Well isn't she just lovely?
"Thank God, Milani. We thought you'd never show up!" The woman exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air and turning her back to me, walking deeper into the suite and motioning awkwardly with her thin hands. I took that as my cue to follow her and stepped inside to be met by the usual photo shoot setup. The room was spacious with light beige walls and a huge white panorama. People clad in black apparel walked busily around, looking at me with relived expressions. I wasn't that late, people!
The only person I knew so far was the erratic shaggy-haired photographer whom I had met once and he was adjusting the camera lenses. Another man whispered something into his ear, causing his head to shoot up and he cast his eyes on me. He let out a breath of relief and it looked as if he had just seen God. Seriously. I wasn't that late.
"Milani Belvedere! Finally! I don't know why you supermodels take so long to arrive at a photo shoot. Be prompt for once! By the way, dear, you look splendid today! Was it the beauty sleep? Yes, it was the beauty sleep." He ranted in his british accent, coming to me and taking me by the arm over to hair and makeup area where a mirror, long table, and chair was set up for me. A woman waited for me with a bored expression.
"Hello to you too." I muttered sarcastically but the director, Charles, didn't seem to have noticed.
"There. She's here, this is- Oh, you know who it is." Charles said dismissively and walked away, leaving me with the hair and makeup artist. Almost robotically, I walked up to the chair and perched myself onto it, letting the woman work her magic on me.
After what seemed like hours, and probably was, we were done with hair, makeup, and wardrobe. All I needed now was the actual photo shoot and I could leave, get out of here, eat.
I walked in front of the white panorama in my obnoxiously high heels and waited for them to tell me what they wanted.
"Alright, Milani, we want sophisticated and professional yet interposing and sensual. Can you give us that?" The director asked and I nodded. Of course I could.
"Great." He smiled.
I did what I always did seconds before the first shot was taken just so that I could deliver my best performance. I thought of what I was wearing, my mother's couture line, the makeup, and what the director had just asked for. Then I struck my first pose and was met by the first flashing light.
"Good. Very good." He said, smiling. I struck another pose, came another flashing light, and a petty reward comment. Then the cycle repeated over and over until we were done. I smiled with happiness as I tattered over to the director and the crowd of people hovering over the computer to see the shots.
In the big computer screen was me, all dressed up in the new collection of my mother's couture line. My hair was a deep chocolate brown, my skin a tone of peach, and my eyes were baby blue. I was quite tall for a girl, standing at five foot seven and I was a healthy weight but if it was up to me I'd put on five more pounds. That was highly frowned upon, a big no-no, to the supermodel world. I wondered why.
"You did wonderful, Milani. Very well worth the wait. Your mother will be proud." Charles said, looking at me with admiration in his eyes and smile. I smiled back. My mom would be proud and that was all I wanted to make her: proud. "You're so beautiful. Gorgeous! You made this extremely fabulous, Milani." I chuckled at Charles, amused by the three large adjectives used in so short a compliment but I knew that it was genuine.
"Thank you, Charles. It was really great working with you." I said, smiling at him.
After we were done looking at the shots I made my way back to curtain where I changed behind and put on my clothes, sighing in comfort. God, how happy I was to be out of those contraptions known as stilettos. They were an enormous pain in the ass!
Now dressed and ready to go, I hadn't taken off my makeup or undone my hair. I shrugged. Oh well. Before saying some quick goodbyes I was out and making my way back home.
***
"I'm home!" I called out as I entered the apartment. It was already four in the afternoon so my mom would definitely be awake.
"Over here, Mila." My mom answered and I followed her voice to the kitchen. I saw her standing in front of the fridge, opening it and taking out a carton of ice cream. I wanted some so badly.
I walked up to my mom and took her by surprise by gently wrapping my arms around her torso, careful not to hurt her, then kissed her cheek. Ever since her lung cancer had spread out I had been extra careful with her, too careful actually, almost treating her as a fragile porcelain doll. She had always been an avid smoker, acquiring the nasty habit from her twenty two years in France so it had honestly been no surprise. Even though I had lived in France since I was ten and only recently moved back to America, I had never taken on the habit, finding it quite nasty. Yet it doesn't matter because I know she'll make it. She has to.
My mom instantly responded, giving me a kiss on the cheek as she chuckled quietly and smiled.
"How was the shoot, honey?" She asked, looking at me with happy eyes.
"It was pretty good. Charles is nice." I responded, shrugging.
"I'm glad it went well. Have you eaten?" She asked.
"No. But I'm going to right now!" I said, jumping in excitement at the thought of putting something into my empty stomach. My mom laughed and I walked to the fridge where I took out the basics to a sandwich. My seven years in France had accustomed me to fine cuisine foods but now living in America for four consecutive years I had learned to adapt to the quicker more fattening foods. And you'd think, why did they move to America when they would have thrived in the fashion business back in France? Well, my mom missed her home country and decided to move. Simple as that. Her couture line is one of the best in the world so it had been no problem to relocate and the fact that we had main headquarters spread out among the world's fashion capitals made it that much easier.
I moved to white marble counters of the kitchen and started to prepare myself a sandwich.
"Want one?" I asked my mom.
"No thanks, sweetie. But I have to tell-" My mom started but she didn't finish her sentence because she lapsed into one of her heart wrenching coughing fits. I put everything aside and went over to her where she put her hands to her heaving chest in hopes of calming it down. We both knew it wouldn't work.
"Come on, you should get back to bed or to the sofa. Watch some movies. That okay?" I asked hopefully as I put my arms around her. My mom nodded, still coughing, so I started to walk her to the living room. I helped her sit down, wrapping a wool blanket over her when she was on the sofa and turned on the flat screen television. The remote control sat on the coffee table so I retrieved it and handed it to her.
"I'm going to finish making the sandwich and get you some water, alright?" I asked and she nodded so I turned around to walk to the kitchen. The coughing was subsiding a little but she was still wheezing with soft aggravating sounds. My heart was breaking inside.
Once I quickly finished making the sandwich and got her a glass of water, I went to her. The look on her face as she looked up at me told me something was terribly wrong. My stomach was in ropes and I became anxious. What is it?
"Are you alright? Let's go to the hospital, come on." I said frantically, walking over to her but she held up a thin limp hand, telling me to stop.
"No, Mila. Just sit with me. We need to talk." She said, giving me a soft and reassuring smile. I put the sandwich down on the coffee table, suddenly not hungry, and handed her the glass of water which she gratefully took. I waited for her to speak.
"What is it?" I asked anxiously. My mom looked back at me.
"I'm sick." She said and I nodded, already knowing that. "Very sick, Mila. Worse than last time." She said carefully, speaking as if I was a child. I knew that too. She was thinner, weaker, this time the coughing fits were longer and much stronger.
"Almost two weeks ago I had my doctor come while you were at a shoot and I didn't tell you. I was solely going to speak to them until I started to cough, really cough, in front of them. They took me to the hospital and checked things out." She said, pausing suddenly to look at me. I took her free hand and looked into her eyes, willing her to go on. I was a little mad too. Why hadn't she told me?
"I didn't tell you because I didn't want to worry you, Mila. There's already so much on your shoulders and you take so much care of me that I just couldn't burden you further." My mom answered my unspoken question through a pained voice.
"It's okay. Just don't do it again because I need to know things. Is that all?" I asked hopefully but I didn't believe that was all she had to say.
"No, there's more." My mom answered and I waited once again for her to speak.
"Mila, I'm going to be honest and tell you everything." I nodded. "I don't think I'm making it this time." She whispered and almost as if on cue came another gut wrenching coughing fit. I moved closer, rubbing her shoulders as she coughed.
"Don't say that. Don't ever say that. You will make it, Mom. I promise." I said, my eyes tearing up at her loss of hope. There was no way of making it through if my mom lost all hopes of surviving.
"You don't understand, honey. I'm not well. The cancer has spread and it's come back stronger this time. Too strong. I don't think I can fight it off this time." She painfully confessed and I looked at her with pleading eyes.
"Just promise me you'll try." I said, silent tears now fell down my face. My mom lifted her frail hand and gently wiped them away, pleading to me with her eyes to stay strong for her.
"I promise I'll fight as long as you promise me something in return." She said, eyes and voice now serious and stern.
I nodded, "Anything." I said.
"Promise me that if I don't make it you'll live your life to the fullest. Do everything that life offers you and only what makes you happy. Promise me that you won't forever live in grief because of me but that you will always remember me, your silly little momma." My mom spoke with a weak smile, crying softly along with me. I squeezed her hand gently.
"It won't come down to that, Mom." I protested desperately.
"Just promise me, Mila. For my own state of mine, please?" My mom pleaded, looking at me with desperation in her eyes. I nodded, needing to comfort her. I'd do anything to make her happy because she had done just as much for me in all of my twenty one years.
"Alright. I promise, mom." I said and she smiled in contentment. I scooted closer to her and gently wrapped my arms around her to give her a hug. She put her arms around me too and I heard her soft sobs mix in with mine. I couldn't lose her. I couldn't lose another my parent. My dad had passed away when I was ten and that was why I had lived in France up until four years ago. My mom had wanted a new start in a new country with a new home because the grief had taken over her life. She had loved my father with all her heart, they were soul mates.
She smoked. God did she smoke. I had told her to stop for years until it became a lost hope and was engraved into her as a horrible Parisian habit. I could do nothing about it and now that I was holding her her so weakly in my arms I wished that it had been otherwise.
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Please VOTE! :D I guess it seems like it will be a sad and dramatic story but that is NOT true. Please trust me and stick with it. You won't regret it. Thanks! On the side is a pic of Mila. (: