Oh, God.
I should've known Natalie Wattson wanted me down but I couldn't help feeling shocked. Very, very shocked. I don't know...maybe because I had been feeling something horrible deep inside, telling me that Natalie was not what the duke or Michael originally thought of her, and some part of me -- the one that was guilty -- told me she was innocent and just wanted Michael and I to be happy together; that she accepted the fact that her Adonis of an ex-boyfriend was getting married to an American nobody.
Uh, correction -- an American bitch.
Now there was something more different lurking inside me. Something I knew so well, it was hard to miss it. It was that anger. That sarcasm. That toughness.
That part of me that didn't want to back down and give up.
This was who I was and still am.
I knew that I was only fighting over a guy, but this was the one I love. Love like I had experienced with Michael back in the cottage didn't just come on top of a silver platter. It was earned.
And right now, I was seriously pissed off.
"I cannot believe her!" Emerson boomed, flailing her hands in the air.
Viv looked at her and placed a hand on her hip. "We've always had that gut-wrenching feeling that she's not who the others think she is. We're right all along. Natalie's here to steal Michael back."
"I know! But Dad likes her! It's unbelievable." She began to sneer, "She's one great actress. You know, instead of being a model, she should have gone to bloody theatre school. Or a mental institution. You saw her footage, yeah? She's mad!" she whispered, her face twisted in disgust.
"We have to think of another plan. A good one." Viv began scratching her smooth chin, pacing back and forth across the living room area. "But what?"
"Grandmama won't help us till we come up with a bloody good plan."
I wanted to tell Michael everything about Natalie, but he might not believe me. I wanted him to see that she was insane; that she was completely obsessed with him! I wanted to embarass the supermodel, but how?
"Keller," I heard Frederick say softly, coming up behind me. "Are you all right?" He touched my shoulders.
I just realized then that I was shaking so bad because of my anger.
And then, something dawned on me.
Tomorrow. The engagement ball. Natalie would be there, topping off whatever gown Lady C had for me and the girls. The diary of Marge Swinton -- Lady Margaret Swinton Cutting.
Now that I knew who Countess Lockley was, I had a plan. I didn't smirk arrogantly nor did I laugh triumphantly because I had something up my sleeves.
Instead, I gave Frederick a curt nod and walked stiffly yet determinedly out of the room, saying loudly, echoing through the mansion halls, "That skinny bitch is going down."
^^^^^
Today was the day the Marc Tuisson crew came to Rossington Park.
The crew set up a white tent for the "models" to help them get dressed and made up. It was only eight in the morning, thus, most of us should have been groggy, but instead, it was like Paris Fashion Week, where everybody was bouncy and fast.
I didn't know why we had to be quick since we had all day but the taskmaster of the clothing line explained that they only had four hours for the shoot-which would take a lot of shots to perfect the five-page spread on a magazine for the Marc Tuisson ad. The reason was because another new upcoming designer, Ria Delacorte, was scheduled to come at exactly two p.m. where, personally, Ria would come on time with her own crew members.
And now here we were, in the tent, where Natalie, Viv, Emerson and I had one hour of hairdressing and makeup done perfectly and professionally by artists from New York and Paris.
The shoot was set up near the giant fountain area at the courtyard of the mansion, where a vanity table, chaise longue, and an elegant table was set on the side, shaded by trees.
The taskmaster (agent) was happy about us because we were all so tall, Natalie and Emerson towering over Viv and I by an inch. We also had that graceful bone structure that was perfect for the elegance of the Tuisson name. He said the head of the line would be happy about us and the shoot.
We were all dressed in elegant ball dresses that ended just below the knee, layers of skirts made of soft chiffon, tulle, and silk wrap. We were all wearing gowns that would compliment our skin and features.
For Natalie, since she was pale and fragile-looking (ha! Emerson, Viv and I couldn't stop scoffing at that statement), she would wear the gorgeous baby pink gown with the swansdown neckline, the back revealed a touch too low. Emerson had that dark, mysterious look, so they gave her the red ball dress with the bodice curling up around her neck to her small waistline.
Viv and I were tanned from San Ricardo -- you didn't need to go to tanning booths; just walk outside San Ricardo, and you'll have an instant tan because of the ninety-five degrees of sun exposure -- we had gowns that would compliment our complexion.
Viv had the elegant white ball dress with a heart-shaped bodice and pearls sewed onto every part of the top, a delicate ribbon at the back. My gown, finally, was a gold ensemble with topaz and diamond gems sewed at the skirt in flattering patterns.
We put on high heels and our hair was done up with elaborate curls and sleek updos, barrettes or flowers placed at the side of our chignon. We had three gowns each to wear, all in all.
As we all stepped out of the tent, our hands covered in white or tan gloves from wrist- to elbow-length, holding a bag each from the clothing line. The Cutting family and Anthony Wattson watched beside the taskmaster and the happily satisfied makeup artists and dressing crew finally stopping fussing around us.
I saw the dowager looking imperiously regal and unapproachable, yet her baby blue eyes twinkled as she saw her real granddaughter and two soon-to-be-granddaughters-in-law look splendid in their ensemble.
I noticed she didn't even look at Natalie, who was the most gorgeous of us all in her dress.
Frederick was looking proud and stunned as he saw us, especially at the sight of Viv, looking like an angel. Maxwell was scrutinizing us, his legs crossed elegantly, watching silently. Anthony was smiling, yet when he watched his sister walk toward the mark where she was supposed to stand on, that smile faded. Probably, he remembered what happened to them earlier inside his sister's guest bedroom.
I gave him a little smile of sympathy and when he saw my grin directed at him, he brightened, giving me back a small grin, nodding his head.
Michael saw it. I knew he did. But he shrugged and gave me a wink, that famous crooked smile, that always turned me to Jell-O, glowing my way. I truly kind of slacked when I stood on the X mark on my feet, just because of his damn smile.
"All right, ladies," the taskmaster said (his name was Jonathan, but everyone was used to calling the "the taskmaster" behind his back). "Here's the thing: Emerson, darling, you are going to face the vanity table, looking at yourself in the mirror. Like...you're about to dab on lipstick. In fact, pick that lipstick up -- yes, gorgeous! Keep on acting like you're going to swipe it on your red lips some more." Emerson grinned brilliantly at him.
"And Vivian, you sit on that chaise longue -- peeeerfect! Yes, just sit there and cross your legs as Grace Kelly would sit like royalty. Can you move your left hand a bit and touch your bag with the other? Great."
Viv was a natural, really. She joined pageants when she was younger. Also, she joined local ads for the town back in California.
The taskmaster turned to Natalie. "Honey, you know what to do. Just lean on that table, arms behind prettily while the Tuisson bag is beside you." Natalie nodded, doing as she was told with easy smoothness.
"And Keller," the taskmaster addressed and eyed me.
"I'm sure you'll do well." Natalie smirked, still in her position, at me.
Thing is, before the Marc Tuisson crew came here, I was walking down the hallway leading to the library, where I bumped into the snake. She was looking better -- beautiful, as usual -- and her hair was tied into a high ponytail while she was dressed in silk Armani caprice, a gray camisole and ballet flats.
I looked at her, not saying anything. I could see that, though her eyes were now fine, it was obvious that if you looked closely, they were slightly puffy and red from crying.
Who could blame her? Her brother didn't want to side with her anymore (whatever they did before to ruin people's lives was beyond me), and Michael was engaged to me, the girl she hated.
She had smiled, feigning shock. "Oh my! Why, hello, Keller."
"Sorry I bumped into you. I wasn't looking clearly."
And it was true, because all I had seen was red. Plus, as I walked, Natalie's words came running back in my mind, replaying over and over again.
And...something I hated.
I saw that my mind was playing tricks on me because I saw Michael and Natalie getting engaged and worse: happy.
"No big deal," Natalie had assured me, patting my arm gently.
All I had wanted to do was shrug her hand off of me. "I know," I muttered.
"So. Excited about the shoots later?"
I'd nodded. "Yeah. I am."
"I personally cannot wait for the Story Line shoot by Ria Delacorte. She's fabulous." Natalie had winked. "Got a call from her, telling me there's going to be a love triangle involved."
"Sure, whatever. Can't wait, either."
Then I'd swept past her and continued toward the library. All the while, I heard Natalie's loud, sparkly laugh echo through the halls. It wasn't just a laugh. It was more like a cackle that rang of triumph and meanness.
Now the taskmaster came up to me, searching my eyes with his brown ones. "You okay, Keller?"
I closed my eyes, nodding. I looked over my shoulder and saw Natalie give her Cheshire smile. In her eyes, I could see the words American bitch. She wasn't pretending to like me anymore.
This was even.
I glared at her with my green eyes, slicing her. I turned to Jonathan. "I'm fine. What do you want me to do?"
Jonathan saw the challenge in my eyes and heard it in my voice. He smiled ecstatically. He liked this.
"Okay! I want you to hold this vintage crystal bottle."
He gave me the item in the shape of a heart, with topaz-colored liquid in it. I held the pump with my right hand, and the bottle with my left.
"Arch your neck gracefully, your eyes looking sultry. Move your head an inch toward the camera...beautiful! Straighten your shoulders and arch your back just a bit, darling. There." He turned to the photographer. "Okay, Louie! Take your shots!"
"Remember, girls, that you should play with the objects you have," the taskmaster reminded, clapping his hands to call silence. "'The first pose I made you is for the first shot, just to give you an idea; but after that, make your perfume bottle, chair, vanity table, and lipstick work like magic!"
When Louie began taking his shots, I did all the best I could to make my poses work with the perfume bottle I had and the bag beside me.
I thought of Grace Kelly, Elizabeth Taylor, Audrey Hepburn, even Margaret Swinton.
I caught the eye of the dowager. She was smiling at me. It was that rare one of hers. I couldn't help but feel touched.
I also noticed that Michael and Anthony were staring at me with something in their eyes that told me differently in a good way. They were looking intently, yet admiringly.
I made up my poses with a blush.
^^^^^
The Delacorte team arrived after the Tuisson crew was packed and ready to go.
Jonathan the Taskmaster was talking to Ria, who was looking fabulous in straight-cut pants, ankle-strap stilletos, and a button-down shirt and fuchsia blazer.
They were laughing about something, then gave air kisses on both cheeks. After that, the taskmaster left with his crew inside their cars.
Karen, the taskmaster of Ria Delacorte, came up to us and gave Natalie and I a smile and an introduction as we all gathered into the the giant and elegant guest bedroom in the mansion.
Natalie and I sat on a stool, our hair being redone into something more untamed and sexy.
The hairdressers were using TRESemmé products for our hair, our makeup was more edgy; hot and smoky on the eyes. The racks of clothes we'd wear was at the corner with our names on the plastic used to protect the outfits from dirt.
I was surprised that they knew my measurements, even if I didn't. Plus, I was a little curvier than Natalie here, who had a size 38-A for a bra and a not-so-large bum. Yet she looked ethereal with her blond hair being blow-dried and toussled messily but sexily, her eyes were smoky and luminous with a hint of metallic blue to match the color of her eyes, her lips painted a shade of light pink.
I, on the other hand, had the same hair as she had, only darker (and they put extensions on both the model and me to make it even longer). My lids were slathered in black eyeshadow and eyeliner, a hint of metallic green to match my eyes perfectly. My lips were painted a rosy pink by the makeup artists (note the extra S) and the other crew members were putting bronzer on our long legs and arms and every part you can think of -- just not the part where it was totally private, like down below.
Ria Delacorte was commandeering the crew on where to put the lights and foils to make our skin glow even more. It ended on each side of the bed and one in the middle, at the bottom.
I gulped. What was this all about?
Ria concentrated, her hand placed on her chin, tapping it with an index finger. She was actually nice, but she could be firm when she wanted to be to get the task done quickly and smoothly.
She began talking to the photographer about the angles and the perfect shots, then she went toward the guy near his HP laptop where we could all see the photos later. She was talking to him about something called Shadowy and Steamy.
I had no idea what she was talking about, but I didn't want to know either.
Karen began taking care of the other objectives, taskmaster that she was.
A few inches away from me, Natalie was gossiping with the hairdressers and makeup artists about some Russian supermodel who got drunk at an afterparty and threw up at an executive of a fashion show a month ago. She began dissing about that Ilanka Porkanova chick, making her beauty elite laugh.
My own beauty elite was silently arguing about what to add next to my hair and makeup. This was better. I didn't want to act like Natalie. She even barked at one crew member to replace her warm water with hot water.
Who's the bitch here, now?
One of my makeup artists talked about her son and how she missed him now, even if she only saw him yesterday in New York. I told her I miss my grandmother, whom I haven't been able to call because of the business of everything here. I even missed Tommy and Cookie.
My team murmured their reassurances, but I only smiled at them.
When the makeup and hair crew were done glamming up Natalie and me, we began getting dressed.
Natalie totally stripped off like she was alone in her bedroom, whereas I felt uncomfortable and went to the bath of the guest bedroom, one of my team members, a girl, helped me into my outfit.
It was a lacy crimson bra with a diamond buckle in the middle, and a leather jacket. My legs were clad in denim skinny jeans with rippings at the knees and thighs. It was paired with peep-toe ankle boots with a silver buckle. Anna, the girl helping me dress, put on a long silver necklace with a crucifix around my neck.
I looked at myself in the mirror. I looked...unlike me. Different. Hot and looking sexily wild. Like this gorgeous, rebellious biker chick.
I tilted my head to the side, looking at myself. My tan skin glowed from the bronzer, and they deepened my abs (I ran a lot) with bronzer too. My hair was wild and curled, looking longer as it reached the back of my waist.
Anna placed wrist-legth, fingerless gloves in my left hand, while my other one had silver rings on each finger.
I got out of the bathroom, seeing Natalie looking totally hot in a super mini leather shorts, a white army jacket and a black corset. Her feet were clad in fierce shoes with six-inch heels, and gorgeous accessories.
Ria saw me and beamed, satisfied with my appearance.
"Looking badass, my dear," she told me.
Natalie heard that and widened her eyes a little at my new appearance. But then she gave me an icy smile and looked away.
I rolled my eyes.
I wished Emerson, Viv, and Fred were here, but they weren't allowed to tag along because the shots would be a surprise. The dowager and Maxwell weren't allowed also. Even Anthony. Michael was not inside the room, because he was taken to another room to be clothed.
They wanted to make him look even more gorgeous than he already was.
As if I summoned him using my thoughts, he came inside the room. His hair was toussled and mussed, a stubborn lock visible in the middle of his forehead. He was wearing a gray shirt that said RD in edgy lettering, and he was wearing jeans that looked snug in his legs but not quite tight. He was in Doc Martens, a leather jacket hooked in his finger over his shoulder.
When he saw me, he started a bit, but his gaze lingered all over me. I flushed.
Ria beckoned him to our side. Michael went beside me, giving Natalie a smile, and placed a hand on my hip. I noticed he didn't put his hand on the leather of my jacket, but through it, touching my skin. I suddenly felt heat around me.
Natalie saw this and, I swear, I saw her eyes spark with hatred for me.
"Now," Ria announced to Natalie and I, "the Story Line shoot is all about making a story. Obvious with the name, isn't it? So. First thing's first, the beginning shot is that all of your are on the bed. No dirty thoughts, people, this is modelling.
"Michael will be in the middle, and Keller and Natty will be between him, both touching him like no one's touched him before. Grab his shirt, touch his stomach, bite his ear, kiss his neck, whatever!
"Remember, this ad's all about steam and hotness. The clothes are all about attitude, edge, spark, sexiness. And Michael? You'll look at Keller while Natalie is doing her thing, as is Keller.
"The story is about this guy who has two girls fighting over him, wanting to be all over him, devouring him. Make everything look hot, but not pornographically. This is modelling, like I said, and you have to make things work professionally."
I didn't even want to be a model.
God, this was making me fidgety and nervous.
Michael gripped my hip a bit, looking at me intently. "We'll make this shoot work. I don't like the idea, but this is a...gift. Natalie's my friend. Besides, it's not her fault this is the story of the photo shoot." Was he serious or what? Of course she plotted this!
Some gift, I thought sourly.
I nodded, squeezing his hand. "I promise I'll cooperate."
What I really wanted to do was drive my heel into Natalie's flesh.
He kissed me on the lips, making the people coo, except Natalie, then we went to the bed.
Michael lay in the middle, while Natalie knelt along beside him, her back straight, eyes on the camera. She was holding a belt that branded RD in studs, and she stretched it fully, straightly. Her left knee was touching Michael's arm. Just that touch made me feel nauseous.
But! I had to do this. This was like a test. Natalie's evil test. She wanted to see if I'd break so easily.
Well, I wouldn't!
But hell, that knee of hers is so close to him. I swallowed.
Michael didn't seem to know what to do, but eventually, he bent one knee, placed his wrist on top of it, and grabbed my hair (real and fake) with his free hand. "Don't mind?"
"Nope," I said.
Ha! If Natalie's stupid knee touched his (well, it was touching his waist now, instead of his arm) waist, then Michael was grabbing my hair, looking like I was being grabbed against my will. In truth though, he was gentle and I was willing to come close to him. I looked like I was crawling, but I was frozen for the camera. My heart was thudding, being so close to Michael while his freaking ex was with us.
To the people, it seemed like Natalie was the mistress, while I was the lead guy's girl. It seemed like he and I were going to kiss, our lips so close, our breaths mingling. I closed my eyes, as did Michael. Then snap! and the camera clicked.
The photographer and Ria liked it a lot. The guy with the HP laptop beamed at the shot he saw on the screen (wow, that was easily transferred there, huh?) and the other crew members fanned themselves.
"Gorgeous!" the photographer exclaimed.
This went on with different steamy poses, then after our last change, Natalie was in a tiny red dress that was tight at the waist and tight above the thighs, with a large brown belt and a small black leather jacket and bangles. I was in a tight dress too, only it was in teal, while I was wearing white fingerless gloves that was elbow length. I was in dark pumps.
Michael was clad in bad boy clothes that was so hard to describe, it was unbearable. He was too handsome!
"All right, final take!" Ria called out in front of us a few feet away.
The pose was this: Natalie was hugging Michael's broad back, her mouth hot on his right ear, ready to bite. Michael was slightly bent, kissing my neck, his eyes not on me but on my arched neck, my jaw.
My eyes would be on the camera, mouth slightly open with my left leg on Michael's right hip, him holding it with his right hand as his left arm snaked around my waist. My hands would clutch his black blazer tightly, his red tie askew and loose.
It was perfect, but then the photographer made Natalie and I swtich poses.
He said it would make everything different and more steamy when the bride would be behind, while the "mistress" would be devoured by the groom one last time.
For a moment, I felt enraged and paranoid, thinking the photographer was team's with Natalie; but he really just wanted something new, since Michael and I had been the one's totally looking heated up in the shots and Natalie was the super sexy mistress behind, trying to get his attention.
When we switched, Michael's hand was on Natalie's waist, and I could tell he hesitated. He looked at me for confirmation. I gulped and nodded in tiny movement. His eyes widened for a second but tightened the corners of his mouth and posed with Natalie -- the camera clicked.
When the photographer told us to make a new pose, I nearly felt my heart break when Natalie pulled the back of Michael's black hair in her hand, slowly pulling his head toward her rouge-stained lips.
"Wonderful!" the photographer said. I could've hit him.
Ria and the others (except the crew who fixed me up) brightened, seeing the ad being a hit in magazines -- maybe even billboards they said. I acted like this was nothing.
But it mattered.
In a sudden temper, I growled and, I swear I didn't know what came over me, I placed my hands inside Michael's shirt and revealed his hard stomach, my leg wrapping around his waist, my teeth grazing his neck. I felt him shiver at my brazen touch.
The camera went on, then the shot was done. Natalie quickly pulled Michael's neck and kissed him. He gave a gasp of surprise and she tightened her hand more around his neck.
That was all it took for me to pull Michael's shoulder away from her and I pushed Natalie onto the pillows really hard.
No one seemed to notice, because they were all too busy fixing things up to even see how the two exes kissed like they were alone and hot for each other that they didn't care and they couldn't wait.
I tried to believe Michael didn't mean it, but I knew he kissed her back. Maybe he missed her so much, missed her kisses and her passion. Maybe they even went all the way already before he met me. It all went so fast that I pounded hard on Michael's chest as he turned around with a look of horror and I glared at Natalie, who was glaring back.
Natalie tried to get Michael's attention while I scowled and stomped away from the bedroom.
I knew he was coming after me because Natalie was calling out his name and told him to come back, but he didn't hear her, it seemed. He was too busy calling me and trying to catch me. I ran as fast as a girl could go with six-inch heels. Eventually, he caught up and grabbed my elbow, spinning me around.
"Keller," he panted, looking sincere, "it's not what you think. You have to believe me!"
I didn't cry. I didn't want to. But the tears came streaming.
That wasn't only because of the hurt I felt. I was angry. I felt betrayed.
In answer to his apology, I slapped him so hard, my own hand hurt and reddened. But I felt good. Kind of.
Michael didn't stagger back, but my hand was completely imprinted on his cheek. When he looked at me, his face showed shock.
I didn't want to see his expression anymore.
I turned around and walked away, my legs feeling stiff and wooden. I didn't know where Em or Viv was. I wanted them near me, but the house was too big.
As soon as I lost sight of Michael and everyone in the room, I ran toward the library, locking the door behind me.
Slowly, my back slid down the door. I sat on the wooden floor of the library and began to break down, feeling my heart breaking.
But I wasn't alone.
"Keller..." Anthony Wattson said, shock stamped into his handsome face.
Then he tried to comfort me, sitting on the floor along beside me.
"Everything's going to be okay...whatever it is. I-I'm sure of it," he soothed.
If only that were true.