The show was scheduled for few weeks in the future, and in the meantime, Altair and Heather found time for another handful of dates despite their busy schedules. With every evening they spent together, Heather felt more certain she had never met anyone so wonderful in her life. He had his flaws. He could be demanding and suspicious. But he was aware they were problems and he worked to manage them.
It was such a simple difference from the men Heather had dated before. No one was perfect, but the simple act of accepting your issues and making an effort to handle them was revolutionary to Heather, who was used to men who blamed their problems on other people or tried to make them someone else’s responsibility.
Craig, in particular, when he had admitted he had a cheating problem at all, had always tried to make it Heather’s problem to deal with. Either she had caused him to cheat by being unavailable or letting herself go or any other number of excuses, or it was “just the way he was” and Heather needed to accept it and stop trying to change him. She didn’t know why she’d bought into it for so long. Altair made being considerate look easy.
The tabloids continued to run in circles, frantically trying to determine Heather’s identity and relationship with Altair. But in that, at least, Heather’s lie had come in handy. They only knew her as a model, and since she’d never modeled anywhere but those first two shows, they couldn’t trace anything back to her actual identity. A few of them had tried to harass Shania for details, but she would never break or even tolerate their shenanigans. She’d called the cops and her lawyer the first time they’d shown up at her house, and they’d quickly recognized her as a dead end.
Still, every week or so another photo of Heather and the Sheikh would surface, and Heather would face a minor heart attack, wondering if this would be the time they revealed who she really was. And every time she went out with Altair, she thought for certain she would finally tell him. Every time after she failed to do it, it seemed more and more difficult, bordering on impossible. Next time, she promised herself, over and over. Next time I’ll tell him.
But by the time the show came around, she still hadn’t said anything.
Heather arrived on her own after dropping Chloe off with her mother. She checked in with the event coordinator and headed backstage, her stomach fluttering nervously. Could she do this again? Surely this would be the time she would be figured out. There was no Shania here to protect her.
The other models were waiting for everyone to arrive in a sitting area before makeup and dressing began. Heather made her way toward them cautiously, unsure if she’d be welcome.
“Hey, Heather!”
A rush of relief flooded Heather when she spotted a familiar face.
“Crystal!” she said, making a beeline for the other model. “I’m so glad to see you.”
“I had a feeling you’d be in this show,” Crystal said with a laugh, pulling her into a friendly hug. “This designer has a thing for you, huh?”
Crystal was nearly unrecognizable in plain sweatpants and no makeup with her hair in a ponytail. She looked like anyone Heather might have run into at the gym. She carried herself with a kind of relaxed, natural grace, however, a cool, radiating confidence. It wasn’t anything physical that made her a model. The model look was just a combination of lucky genetics, strict dieting and skin care routines, and a heap of professional stylists. What made her a model was the way she could stand there in a T-shirt and sneakers and still look like the center of the room. There were other, prettier girls there that lacked her presence.
They took a seat together to catch up, and they quickly fell into easy chatter like old friends.
“So you’ve been getting a lot of exposure lately,” Crystal said, grinning.
“You’ve seen the tabloids, huh?” Heather winced, uncomfortable.
“Hey, it’s all good,” Crystal said. “As long as you’re being seen, it’s only going to help your career.”
Heather sighed. “Still, it’s embarrassing, and I worry about Altair’s reputation.”
“Nah, this is probably great for him too,” Crystal said. “In an industry like this, anything that gets attention is a good thing. Don’t worry about it too much.”
“There’s more to it than that,” Heather said, looking away.
“I thought you were looking stressed out,” Crystal said with a knowing frown. “What’s going on?”
“You wouldn’t tell anyone—those magazines—about me, would you?” Heather asked. She liked Crystal and felt she could trust her, but there was a lot at stake here.
“Of course not,” Crystal said at once. “Girls like us have to look out for each other. You don’t get anywhere by screwing people over and making enemies.”
Heather took a deep breath, preparing herself, and checked to make sure none of the other girls were listening in before she leaned closer to Crystal.
“He doesn’t know I’m not really a model,” she said, her expression pulled tight in distress.
“But you are a model,” Crystal said at once, nonplussed. “You’re right here, modeling.”
Heather shook her head, frustrated.
“Not the way he thinks I am,” she said. “I’m a caterer. My first show was a last-minute favor for a friend because I was there and almost the right size. Everything after that just spiraled out of control.”
“So why haven’t you told him?” Crystal raised an eyebrow, leaning back with her arm over the back of her seat. “It’s a pretty simple misunderstanding.”
“You don’t know how he is about dishonesty.” Heather pulled her legs up into her chair, resting her chin on her knees. “It’s the one thing he can’t stand.”
“So there’s the real issue,” Crystal said casually. “You think he cares more about his principles than you.”
“It isn’t just that,” Heather said at once, though the words stung true. “It’s also… He’s so incredible. He’s talented and brilliant and a sheikh. Why would he still be interested in me once he finds out I’m just a cook?”
“Like cooks can’t be interesting?” Crystal turned her hands up in confusion, raising an eyebrow. “Listen, that you’re a professional chef who managed to stumble into modeling and immediately grab the attention of one of the best designers on the scene makes you crazy interesting as far as I’m concerned. Also, super annoying. Some of us have been working toward this all our lives you know.”
“Sorry,” Heather said at once, hiding her face in her knees. Crystal laughed.
“Don’t be,” she said. “I’m only a little bitter. We all know a good part of this job is just being seen by the right person at the right time. We can put a ton of skill and effort into it, but in the end, a lot comes down to being lucky enough to appeal to the casting director and designer’s personal aesthetics.”
“That doesn’t seem fair,” Heather muttered without taking her face from her legs.
“It isn’t really.” Crystal shrugged. “But what can you do?”
“I don’t know…” Heather moaned, not really talking about the same thing anymore.
“You can tell him,” Crystal said, picking up on that at once. “As soon as you can, before it comes back to bite you in the butt. If he cares about you enough for this relationship to work, he isn’t going to care about where you work or how you started modeling.”
Heather sighed. “I wish I could believe that. I’m such a coward.”
Crystal patted her shoulder. Before she could say anything more, the director called to get them into makeup and the whirlwind of preparing for the show made it impossible to exchange more than a word or two at a time until it was nearly time to head onto the stage.
In towering, excruciatingly beautiful shoes and a luscious, asymmetrical gown, Heather hovered anxiously outside the stage door with the other models, waiting on last-minute changes as the minutes ticked down to the start of the show. A few girls were still in makeup, and others were getting a last smoke break in. Only a few were standing around near Heather. She shifted anxiously in her uncomfortable shoes, fighting her building stage fright. A tap on her shoulder made her jump, and she nearly tipped over in the ridiculous heels.
“Heather,” Altair said as she turned, “I wanted to see you before the show. I’m sorry I couldn’t greet you when you arrived.”
He looked stunning in a perfectly tailored suit, the color of which was a rich black that shimmered almost purple in the light. Heather hugged him at once.
“I’m just glad you made it,” she said. “I get so nervous before these things.”
He held her tightly for a moment before they stepped away from each other, too aware of the curious eyes on them.
“You look fantastic.” He scanned her quickly, nodding in satisfaction. “This is going to be a great show. After, are you free for dinner? We could go to that place with the courtyard again.”
“I’d love that,” Heather said at once, smiling. Then she bit her lip, remembering Crystal’s admonition. “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”
“Oh?” Altair raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”
“Nothing huge,” Heather said quickly. “Just—”
“Sheikh Altair,” a stagehand called, interrupting her. “We’re starting! It’s your cue!”
“I’ve got to go,” Altair said, kissing her cheek. “I’ll see you after the show. Good luck!”
He hurried off, and Heather, quietly relieved, braced herself for the stage as the other girls hurried over and sorted themselves into the assigned walking order. The stagehands stood ready at either side of the opening to fix any last-minute malfunctions and help the girls with their changes as soon as they returned from their first circuit.
Heather heard Altair talking on the other side of the curtain, the designer he was collaborating with chiming in with a joke as they warmed up the crowd. Then the music started and the line moved forward, and Heather moved with it, used to at least the basic mechanics now.
As the lights hit her eyes, blinding her, she did as she always did and visualized her kitchen. She wasn’t modeling; she was cooking, striding across the workspace to chop vegetables, check timers, turn pans, assemble plating, whatever needed to be done to make sure every meal was the most perfect meal she could produce. She could move with confidence because this was her space and she knew what she was doing here. As long as she could hold on to that image, she could do anything.
But every time the lights cleared and she saw the crowd around her, judging her, her eyes scanned for the only face that mattered. Once she found Altair, his green eyes shining just like that first night, nothing else mattered. Not the stage, not the kitchen, nothing but his eyes, his smile, urging her on.
When had she become so dependent on him? She hadn’t even noticed it happening. When had he gained the power to move her just by looking at her? Had it been that first night of unexpected connection? Or had it happened somewhere in all the late-night phone conversations? She never wanted to stop feeling how she did when he looked at her that way, like she was floating rather than walking, drifting down the catwalk back toward the entrance like a leaf caught in a breeze.
The curtain closed behind her and everything was frantic energy for a few minutes as she changed into her second outfit at top speed, barely making it in time to join the line for the next walk. Then she was onstage again, trying to pretend she wasn’t, and looking for him.