Nearly three weeks have passed since that awful fight with Wills and I am finishing up Fashion Week in London. Going through the motions. Standing for fittings, walking the catwalks, smiling for photos. Rinse and repeat. Last night, I went out to dinner with Lizzie and we talked about her “transition” out of full-time modeling into her fulfilling career as a furniture designer. And soon-to-be wife. Her parting words, “Modeling launched my career, but it does not define who I am—only I can do that,” hit home with me. And echoed the advice from the man who I have been trying desperately to keep out of my thoughts.

I think I am finally coming to realize who I am. And what I can do within the industry and for others. And for myself.

Today is the last of the shows. I have shoots in Germany and Belgium next, then I go to Barcelona for the movie premiere. While the hair stylist teases my hair, I catch the silhouette of a reed thin woman with long, straight blonde hair as she sits down in the chair next to me. I turn my head and realize I am finally meeting Geonna Broz.

Our eyes meet. Widen.

Blood zings through my veins.

Up close and without any makeup, she looks twelve, not eighteen. I exhale all the pent-up animosity and competition between us, my limbs unwinding into veritable mush. I extend my hand. “Geonna, it is a pleasure to meet you. I am Emilie.”

The young woman smiles so wide her eyelashes dance. I am transfixed by her innate beauty. “Oh, Emilie. I heard you were going to be here and hoped we would meet. I’ve been a fan of yours ever since I was a little girl. I became a model because you made it look so glamorous.”

I cannot help myself, I laugh. “Have you learned the truth yet?”

She winks. “It can be tedious, with all the travel. But I absolutely love it! I love the sets, the people, all the great things I get to experience.”

She reminds me of how I felt at the beginning. When it was all new and exciting. Instead of rekindling a passion within me, however, her zest for modeling makes me realize she deserves to be the fresh new face of the industry. Meeting her brings it home that it is time for me to pass the torch. Is this how Lizzie felt when we met all those years ago?

All of a sudden, I want to mentor her like Lizzie mentored me. We spend the rest of the day inseparable, even hugging each other on the catwalk when the show concludes.

Another two weeks have disappeared in a blur. Barcelona in early October is beautiful, the weather gorgeous. I wear my smile like armor, just like my Alexander McQueen dress and Jimmy Choo’s. As I transfer my Fendi wallet into my matching tote, it opens and my brand new California driver’s license falls out. Even though it does not bring me joy, it does offer a sense of freedom.

It was a miracle I was able to get the required fifty hours of driving time in, given my hectic modeling gigs. Preparing for and walking in London’s Fashion Week really stretched my driving instruction company’s time, but it all worked out in the end. Picking up the laminated card, I tuck it back into its slot.

And the Agency’s insistence on using a bodyguard to up my profile seems to have panned out as well. My new one, Ricky, is so quiet I hardly notice him. Not that I really look for him, anyway—bodyguards are no longer my style. But his presence, combined with my recent streak of appearances, has led me to beating out Geonna for a new contract. After meeting her in London, though, it feels like a victory with too high of a price tag. She is young and excited for her career to start, much like I was.

Before.

No, I cannot think about him again.

To refocus my thoughts, I grab a lightweight jacket and leave my room. I told Rinaldo to meet me in the lobby to take me to tonight’s premiere or “our” movie. Finding a comfortable wingback chair tucked away from prying eyes in the hotel’s lobby, I escape into the world of Instagram. Read all of my followers’ comments, questions and respond to their new photos. This is what brings me happiness.

“There you are.” Rinaldo’s deep voice slides over my body like silk. He stands tall and proud, wearing a smart black suit and an open collared black button-down shirt. His Latin good looks are on full display, yet my pulse remains steady as we share a double-kiss greeting. Like everything else in my life since he left, this meeting is strictly business.

“Emmie. Beautiful as ever. Looking forward to tonight?” After his eyes skim over my body, he takes my fall coat from my hands and holds it open for me.

Slipping my arms into the sleeves, I reply, “I am interested in seeing the completed movie, oui. How about you?”

He throws his head back and laughs. “I better watch closely as I doubt I’ll have another chance at acting. I think my odds of being able to kiss you again are better.”

Shaking my head, I place my hand into the crook of his arm. “I do not think I will choose to do another film either. However, I am looking forward to walking the red carpet as an actor in the movie instead of as someone else’s date.”

“I think it’s great you were able to come out to do the premiere here, with me. Football season is in full swing, and I couldn’t get back out to LA.”

With that, he escorts me past the other hotel guests to his black Ferrari waiting out front, and we take off. On the ride, we catch up about our families—avoiding the aftermath of the movie shoot—and I relax into the conversation. It is easy and lighthearted, and I do not have to worry about pressing any uncomfortable buttons that would activate some bad memories. I do not think Rinaldo is capable of having tortured thoughts. Or any thoughts beyond his own means to success.

After several turns, Rinaldo pulls up to the red carpet line. Paparazzi are lined up by the entrance. If this were Hollywood, we would have had a limo, but the captain of the Barcelona football team can drive himself anywhere he wants.

“So, where’s your bodyguard?”

I inhale, count to three and then exhale. “The Agency knew you would be escorting me to the premiere, so he is not with me for this leg of my trip. I will meet back up with him in LA.”

He nods and inches us forward to within one car length of the entrance. “I’m surprised Wills agreed to leave you alone with me.”

“It is not him.” I cannot bring myself to say his name. “I have a new bodyguard.”

Rinaldo puts his hand on top of mine. “Maybe that means my chances of kissing you are higher than I expected.”

I shake my head, remove my hand from his and look down at my clasped fingers.

He sighs, pulls the car forward, then puts it into park. “C’mon. Can’t blame a guy for trying. You look smoking hot in that dress. I want to show you off.”

I am not some shiny toy to be shown off. This is as much my movie as his.

Without waiting for my reply, he exits the car and hands the keys to the valet while another attendant opens my door. Mentally preparing for the onslaught of flashbulbs and shouted questions, I make sure the belt of my coat is secure and place my high-heeled feet on the pavement. Rinaldo appears outside my door, offering his hand, which I take and stand up with a practiced smile. He keeps mine in his firm grip.

“Emilie Dubois! Rinaldo García! Over here!”

We both turn toward the voices and endure the paparazzi. At least, I endure it. Rinaldo basks in the attention. After a few minutes, I squeeze his hand and we start up the red carpet, stopping for photos every few meters. When we reach the reporters, we are called over as a couple.

“I see that you two arrived together and I understand you filmed a scene jointly. Can we assume that you are back together?” The female interviewer asks us this question, all the while staring at Rinaldo.

I force my expression to remain unchanged. I thought the questions would be about the movie.

“You are correct in that we share the screen,” he begins. “As for the rest, you know I don’t kiss and tell.” He winks at her.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. His coy response can only increase interest in us—thereby raising both our profiles. He does live for the media and he knows how to sway it to suit his needs. “Acting was something new for both of us, and it was nice to do my first time with Rinaldo,” I add.

After a few more similar interviews, we make our way inside the entrance and mingle with the people we met on set all those months ago. No one mentions the after-party, and I actually relax enough to enjoy the camaraderie.

Once we are seated in the large theatre, Rinaldo leans over to me. “Can’t wait to see us pop our cherries on screen.”

I snort at his outrageous comment, then put my hand up and laugh at the sound. Rinaldo joins me.

“Oh, Emmie, I’ve missed you. Missed this.” He leans over and kisses my cheek.

“It has been nice,” I admit. And it has. Just. Nice.

The lights dim and all conversation ceases. The movie rolls. When our scene comes on, I am surprised to see they chose the original take where I turn my head for the kiss. Relieved, actually. I cast a sideways glance at Rinaldo and catch his eye. He shrugs and we continue to watch the film through the credits.

Afterwards, we are invited to a party, where we congratulate everyone on a great project. Because I have an early flight to Paris tomorrow, I ask to make it an early night.

Back in the Ferrari, I remember the fun we used to have. Stealing moments when our schedules allowed. Laughing at inside jokes only the two of us knew. I am comfortable with Rinaldo. Like a well-worn pair of jeans.

I decide to delve beneath the superficial to get his perspective. “So, I am thinking about making some changes. I want to take more control over the direction of my career. I am looking ahead—more long-term. Making changes with my Agency.”

He changes lanes and replies, “Your Agency has been doing a great job for you all these years, right?”

I nod, my stomach souring at how Monsieur Price treated me. Not that I am willing to reveal my vulnerabilities to Rinaldo.

“So, why rock the boat now? You’re one of the world’s top supermodels, thanks to them. And you’re back to being neck-in-neck for jobs against Geonna. They obviously know what they’re doing.”

“But, I have missed important events. Bridal showers, birthdays. I want to have more say over my schedule. Plus—”

“There are always sacrifices. Thanks to the Agency, your career has never been better. Designers fall all over themselves to have you in their ads. My advice? Now is the time for you to stay the course.”

“I want to look ahead—”

He cuts me off. “Why get traded to another team when you know you’re already at the best?”

I collapse back into the seat. “I guess so.”

“You know I’m right.”

He smirks. I used to basically hand over my panties when he did that. Now … nothing. I yearn for one man. And he is not in this car.

Rinaldo passes a lively nightclub. “Are you sure I can’t tempt you with a little dancing? Barcelona style.”

While dancing does sound fun, in my heart I know he is not the man for me and I do not want to lead him on. “I cannot. You know I am catching an early flight tomorrow to spend some time with my family before returning to LA on Tuesday for an audition.”

“Which the Agency got you, right?”

“Oui.”

“See. Listen to me. I’ll keep you on the right track.”

We take an exit as Rinaldo discusses his football team and how well they are performing. He turns the blinker on and waits at the stop sign to turn down the hotel’s street. “My agent got me a few more modeling gigs for athletic apparel.”

I grin. The cameras love him, but he was always too distracted with football to explore possibilities beyond team photos and some endorsement deals. “Modeling finally got their clutches in you, yes?”

Giving me a sideways smirk, he pulls up outside the hotel and cuts the engine. Although I enjoyed our evening, our conversation did not stimulate me. He did not challenge me to really analyze things the way he does. Rather, did.

Shaking my head once, I say, “Thank you for a very nice evening, Rinaldo. You made the movie premiere very fun.” Not a lie.

Placing his hands on my cheeks, he pulls me toward him. Looking directly in my eyes, he says, “I was honored to be your escort tonight.”

My eyes close as our lips meet. He kisses me with all the skillful finesse I remember. After a beat, I pull back.

Running my fingers through his silky hair, I say, “Good night, Rinaldo. Be well, my friend.”