Chapter 34

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The expansive room—there must be close to 1,000 people in here—has been decorated to match the bridal theme of the fashion show to launch Pretty Little Vixen’s first bridal lingerie line.

You would think that running a lingerie company, I would have gotten used to being surrounded by soft, feminine fabric like lace. But I’ve never seen so much tulle in my life.

Between that and the flowers and fairy lights, it looks like there might be an actual wedding taking place here. But the floor-to-ceiling hangings of the Pretty Little Vixen logo and our various designs reveal the true purpose of the gathering.

No marriage ceremony will take place here tonight, although the occasion marks a new beginning for PLV.

I leave the backstage area to take my front-row seat. Getting to my seat proves problematic as I’m stopped by editors, buyers, and the usual smattering of ex-models, athlete’s wives, and socialites. They all want to be the first to congratulate me on the Phoenix-like rebirth that Pretty Little Vixen has had this year.

If they only knew.

Taking my seat, I wish that Elsa could watch the show and the launch of this line beside me. It’s amazing how much my life has changed.

What’s even more amazing is that I’m okay with it. More than okay.

I may not be fucking a different woman every night—those were fun days and great memories—but I’ve never been happier. Or more like myself, as crazy as that sounds.

“Congratulations on your...what? Marriage? Food fight? What are you calling that spectacle at the church?”

And just like that, my fucking father, Jackson Halo, sits down beside me like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Hello, Dad.”

Jackson looks around at the decorated runway surrounded by a packed audience, and says, “This is quite the accomplishment. I’d like to think I was the first one to see your business acumen when I hired you at Crooked Halo.”

“Of course, you would find a way to take credit for my success,” I say. “Just think—if you had been in my life as a child, you could have jumped on stage to accept my award for Little League Athlete of the Year.”

“I’d like to think I had a part in it, that I have shaped you, guided you.”

“If only you would have been there?”

“If only I would have been there.”

“I turned out just fine without you.”

“Yes, you were well on your way with your Harvard degree in your hand,” Jackson says. “But, you can’t deny that your career took a decidedly upward trajectory once I started pulling the strings in the background.”

“No, I guess I can’t,” I say, “but I’d like to think I would have become successful regardless. Even if it would have taken me a few more years to get to the top.”

I can feel Jackson staring at me, but since he took it upon himself to sit on the front row of my show, I’ve refused to look his way. Instead, my eyes have been locked on the empty runway and prepped for the show to begin.

“I’d have to agree with your assessment,” Jackson says, surprising me. “I’m proud of you...son.”

That got my attention. I turn to look at him as he smiles smugly. The kind of smile where I’m not sure if he’s actually proud of me or if he invoked the “son” title because he knew that would elicit a response.

“Proud?”

“Yes, you’re right—with or without a little nudging from me here or there, you’re the one who built all this,” Jackson says, sweeping his hands open to encompass the runway and everything surrounding it. “What’s more, you’ve become quite the man in the process.”

“Is that a compliment or an insult?”

“Considering you’re a chip off the old block, it’s definitely a compliment.”

“And how exactly am I like you?” I ask as the lights dim slightly and the introductory music comes on.

“You’ve built a successful lingerie company, bedded countless women. It’s like looking in a mirror. Only you took it a step further than I ever did. You settled down with the most delectable, desirable woman. And then you were somehow able to get that woman to bend to your every whim, even to the point of stepping down from her own company. Quite the obedient little wife you have there.”

It’s my turn to stare at my father’s profile as the room erupts in applause to start the show. As the models start their walks one by one, I think about what he said. It’s true that, like it or not, everyone inherits some traits from their parents.

I’d like to think I got my perseverance and intelligence from my mother.

What did I inherit from Jackson Halo? The dark hair, sure. Although his is sprinkled with gray.

I guess you might say we have some similar facial features—our eyes, definitely.

Plus, his arrogance, without a doubt.

My models, dressed in my creations of lace and silk, continue their procession on and off the runway. The grand finale is next.

The audience has been eating up this show and is primed for the finale. You can feel the energy humming at a higher frequency with each model who sashays down the runway. And I plan to deliver a finale they’ll never forget.

The music abruptly changes just like we planned it, segueing into the moment everyone in the room has been waiting for—even though they have no idea what’s coming. Oh, they know something out of the ordinary is going to happen. After all, it was my stealing Elsa’s models at her show that started everything.

All my models return to the runway for their final walk and are greeted by thunderous applause.

As they begin their walk, I lean over to Jackson and say, “You might have gathered the wrong impression of Elsa after all. Obedience isn’t the word that comes to mind.”

And just like that, the models break away so that my angel Elsa can appear in the center of the runway, looking magnificent.

As she works the runway like the pro that she is, the audience goes wild. Who can blame them? It’s not every fashion show that ends with a drop-dead sexy maternity lingerie look.

Correction: a bridal maternity lingerie look.

With every step Elsa takes in her stiletto heels, she is proving that pregnant and sexy are not mutually exclusive. The white lace lingerie set, complete with a garter belt and seamed stockings, was designed to show off her shapely form, not hide it. Because Elsa Blakely Sharpe is no shrinking violet.

As Elsa makes her way back to the models lined up for the finale, they bend over to display matching Property of Dirty Little Angel stamps on their cheeks. Suddenly, everyone is standing up to cheer our good fortune.

Jackson and I stand as well, and as I acknowledge the applause with waves to everyone, I lean over to my father.

“You were right. I did learn a lot from you,” I say. “Not how to ride a bike or drive a car, though.”

“Oh?”

“More of your business practices, you could say. We crashed the stock for Dirty Little Angel, then we bought it all back for pennies on the dollar. You see, Elsa and I, we’re a team. And we’re going to run our joint company together—as a team.”

With that, I leave Jackson, my past, standing there and join my present and future waiting for me on the runway.

As the crowd cheers, I take my wife and the mother of my child into my arms, showing her and everyone in that room, including my father, just how much we mean to each other.

“Elsa Blakely,” I say against her lips. “Has anyone ever told you you’re the most incredible woman in the world?”

“It’s Elsa Sharpe now,” she purrs back to me. “But...ah, yes. I do believe someone has mentioned it a time or two.”

One of the models brings some rice, and they shower us with the grains as we kiss, as if we’re the only two people on the runway...or in the world for that matter.