Page 81

I did my best to adopt the same disinterested, polite smile that Stefan was wearing, all the while trying to keep my distance from Luka and Konstantin. Luka was easy; he was currently distracted by one of the models who would be walking in the show. A model that I recognized.

It was the beautiful redhead I’d seen at Stefan’s office the other day. The one he’d told me was pregnant.

I gave her a quick once over. She wasn’t showing yet, her body stunning in a silky midnight blue jumpsuit. Luka had his hand on the small of her back and was holding her close, whispering something in her ear that made her laugh. If I had thought she was beautiful when her eyes were puffy and red, then she was absolutely gorgeous dressed so glamorously, her face made up perfectly. She put her hand on Luka’s chest, and said something that made him grin.

Was he her baby’s father?

Konstantin was also distracted by the models surrounding us, but not so distracted that he hadn’t sent a few lewd glances my way. Thankfully, he seemed more focused on work than on the way my necklace was sparkling between my breasts. The only Zoric I wanted to appreciate that was Stefan.

Since we’d exited the limo, he’d kept his arm firmly around my waist. Part of me knew he was likely doing it because we needed to keep up appearances for the cameras. But the other part of me knew he didn’t need to keep his hand curled quite so tightly around me. That his fingers didn’t need to be flexing and unflexing, stroking the soft curve of my hip. That he didn’t need to hold me so close.

He was doing all of that because he wanted to. And because he couldn’t help himself.

I smiled up at him shyly, and he gave me a smile in return.

We finished with pictures and headed into the event. Because KZM had been so crucial to the event, we were given backstage passes so we could go backstage and mingle, get an insider view of what was happening before the show began.

It was a flurry of activity, with hair and makeup artists barking orders at assistants and frantic models in various stages of undress. Some of them had curlers in their hair, some were being sprayed with hairspray to help the clothes adhere more tightly to them. The vibe was overwhelming and loud and fun.

Luka had abandoned his redheaded model and was now chatting up another girl with black hair, naked from the waist up. She was giggling and tossing her hair back, her breasts jiggling with every movement. Luka wasn’t even trying not to stare.

I saw the redhead sitting at a dressing table, examining the bags under her eyes. I quietly stepped away from Stefan, who was talking to the ebullient designer, and headed over to the redhead. If we were potentially going to be connected through a baby, I wanted to be friendly.

“Hi,” I said, startling her a little.

She met my gaze in the mirror. “Hello,” she responded.

I waited for her to recognize me from that day at the agency, but it seemed like she didn’t. Instead she went back to focusing on her reflection.

“Are you excited for the show?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said, still not looking at me.

Had I guessed wrong? Was Luka really not the father? Or was there something else going on? She wasn’t going to talk to me, obviously. I took the hint and moved away.

All around me were models getting ready, but any time our eyes would meet, they’d turn away. I was getting the cold shoulder from all of them—the same women who were happy to greet my husband and his family with smiles and cheek kisses. Something wasn’t right.

Judging by their accents, most of them seemed to be Eastern European, which accounted for the constant cheek kissing. It wasn’t that unusual, I supposed, considering that that was where the Zorics were from originally.

The show was going to begin shortly so we were shown to our seats, and I tried to set my anxiety aside. I’d never been to a fashion show before, but it didn’t disappoint. The whole event was beyond thrilling, all of the clothes exquisite and sophisticated. It was a true honor to sit in the front row and watch these women (and a few men) walk the runway.

When the lights came back up I thought we were done, but we moved on from there to a lavish after-party, where the Veuve Clicquot was flowing and the models were mingling with guests. I stayed close to Stefan’s side, smiling as he introduced me to people and making polite small talk. After a while, though, I noticed that Konstantin seemed to be talking with a different model every time I glanced over at him.

I began to pay more attention to what he was doing, and realized that not only was he talking to different models, he was also making sure to personally introduce them to certain guests at the party. Most of them seemed to be men.

No, that wasn’t right.

All of them were men.

I watched a leggy young model with a platinum pixie cut get presented to a man that was probably her father’s age. She smiled and laughed and seemed to be having a good time. After Konstantin left the two of them alone, they chatted for a little longer and then, to my astonishment, walked out of the party together.

Staying close to Stefan, I started observing Konstantin more purposefully. It seemed like almost all of the models he had introduced to men—most of them older men—ended up leaving the party with their new acquaintances. Red flags were going up, but I didn’t want to judge. People came to these things to have a good time. It was none of my concern who went home with whom. In fact, I wondered if the men were simply photographers or managers or other designers. Maybe they were heading off to talk business.

Then I got a better look at the next girl Konstantin homed on—the beautiful redhead I’d tried to engage in conversation earlier that evening. The one who Luka had been flirting with.

“Where’s Luka?” I asked Stefan, tugging his sleeve gently.

He shrugged. “Probably making the most of the party. What do you need?”