obvious injuries, such as missing limbs or burns. Some, like Bree’s husband, Cole, had less visible wounds—head trauma or PTSD. The fund-raising event had been a smashing success, and they were on track to raise more than half a million dollars to help injured veterans transition to civilian life.
Her cousins were seated together at a table near the stage, where Bree was already giving her pre-dinner address, thanking everyone for their participation, as Mel slid into a chair next to Luis. Bree explained how the silent fashion show would work, with models wandering among the tables during dinner. A sketch of each design was in the printed program, along with information on how to contact Luis Alvarado Fashions. She asked Luis to stand, along with Amanda, Nora and Melanie, to show off their dresses. Camera flashes went off around the room as enthusiastic applause began, and Luis gave Melanie a wink. Between the press coverage and social media, some of his designs were sure to get attention.
As dinner began, Luis set a glass in front of Melanie. It was clear and sparkling, with a slice of lime. She nodded her thanks. With a full glass in her hand, people were far less likely to offer her a cocktail.
Cole jumped to his feet and pulled out a chair when Bree came back to the table. She beamed at him, kissing him on the cheek before settling her pregnant body with a sigh. Normally soldier-stoic in public, Cole leaned over and kissed the top of Bree’s head, whispering something in her ear that made her blush. Mel watched her cousins and their men as they laughed and talked together. Bree had Cole. Nora had her fiancé, Asher, who was clearly appreciating Nora’s red cocktail dress. He couldn’t keep his eyes, or his hands, off her.
And then there was Amanda and her husband. Blake was tall, with black hair and dark eyes—a stark contrast to Amanda’s petite build and blond curls. He’d be intimidating if it wasn’t for his easy smile and obvious love for his wife. They were that couple. Beautiful, successful and happily building a family in their historic mansion, right next door to their five-star resort. Whenever they looked at each other, the love in their eyes made Melanie’s chest tighten.
She was thrilled her cousins were finding happiness and starting families. Really. She was thrilled. Thrilled. But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt her heart sometimes to watch. Most of her energy was focused on sobriety and finding a place in the world outside of modeling, and that was okay. But once in a while, usually at the darkest point of her often sleepless nights, she longed for what her cousins had found. Loving partners to spend the rest of their lives with. She just couldn’t see that happening for her.
Luis’s low voice broke through her melancholy. “You and that dress were made for each other, chica. You look different tonight—like you’re ready for battle. It’s a good look on you.”
That look of battle-readiness probably came more from her confrontation with Big Ginger than the dress. He’d managed to ignite a fire inside her, and she wasn’t sure if that was good or dangerous. She didn’t want Luis to worry, so she kept that to herself.
“I have to admit, I feel pretty invincible in this gown. It’s going to be the star of your collection.”
“Our collection, Mel. It’s your company, too. Your hand is in every one of these pieces.”
She just shrugged in response. For most of her life, she’d received praise for only her looks, which she had no control over, so the compliments meant nothing. She didn’t know how to handle praise for something she actually helped create.
Luis frowned. “You doing okay?”
Being dressed up and on display, being in a crowded room, being near an open bar... There were a lot of triggers here tonight, and Luis knew it. She gave him a bright smile. “I’m alright. Maybe a four, but no worse.”
“You tell me the minute it climbs above a six, okay?”
“I promise.”
Tori and Shane came into the ballroom halfway through dinner, walking to a table on the opposite side of the room. Neither of them looked happy. Tori was wearing a neon-orange dress that was far too tight and short. And...bright green high-top sneakers. Her hair was teased up into some crazy kind of pigtails. This kid’s fashion style was stuck somewhere between Miley Cyrus and Bride of Frankenstein. She may as well have been wearing a flashing sign that said Unhappy Teenager.
Shane’s expression made him look like he’d been sucking on lemons, and Mel was pretty sure Tori was responsible. He escorted Tori to a seat and rolled his eyes behind her as she sat. Yeah, the two were definitely arguing. She felt a pang of sympathy for Tori.
But she was surprised to feel a touch of concern for Shane, too. He looked down at Tori in confusion and showed a quick glimpse of that vulnerability he’d surprised Mel with upstairs with his talk of lilacs and his grandmother. Those words had hit her heart, since she wore the pricey Amouage scent because it reminded her of her own grandmother. She excused herself and headed for their table.
People stopped her along the way, and she accepted their compliments and autograph requests with a practiced smile. A man in uniform stopped her to thank her for being on the cover of Sports Quarterly’s swimsuit issue three years ago. He pulled the well-worn folded page from his pocket and asked if she’d autograph it for him. It took every ounce of her strength not to dwell on how awful that Cozumel photo shoot had been. Between the sand fleas and a particularly lecherous photographer, it had been one of the worst jobs she’d ever taken.
By the time she got to their table, Shane was headed toward the bar with a sandy-haired man walking with a barely perceptible limp. Gary was nowhere to be seen. Tori was talking with an older woman. More accurately, the older woman was talking, and Tori was nodding sullenly. The girl’s shoulders were rounded, and she was tugging at her dress. But when she saw Melanie, she jumped up to greet her, pigtails bouncing like springs on her head.
“You’re here! I told Shane you’d come!”
“Oh, my goodness! You’re that model! You did the Coastal Jeans campaign, right?” The woman Tori had been talking to now joined them. “You know Tori?”
Tori nodded, her sulking long forgotten. “Yes, Mrs. Covington, this is Mellie Low. We’re...” She hesitated and Melanie jumped in.
“Tori and I are friends. And I go by Melanie Lowery now. Or just Mel.”
Mellie Low died a long time ago.
Tori beamed as Melanie extended her hand to the woman. Susan Covington explained that her husband was CEO of Covington Golf, and they were one of Tori’s equipment sponsors on the women’s golf tour. She introduced Mel to another couple at the table, the founders of Winthrop Athletic, a clothing company. Helen Winthrop was nowhere near as pleasant as Susan and had barely released Mel’s hand when she started in.
“Mellie, you’re in the fashion business, so please, God, can you give Tori some much-needed fashion advice?” Tori yanked at the hem of her dress. Mel gritted her teeth. What this girl needed was compassion, not cat claws.
“Please call me Mel. And, actually, Tori’s outfit reflects popular urban fashion for teens right now. She’s following a trend.”
Tori’s shy smile had Mel reaching to squeeze her hand, which also kept her from fidgeting with her dress. Helen gave Tori another once-over.
“Hmm. Perhaps it’s the ‘urban’ part I don’t get. We need Tori to reflect our company’s values, not those of the Kardashians.”
