the night…it always did, she allowed wryly. But today…well, the day before awards night meant blood, sweat and a few tears.
‘Delivery boy out front.’
A frown creased Ilana’s forehead. Delivery? All the deliveries were in for the day.
Micki’s assistant went out the front and returned with a generous bouquet of pink and cream tightly budded roses.
Liliana?
Ilana detached the card from the Cellophane.
Xandro. There was no mistaking the name written by a male hand…following a personalised message: Good luck.
‘Wow. Nice. Who?’ demanded Micki.
Thinking quickly on her feet, she pocketed the card and managed a smile. ‘Good-luck wishes for tomorrow night.’ She moved to the tiny alcove that served as a minuscule kitchen and withdrew a vase from the storage cupboard.
It was a kind gesture…if only simple kindness were his motivation. Somehow she doubted anything about Xandro Caramanis could be simple.
There was little time to even think as Saturday dawned and team Arabelle went into action with preparations for the evening’s awards.
Practice didn’t make perfect, for it failed to factor in the many variables that could cause a hitch or three, or more.
An hour before the first model was due to hit the catwalk saw the backstage dressing room filled to capacity with racks of clothes, anxious designers, a fraught seamstress or two, hair and make-up assistants lobbying for room in front of inadequate mirrors. Not to mention cellphones pealing and chirping every few minutes.
Bedlam didn’t begin to cover it.
And it would get worse.
There was hardly room to move, and too many bodies in too small a space made for short tempers…successfully muted by background music piped into the large hotel ballroom seating over a thousand guests.
Organisation and co-ordination were the order of the night. Each designer had a list detailing each category and order of appearance.
‘Sorry I’m late.’
Ilana heard the voice, vaguely recognised it, turned…and felt her heart sink.
Danika was the replacement model?
Oh, my.
OK, so they’d handle it.
But not too well, Ilana determined as she sought to batten down a sense of frustration at Danika’s continuing contretemps.
‘These shoes aren’t right.’
‘That belt…are you out of your mind?’
Swept-up hairstyle, when Danika insisted on wearing it loose.
‘Definitely not that faux jewellery…get me something else.’
Muted grumbles from various designers were enhanced by eye-rolling and unladylike muttered oaths.
Out the front, everything was fine.
Backstage, it was something else.
‘If she makes one more complaint,’ Micki threatened as Danika took the catwalk, ‘Just one more, I’ll have her for breakfast.’
‘On cinnamon toast, or dipped in eggs Benedict?’ Ilana queried with wry cynicism.
‘Preferably drowned in my coffee.’
‘Espresso or chai latte?’
Micki rolled her eyes. ‘You’re a riot.’
‘An hour, and it’ll all be over,’ she reminded.
Minutes later Micki handed the model bangles and earrings, which received an expressive sigh in resignation.
‘Not until the fat lady sings,’ Micki assured as Danika disappeared out onto the stage.
Applause could be heard above the music.
One by one the models returned, effected a quick change and readied themselves for the next category.
Cocktail wear, then evening wear.
Ilana had created a stunning gown in red, with a finely pleated bodice, a draped full-length skirt with a side-split reaching almost to the hip.
To give due credit, Danika showcased it with incredible panache.
‘I’ll take this instead of my fee.’
‘It’s an original and part of a collection.’ And not intended as barter.
‘Precisely why I’ll have it.’
‘Impossible.’ Micki stepped forward and slid down the hidden zip fastening. ‘The gown is to feature in next season’s showing.’
Danika offered a supercilious glare. ‘Make another.’
Deep breaths…one, two…‘Then it won’t be an original,’ Ilana said calmly.
‘Tough.’
Bridal-wear became the final category, and Arabelle opted for the traditional, with exquisite lace, a demure neckline, and tiny covered buttons from nape to tailbone. A soft, flowing full-length skirt overlayed with lace moved like a dream with every step the model took.
The finale awaited the final judging…emotion and tension ran high among the assembled designers as to which one of them would win in each given category.
Meanwhile the models hovered, ready to don the winning garment.
This was the moment everyone had been waiting for, and the organisers played up the drama, building the excitement as the judging numbers were handed in.
Then the winning categories were announced…from the beginning, and the model reappeared on stage with the designer to generous applause.
The suspense was killing, and Ilana clutched Micki’s hand as the evening-wear category was announced.
Arabelle won with the red gown.
And Arabelle took out the bridal category.
It was an incredible moment as Ilana and Micki went up on stage and stood together, wearing their signature black leggings and blousson tops and stiletto-heeled boots as Danika paraded the catwalk.
The presentation, the short speech. Elation, joy, nerves and relief.
Then it was time for the whole congratulatory thing as photographers’ cameras flashed in split-second unison.
‘Darling, I’m so very proud of you.’ Liliana hugged her tight. Others followed, until Ilana thought her head might spin.
‘Congratulations.’
The male voice was a familiar one, and she felt the thud of an increased pulse-beat as she turned slowly to meet Xandro’s steady gaze.
His presence was unexpected. Tonight’s event wasn’t something a heterosexual male would consider attending alone in normal circumstances.
Several questions raced through her brain. Could he be joining Danika later? Perhaps going on to a nightclub?
Or was he with someone else?
He didn’t lack for female partners, that was for sure!
Oh, for heaven’s sake…stop it! What if he is with someone else? As if you care!
So why this slight jolt of wishful longing? Almost as if some deeply hidden imp was bent on teasing her subconscious with what it might be like with this man.
‘Thanks.’
He emanated leashed strength and a degree of latent sensuality. It was a lethal combination, and much too much for any feminine peace of mind.
Beneath the sophisticated façade lay the heart and soul of