Aurelie. [H.S]

CHAPTER 19

18 February 2016

Milan, Italy

Aurelie's POV

"Someone get me some pins!" Giorgio Armani shouts eagerly, pinching my loose dress together with his forefinger and thumb. Ten minutes till showtime and the outfit doesn't fit: perfect.

Not only am I opening this show, I'm closing it too, and I know for a fact that I won't have time to adjust the clothes when switching to my second outfit.

"Ciao!" Giorgio shouts again, trying to get a seamstress' attention. There's no way that I can walk like this- my body makes the dress extremely unflattering due to the poor fit. It drowns me. 

Long legs surround me, at least thirty models chatting and going through their pre-show rituals. Though we're almost three weeks into fashion week, there's still nerves buzzing around.

"Finally!" the stressed designer sighs when a small woman carrying a sewing kit appears at my side.

I try introducing myself to her, but she starts arguing with Giorgio in Italian and I deem it smart to just stand there with a straight face, gazing off into the distance.

Harry insisted on coming to every single one of my shows so far. It's been nice having someone to bring to the fancy meals to celebrate shows, especially when everyone knows and loves him.

The models used to pity me as they hugged and showed off their boyfriends, but now it's the opposite, they're the ones looking jealous.

Knowing that he's in the audience, sat on the front row and waiting for me to appear, only adds to the nerves. I like having him around though, so I can't complain.

"Turn." the woman instructs, gripping my hips and spinning me so that my back faces her. Her english is very broken, so I can only hope that she doesn't mean to sound as rude as she does.

"Five minutes!" a man near the curtain calls, adjusting his headset and moving from model to model to check that everything's going as planned.

Of course everything's okay for everyone else except from the person who's opening and closing the show. The woman had to cut the dress so that she could sew it back together without it bunching up. 

Two minutes pass. I have to walk to the front of the line with the same woman yapping in my ear and jabbing me with pins. I stare at my feet the whole time, only looking up when I'm addressed.

When there's only one minute till curtain, I start to stress. There's a huge slit ripped down the side of my dress unintentionally, and a sewing needle moving furiously to fix it.

Giorgio walks backstage after delivering his opening speech and introducing himself to new friends, the smile being wiped from his face when he sees his dress deconstructed.

He starts going off on the woman, and she doesn't even engage on the argument due to the amount of concentration that she's putting in on fixing my dress.

"Ten seconds." the man calls, and I have no choice but to step closer to the entrance, against the woman's wishes. "Stop." she mutters with a wheel of thread between her teeth.

Giorgio on the other hand is shouting for me to go, and since it's his show, I prepare to listen to his orders.

"Go." the director and seamstress say at the exact time, letting me know that the dress is in fact fixed.

My heels clatter against the plywood runway, the booming music concealing the sound mostly. Left foot, right foot, I repeat over and over again.

You can't look out at the crowd when walking- a serious expression is glued to my face and my head is constantly lifted so that I don't end up showing the audience a double chin or unflattering position.