Not Just A Pretty Face

11. Leonel

It was my first time on a transatlantic flight, and I tried my hardest to ignore the churning nerves in my stomach. I hated even domestic flights, but a shot at the bar before we took off could always take care of that.

This time, I had eight hours to sit through before we got to London, and I was a little terrified.

The plane was big enough that the takeoff was smooth, but every little shudder of turbulence made me dig my nails into my palms while I folded my arms tightly.

Damn it, they insisted on keeping the window blind open for takeoff, too. It would be a little better if I couldn’t see the ground rapidly falling away from under me.

And I didn’t want to show my nerves around the other models. There were six of us in total, all sitting in one section of premium economy. I was on the aisle, and the guys in the middle and window seats -- Luca and Hunter, if I remembered right -- were busy talking.

Just as well, since I didn’t feel like wasting the flight talking to them. I could mentally rehearse instead, going through everything I’d learned from Paul and Raymond, from the photographers over the last two weeks, and from a lifetime of watching male models strut down the runway.

My job was pretty simple: final fittings, walk down the runway from dawn until dusk, then attend parties all night.

From what I’d read online, it was going to mean working my ass off, but at least I had natural talent. I didn’t have to work at looking elegant.

Unlike Luca. Jesus, he was a klutz. Somehow he managed to turn that off on the runway, but the rest of the time? He practically tripped over his own two feet. How the fuck had he ever been spotted? Had he fooled them in an open call until he’d been signed? Or was he just drugged up?

I pursed my lips in judgment, focusing on that instead of the shuddering of the plane. When it finally felt like it was leveling off, I let out my breath and unfolded my arms, leaning forward to grab my water bottle.

Those five pounds were gone, my stomach a little leaner and body fat percentage a little lower. I just couldn’t eat a proper meal until the end of the week.

God, I was sick of salads, but it was worth it.

“This is your first fashion week, isn’t it?”

I turned my gaze to Luca and nodded once. “I have a good idea what to expect.”

“You’re the last-minute guy, right? You’re replacing the diva who walked out?”

I raised a brow. “Or they kicked him out for me.” I preferred to think of it that way.

“Yeah, from what I heard you’ve got a better walk,” Luca chuckled. “He’s gonna be pissed. He only just got signed for the show, and then when he ran out on the test shoot, Raymond moved him to another show this week. He’s walking for someone else. You know Jameson?”

I snorted loudly, unable to resist a moment’s sarcasm. “Do I know Jameson?” Duh. The menswear designer who practically set the trend of knitted ties back into motion last season? If I didn’t know him, what the fuck would I be doing in this industry?

“Just asking.” Luca shrugged, but a smile flickered across his face. Was he testing me? The asshole.

“I wasn’t born yesterday. I just look like it,” I told him, reclining my seat and looking down the aisle for the booze cart. It couldn’t come fast enough.

Luca laughed. “Yeah, I have a suitcase just for my skincare regimen.”

“Oh, I don’t need one,” I told him loftily. I’d been blessed with good skin, after all.

“Really?”

“Not much of one.”

He whistled. “Lucky. I have to get facials weekly.”

“I bet you do.” I pushed my tongue behind my teeth, and Luca’s expression darkened for a moment before he laughed.

I laughed along, even if I’d meant it more snidely than he probably suspected. There was no way he had gotten here on talent alone. He had to be fucking someone. Gideon, maybe? Raymond? Paul? Someone had their dick invested in him.

“You hear where our hotel is? It’s great. We’ve got a bunch of adjoining rooms,” he told me, smoothly changing the subject. I noticed that.

“In case we want to have sleepovers?” That sounded like hell. I wasn’t going to let them see me when I wasn’t ready to walk. Nobody got to see me at night unless I was in their bed.

I had an image to maintain now, after all. And that image included two vodka shots that were a couple rows away from me.

Thank God. If Luca was this chatty, I was going to need more than vodka shots.