Wish you were mine

13. Phoenix

PAST

PENELOPE

“What the hell is going on?” Angelina's voice rang out, sharp and furious, jolting me from my thoughts. I glanced over at her.

Her hazel eyes, usually so warm, blazed with fury as she glared at the workers scrambling around her. With her striking 5'9" frame and cascading caramel hair, she was a force—stunning and commanding in equal measure.
I sighed, wondering for the hundredth time why I had agreed to come. Today was her big day—her fashion show, the culmination of months of work.

Angelina was a rising star in Paris, her designs already catching the eyes of major names in the industry. But despite the glamour and excitement swirling around her, I had just wanted to stay home, to disappear. Yet, Angelina insisted. She believed I needed to get out of my own head, to stop wallowing in my heartbreak. Maybe she was right. Maybe I was weak—too fragile to face my emotions head-on. Why else would I have allowed one man to ruin everything?

It had been three months since I fled Los Angeles, leaving behind the wreckage of my old life to hide away in Paris. Angelina, my cousin, had welcomed me with open arms, no questions asked. She didn’t pry into the details of my shattered relationship, and I didn’t offer them. But deep down, I knew—running hadn’t made the pain disappear.

A sharp yell from Angelina snapped me out of my thoughts again. I focused on her, my eyes narrowing as I realized how tense she was. Her hands trembled slightly, her usual calm demeanor slipping. Something was wrong. Angelina never lost her cool like this.
“I’m going to sue her!” she shouted, pacing furiously.

“What happened?” I asked, trying to sound calm, though the tension in the room was starting to make me uneasy.
She turned to me, the fire in her eyes dimming for a moment as she sighed, sinking down onto the couch beside me.

“One of my models... She backed out at the last minute. She’s not coming to the show.”

“Oh.” It was all I could manage, unsure of how serious this really was.

“Then take it out,” I suggested, though I knew it wasn’t that simple.

Angelina leaned her head back, frustration etched in her features. “I can’t just remove the dress from the show. It’s part of the collection,” she muttered.

Her eyes flicked toward me, narrowing with sudden calculation. Slowly, she studied me from head to toe, a spark of an idea forming behind her intense gaze. I shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny.

“Penelope... will you help me?” she asked, her voice cautious yet hopeful.
“I don’t know any models who would come in at the last minute,” I said, confused.

She shook her head. “It’s not about finding another model. The dress has already been tailored to fit a specific body type. I need someone who matches her physique... someone who could step in.”

I stared at her blankly for a moment before realizing what she was suggesting. “Wait. No,” I said quickly, my voice rising with panic. “I’m not a model, Angelina.”

“It doesn’t matter. You’re beautiful, Penelope. That’s all I need,” she insisted, her tone softer now, almost coaxing.
I laughed bitterly. “Beautiful? If I were so beautiful, the man I loved wouldn’t have chosen my sister over me.” The words came out before I could stop them, the bitterness still raw in my chest.

Angelina’s expression softened, and she squeezed my shoulder gently. “This is an opportunity, Penelope. An opportunity to start over.”

“I don’t need an opportunity,” I muttered, turning away.