She took a deep breath and exhaled. Darin turned to her and winked, patting a calming hand on her knee. She forced a faint smile and watched as Brenna stepped on stage.
A shot of adrenaline pierced her chest and swept through to her toes. Brenna looked beautiful, she hadn’t a stitch out of place, but the woman was holding a square of white poster board in her hand.
What the hell was she doing?
She should have never let Suzanna alone in the back. As she mentally fired her assistant, her eyes fixed on the model, trying to comprehend what was going on.
Brenna stepped to the end of the runway, made her standard moves from one end to the other, turning to provide the crowd with the full view of Rachel’s designs. Then, before turning to step back the way she came, she stopped at the end of the runway and held up her sign.
It read “Rachel”.
The blood drained from her face as mortification coursed through her veins. Brenna returned the sign to her side, pivoted and strolled backstage.
An ache filled her gut. The loud disco music pounded in her ears. The flashing strobe lights pierced her eyes, bringing searing pain to her temples. She didn’t know what was going on, and as Delilah stepped onto the runway, Rachel’s sickness deepened.
Like Brenna, Delilah held a sign at her side, causing Rachel to rise from her chair. She had to find out what the hell they were doing.
Before she could lift from her seat, Darin’s hand came down over her shoulder. “Just relax,” he muttered in her ear.
She turned to see his bright smile. Was he in on this? And what was this?
She glanced back to Delilah as she repeated Brenna’s moves at the end of the runway. After she had modeled the red thong and matching bra, she paused and lifted her sign.
“I love you”, it said.
Rachel turned to Darin. “What’s going on?”
He shrugged. “We’ll have to wait and see.”
Panic ripping through her veins, she glanced around the crowd, watching the eyes move from her to the stage and back again. Expressions seemed to be a mix of confusion and amusement, but fortunately, no one appeared to be ready to make a scene—except for her.
Misty stepped up, carrying another sign. Misty wasn’t supposed to be the next model on stage. Billie was supposed to have come next. Again, Rachel was overcome with the need to rush backstage and find out what was going on, but at this point, she doubted her limp noodle legs would lift her from her seat.
An evil grin came over Misty’s face as she strolled to the end of the runway, struck her pose and lifted the third sign.
“Marry me.”
A wave of sighs erupted from the crowd as the words burned into Rachel’s cheeks. Her muddled mind tried to put the three signs together, but comprehension escaped her.
A marriage proposal?
From whom?
Heat torched her face as she watched Misty stroll away. She fixed her eyes on the back wall, hoping the next sign would dissolve her confusion and answer the question as to what was going on.
She clasped her hands to the armrests and held her breath, waiting for the next model to appear, but the form that emerged from behind the curtain drained the air from her lungs.
Travis.
He wore a tuxedo, and in his hand was a bouquet of perfect red roses. His gaze searched the crowd until it found hers. He held it, a little grin tugging at his mouth.
As he neared the end of the runway, she heard Darin whisper to her ear, “I think that’s your cue.” His hand patted her back, nudging her from her seat. “Don’t make the man wait.”
She rose on weakened legs, her hands shaking so furiously, she had to ball them into fists to keep from embarrassing herself in front of the crowd. She kept her eyes on Travis, his broad chest filling out the tuxedo better than any male model she’d seen, his eyes glimmering with affection and a tinge of satisfaction.
He stepped to the edge of the stage and took her hand. She didn’t want to get on stage. She wanted Travis to tell her what the hell he was doing, but when she tried to tug him in her direction, he tightened his grip and pulled her onto the platform.
The music stopped, the flashing multicolored lights died to a single golden spotlight on them both. Rachel’s cheeks burned with fire, her hands shook with nerves, and when Travis lowered to one knee, the tears she had suppressed for a week quickly came flooding to the surface.
“Forget what you heard,” he said roughly. “I’m in love with you, I want to marry you, and spend the rest of my life making you happy.”
A quick, wet cough escaped her throat and she covered her mouth with a trembling hand. Travis set the roses on the floor and reached in his pocket, pulling out a black velvet box.
As he lifted the lid, he added, “You don’t need to be saved, Rachel. But I do. Let’s build a new future together. What do you say? Will you marry me?”