Page 25 of Parker
Chapter nineteen
Nicky
The red carpet extends toward the sea of photographers standing behind the metal barriers. Cameras flash and snap at everyone who walks past. It’s easy to spot who has attended an event like this before—they stand and pose in front of the billboards advertising the sponsors effortlessly.
My hand trembles in Joel’s, and he squeezes it encouragingly. He’s completely at ease in this situation, wearing his dinner suit as if it’s everyday attire. My heart flutters at the sight of him, handsome and strong, like a film hero.
“You look beautiful,” he whispers in my ear and places a kiss on my cheek. “I’m so proud to be here beside you.” This is our first black-tie event together. I was never confident about going to any before. But as I’m a competitor, I was required to come to this one.
The cameras all turn to us, and my husband directs me through posing for a few photos.
Within minutes, we’re heading inside to the awards ceremony, to my relief.
I’m wearing my entry for the competition.
It’s a canary yellow satin gown that falls to the floor.
I carefully lifted the hem of it to prevent tripping.
It’s strapless with a fixed corset, detailed with black boning.
There’s no hiding tonight, not in this. My hair is up with stray curls falling around my heavily made-up face.
We grab a glass of orange juice each from the approaching server and go to find our table.
Most of the Parker Fashion attendees are already there—only competitors and VIPs were to enter by the photographers, and everyone else came in another door.
Imelda sits facing the stage with a huge grin on her face.
“You look incredible,” she declares as I approach the table.
Everyone applauds, and I giggle, embarrassed by the attention. Being in the spotlight just isn’t me.
The ballroom is magnificent—a circular space with an enormous stage at its core and over a hundred tables surrounding it laid with pristine cream linen and silverware.
Huge vases of red flowers create centerpieces, and the blooms trail across the tables.
Looking up at the domed ceiling, I see a great chandelier hanging, glittering above us.
We all take our seats as the evening begins.
There is only one award. Unique Fashion House of the Year .
Parker Fashion has never won. They have been shortlisted countless times over the years, but the ultimate prize has always slipped from their grasp.
Imelda sits to my left, while Joel is to my right.
She leans across, her lips millimeters from my ear.
“I’m serious, Nicky. You look sensational this evening. We could win this, you know.”
I chuckle nervously.
“Don’t discount yourself so quickly.” Her shrewd eyes scan the room. “Look around. Do you see a piece in here as incredible as the one you’re wearing? I certainly don’t.”
The evening continues with speeches from notable people in the industry, a compilation of fashion icons, and a lot of stuff I don’t understand. Joel keeps my hand in his, only allowing it out of his reach for me to eat. His voice is full of pride as he talks to our colleagues around the table.
The Master of Ceremonies takes to the stage once more. Now is the moment of truth. “Whatever happens, baby, I’m so damn proud of you,” he says, and I feel like the luckiest woman in the world to have him by my side.
“Ladies and gentlemen, now is the moment you’ve all been waiting for. Unique Fashion House of the Year has been hotly contested again this year. Our judges struggled to decide. Their debate lasted for over five hours,” he tells the crowd, who ooh and aah on cue.
Sweat beads on my forehead as my heart races. The buzz in the room rises with each word he says. My gaze darts around the ballroom—everyone is on edge, waiting for the magic moment their name is called.
“Without further ado, I invite our chairperson, Sir Francis Melloy, to the stage to present the award.” A regal-looking gentleman rises from his seat at a table near the front.
There is a military air about him as he climbs the stairs—his black hair and mustache trimmed within an inch of their life. He nods to the MC.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of the 2017 Unique Fashion Awards is…” He pauses for effect, and it seems to last a lifetime. “Parker Fashion, Glasgow.”
Our table explodes in screams and cheers as everyone jumps from their seats.
A bottle of champagne topples over and spills across the table when someone’s celebrating arm collides with it.
I’m suddenly aware of Joel lifting me from my seat.
Imelda takes my other arm, and they guide me to the stage.
The next ten minutes are a blur as I stand looking over the ocean of smiling faces.
Upon hearing my name, I blink to clear my thoughts.
It’s then I realize it is Joel speaking, thanking the organization and judges.
The audience roars with appreciation, and tears spring to my eyes. Imelda puts her hand on my shoulder and kisses my cheek. “Thank you, darling,” she says. “You’ve made my family’s dreams come true.”
With that, the three of us head back down to our table to celebrate our success, clutching our trophy between us. I notice Ebony still seated while everyone else stands and cheers. Hatred fills her eyes as she glares at me. As expected, Joel doesn’t seem to notice.
Her venom sends me back to a time when someone locked my bedroom door. The way the prison officers would stare through the bars as we slept. A menacing presence that can’t be fought.
She lifts her hand and slowly draws a finger across her throat before standing and disappearing into the crowd, the publicist mask gone. My elation nosedives. I know that my life just became a lot harder.