“I am literally your biggest fan.” Her eyes sparkle, and for a second I forget who she’s standing with. “When I grow up I want to be just like you. I want to be a model and travel all over the world. I’ve watched every episode of America’s Elite Model,” she gushes. Last year I guest-starred on a television show where dozens of women competed to get a modeling contract with Elite—the same modeling company that gave me my start when I was eighteen. The winner was also given a spot in my clothing line launch a few months ago in Paris.
“Thank you.” When I give her a closer look, I notice she’s wearing makeup, and it’s done beautifully. I wonder if her mom did her makeup, and my heart drops at the thought as I remember who she is—who she belongs to. I suddenly want to get as far away from here as humanly possible, but instead I take a deep breath. It’s not her fault who her parents are.
“My name is Skyla.” She extends her tiny hand to shake mine. She’s petite yet tall—all legs—so I can’t tell how old she is, but she acts more like a young adult than a child. If I had to guess, I would say she looks to be about twelve… maybe thirteen years old. I do the math in my head. Did Jase know he had a daughter and not tell me? I take her hand in mine, and it’s then I notice my hands are shaking. “Could I…could I get your autograph?” she asks, suddenly shy.
“Sure,” I say, taking my hand back. “Do you have something for me to write on?” She looks back at her dad, and my eyes lock once again with his. He’s frozen in place. He probably never imagined the two separate parts of his past would one day collide. We were only together for a short time. I doubt he’s even thought about me over the years. I was probably nothing more than a blip in his radar. A week-long fuck. Although, he did remember the nickname he gave me…
Flustered, I begin to dig through my purse to find something to write with, or write on, when a hand taps my shoulder. I look over and Giselle is handing me a cocktail napkin. She smiles softly, and I silently thank her. When I look back at Skyla, she also has something in her hand.
“It’s my sketch pad. I want to design clothes one day, like you. Will you sign it?” Oh, the irony of this situation. I take the book from her and open it up. The first page is a sketch of a gorgeous ballgown. The details are so intricate and perfect, it looks like something an artist would draw.
“Did you draw this?” I ask in awe, as I continue to flip through the pages of exquisite drawings, each one more beautiful than the last.
“I did.” I glance back up at her and she’s beaming with pride.
“They’re amazing. Keep it up and one day everyone will be wearing your designs.”
Skyla’s smile brightens even more, if that’s even possible. “Thank you.” She hands me a pen.
I sign my name on the inside cover with a couple words of wisdom, then hand it back to her. She opens it up and reads what I wrote. When she makes eye contact with me, she frowns, and I worry maybe what I wrote wasn’t the right thing. I’ve never signed something for a young girl before, so I simply wrote to always follow her dreams.
“Could you sign something for my mom as well?” she asks softly. “I wish she were here to meet you.”
“Umm… sure,” I say, trying, and failing, to keep my voice light. I can feel everyone’s eyes on me, especially Jase’s, but I don’t chance looking anywhere but at Skyla. If I look at Jase, I might just lose it. He still doesn’t know I saw him with Amaya. Using the napkin Giselle gave me, I sign my name.
“Can you make it out to Amaya? That’s her name.”
“Sure.” I write her name on the top then hand it to her. When the napkin passes from my hand to hers, I make the mistake of looking at Jase. And I’m shocked to find that he’s glaring at me. Glaring! Like I’m at fault here. What in the ever-loving fuck! He’s damn lucky his daughter is standing here or I’d give him a piece of my mind.
“It was very nice to meet you,” I tell Skyla, and with one last fake smile, I turn to walk away. Giselle and Olivia are both staring at me. I walk past them and can feel them on my heels. I don’t even need to look back to know they’re chomping at the bit to ask me questions. “Not now,” I say as we walk back over to the restaurant.