As he leaned in closer, I could feel the warmth of his breath on my face and his tempting lips mere inches away from mine. Our eyes locked onto each other, unable to look away as the tension between us grew stronger. We both knew what was about to h...
A few days later, I went to a casting call, feeling like a fish out of water amidst a sea of girls who didn't look like me. Most were skinny, white, blond, or brunette, chatting away. Standing alone, I spotted a girl against the wall.
If looks could kill, she'd be the next Aileen Wuornos. She had smooth skin that was richly melanated, with high cheekbones and long, elegant legs put on display by her jet-black mini skirt. Her afro hair framed her heart-shaped face with natural coils. Despite her unapproachable aura, I mustered up as much confidence as possible and walked over.
As I approached, she finally looked up, her light brown eyes holding a fierce quality.
"Hi, I'm Diana," I introduced myself, extending a hand.
With a smile, she shook it, "I'm Naomi," A captivating accent mingling in her words.
Her smile eased my nerves. "You have a beautiful accent, where are you from?"
She chuckled sweetly, "Trinidad and Tobago."
"That's amazing," I praised, "What brings you to New York?"
"Well, I moved here with my mother and sister," she explained. "I needed to find a job, and I always wanted to model."
"What about you?" She tilted her head.
Before I could respond, the casting room door swung open, and a director's presence commanded attention.
"Excuse me, ladies," she interjected firmly. "I hope your conversation is as interesting as your presence on the runway."
The casting began, and my heart raced as I watched the other models. Naomi's quiet reassurance bolstered my confidence before her captivating walk stole the show.
Finally, it was my turn. As the camera rolled, my nerves transformed into surprising confidence. I focused on each step, feeling Naomi's supportive gaze.
After the director's positive feedback, relief washed over me. Naomi's congratulatory smile made the experience even better.
After a short conversation, Naomi and I decided to grab a cup of coffee.
---
"So you never got to tell me why you came to New York."
I cleared my throat, recalling the reason. "It was a guy."
Glancing at her, I continued, "He was my boyfriend, and he got a job offer here, so I decided to move with him."
"You two still together?" Her eyebrow raised.
"No, not anymore," I shook my head.
Her curiosity apparent, she asked, "If you don't mind me asking—"
"I found him in our bed with the woman I thought was my best friend," I revealed, feeling a sense of liberation.
She touched my hand comfortingly. "I'm sorry to hear that. They both seem like complete assholes."
"It's fine, I've recently been speaking to someone else anyway."
Listening intently, she rested her cheek on her knuckles. "I'm listening."
Sharing about my rekindled connection with Dante, her amusement was evident.
"So you're telling me, that you got a good-looking Italian billionaire wrapped around your finger?"
"I guess so," I said modestly.
"You should be grateful that bastard did what he did," she emphasized, her bluntness making me laugh.
"It's adorable how you look when you talk about him," she observed, noting the twinkle in my eyes.
"What do you mean?" I asked, genuinely curious.
"You have this twinkle in your eyes, like you might be in love," she smiled, her hand on her cheek.
"I think I might be too."
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