"Yukari, do you want to tell me what's wrong? If it's going to affect your preformance, I need to know." said Shimamoto, shifting in her plane seat. They were halfway to France already, and Yukari had just stared out the window ever since they had gotten out of the plane. She had called Hiro and told him about how she was going to Paris for a week for modeling. He had sounded a bit uncertain, but when Yukari promised to call him everyday, he calmed down. Yukari sat silently for a while before answering.

"It's George. The party I was at – it was a ParaKiss reunion. I had no idea it would be so hard to see him again. Why can't I just get over my feelings for him!" cried Yukari, glad that it was a private jet they were on and not a public plane, shared with the rest of the staff involved. Shimamoto sighed.

"Yukari, it's best just to try and forget about that no-good bastard. I'm sure he has slept with many different women, and probably has a girlfriend back in Europe. Or a boyfriend. Or both! He's just toying with your emotions, Yukari, that's just what he does. I've known him since he was a small child, and he's exactly like his father. Pay no attention to it. Just keep your head up high, and constantly remind yourself that you are in love with Tokumori and you have been all along." replied Shimamoto, massaging her temples tiredly. The realization of these facts had hurt Yukari. She had almost forgotten that it had been ten years in between their last meeting. Ten, whole, years.

"Kozue," said Yukari, "If it's as easy as you say, than why haven't I been able to do it, even after ten long years of trying to forget him." Him and his glassy blue eyes. That cold, glassy, stare she had hated so much. She ran a hand through her hair worriedly.

"The only thing I can think of is that you haven't been trying with your whole heart." said Shimamoto. Yukari slumped in her seat. She went through her memories of George. She remembered every single one. Shimamoto was right – she had never been trying with her whole heart. She still remembered all her encounters and experiences with startling accuracy when it came to George. She cursed herself for being so weak. She tried to remember everything she did with Hiro, but she couldn't. She could remember bits and pieces, but not the colourful details that were littered in her memories of George.

She gazed out the window, taking in the scenery below her. They were almost to their destination, and they'd be landing in just a little bit. It had been little over 14 hours since she had last seen George. Since he had asked her to come away with him.

Damn, thought Yukari, he should know better than to plague me with these thoughts. I have a job to do, and he's responsible for my finding it. It was his fault I became a model, and he should accept the fact. 'Forget modeling', ha! Like I could ever throw my job away like that. He's a sick, twisted person who wants me to be an individual with my own thoughts and choices, yet he wants to mold and shape me into his ideal woman. He's just as stupid as I am, and he'd better deal with it, because I am going to get over him this very moment.

Even ranting to herself made her feel much better. She felt as if his grip on her heart was lighting, and she sighed. Her lips turned upwards into a tiny smile, and Shimamoto smiled along with her. She gazed intently out the window, ecstatic that she was finally realizing her dream of going overseas.

"Hurry!"

"You're on in five!"

"Get into that cocktail dress, quick!"

"Good luck!"

"Don't trip on the train!"

"Ah! - Don't rip the fabric! It's delicate!"

It was just the dress rehearsal for the show and the tension was running high. Yukari felt the pressure the most because she felt that being short, only standing at 5'8'', she should do her best to shine amongst the other taller, younger, models.

When she had first entered the dressing room, the models there sneered and laughed at her. 'Look at the cute little old woman over there!', they said. 'She's much too short to be a model, maybe she's an assistant!' She grinded her teeth and held her head up high. Those remarks just caused her to feel even more confident – she knew she had to be confident, else she would fail among the array of budding models.

So, when the time finally came, she showed her spirit as a small asian model, and did well. I am the most beautiful woman in the world, she thought to herself, over and over, remembering the first piece of advice that Shimamoto had ever given her. I am the most beautiful woman in the world. She repeated it to herself so many times that even she believed it.

She strutted her stuff, and walked down the runway, her pale face prominant in the bright spotlight. I am a star. I am the most beautiful woman in the whole, wide, world. She didn't trip, or fall, she just held her head up high as the other models gazed in awe, not knowing that someone so short or so old could do so well as a model. That'll show them.

Paris was something new for her. The sights, the sounds. Most of the people there did not speak her language, and if they did, it was terrible. She only understood the snide, malevolent comments that were obviously meant for her to hear. She just kept silent. She knew drama in the dressing room was not a good thing for a fashion show, and she wanted what was best for all of them.

Four days of rehearsal passed by, and they soon reached the day of the Grand Paris Runway Show. All the models were hyped for their final preformance, the grand finale. Yukari was sitting in her first dress as she waited eagerly to be called on. The announcer babbled in a language she didn't know, and she only knew that she was to strut when she heard her name – mispronounced, mind you.

She got up and walked out onto the runway. Her heart pounded in her chest like a caged animal, and time seemed to be going in slow motion. She stared straight ahead of herself, her head held high, her expression cool and nonchalant. One foot in front of the other, she placed each step perfectly. I am the most beautiful woman in the world.

She turned around at the end of the runway, and slinked back down to the end, gaining much applause from behind her. She heard many words thrown at her in many different languages that she did not understand – it didn't matter, though. They sounded encouraging, and she could hardly contain the smiles that were fighting to the surface.

Then, snap. Time came back into play. Yukari hurried into the dressing room, quickly changing into her next dress as fast as she could. This was the life on the runway, and god, she loved every minute of it!

She knew right then that she could have never left modeling for George. Still, she had a lingering feeling in her heart, like a hand tickling it. Stroking it. And she knew for sure whose hands they were. Those long, slender hands adorned with those all-too-familiar rings on each finger, and his subtle lingering scent..

(A/N: Wow, fourth chapter already. Well, not already. I sure have been taking my sweet time. Anyways, I've noticed that a lot of you aren't reviewing. REVIEW. I love reviews! I want reviews! I will give you a cookie for reviews! I want to know what's bad, what's good, why you didn't get past the first sentance! REVIEW.

Just so you guys know, THIS IS NOT THE END. I AM NOT DONE YET. I KNOW IT SOUNDS LIKE AN ENDING, BUT IT ISN'T. UNLESS I SUDDENLY CHANGE MY MIND. IF I DO, I'M SORRY. D8

Also, for future reference, Kozue is Shimamoto's first name, for those who did not know or did not remember.)