25.

From his position on the couch, he studied his mother's profile. She was on the terrace, on a big, soft white armchair, looking ahead. She had a cup of coffee in her hands. Or maybe tea. Hopefully not Vodka.

They had decided Claire would get in the car at 7pm that evening, and be sure the reporters followed her to Mode, giving them the chance to leave the house with the limousine. While he'd seen Betty, Amanda and Marc seemed to be enjoying being locked in the big mansion, he knew Wilhelmina's patience was growing thinner. He could understand her: the place must hold many memories for her, most of which she probably didn't feel like reliving.

"How long has she been like that?" came the soft voice from behind him. He looked up and saw Wilhelmina towering him, leaning against the back of the couch, looking down on him. He returned his gaze upon his mother and shrugged. "You should go talk to her," Wilhelmina continued, circling the couch, coming to stand in front of him.

"I know," he said, sighing. "I don't know what to tell her. I feel like I told her everything, and what she's going through is something I can't understand. When it happened, two years ago, with Molly, it was because I'd kept her in the dark. This time, she knew it. I'm not sure it's because she feels neglected, anymore. There must be something else there, I just don't know what it is."

"Well, it's not like looking at her will answer your questions, Daniel," Wilhelmina stated, looking over her shoulder to look at the woman she'd spent her life hating and feeling sorry for her on some level. "She's got no one. You're the only thing that keeps her connected with her past, I think she's afraid of letting you go because it'll mean she'll have to let go of everything else. I think somewhere, deep inside, she's still holding onto her memory of a family."

Daniel looked up at her. "When did you get so deep?" he asked.

"I am deep," she said, raising an eyebrow. "You're the jerk, between the two of us."

He smirked and put his hands on his knees, standing up. He leaned in and kissed her, then he walked off. When he reached the closed French window connecting to the terrace he turned around, watching her before a small smile curved his lips. "I love you."

Wilhelmina pursed her lips and smirked back, turning her back on him and leaving the room. He laughed inwardly, perfectly aware of the fact that it would take her a while to get accustomed to that. He slid the window open and stepped out; hearing the movements, Claire turned briefly to him and smiled. "It's preaching time, huh?" she said, nodding solemnly. "Before you start going mental, I want to appeal to your memory and remind you all the times you came home hammered and I let it slide."

"I wasn't a recovering alcoholic," Daniel pointed out. "And I was 18."

"Make it 28."

"Still, definitely not 62," he stated, sitting on the armrest, bumping into her shoulder playfully. "What was it all about, Mum? I'm not here to judge, and trust me, I'd love to. I just want you to tell me what caused this, because I want to help you. You said something, yesterday," he added, in a whisper.

Claire looked up "Did I?"

"Yeah…" he said, tentatively, scratching the back of his head. "You know, the old loving the devil thing."

"Oh, that." She looked away, clicking her tongue. "Look, I'll get over it. I must learn to live with it for as much time as it lasts."

"See, Mum? That's your problem," he said. "You start by giving it a deadline already, while neither Wilhelmina or I can even think about that. It's like you're just sitting and wait for us to fall apart, and that's eating you inside."

Claire put her mug down on the small coffee table at her side, and turned into the armchair, looking up at her son. "It's not about that, Daniel. It's about what I see in you. I've seen each and every one of your girlfriends, I remember who my son was when he was involved with someone. Yet, strangely, this time is different, because you're an adult. It's different from Molly, because you see the challenge. It's different from Sofia, because you have a past you didn't have with her. It's different from all the others, and it worries me. I'm afraid this is it. I'm afraid if you're serious with this, it'll be forever. And well… eventually, yes, it's also because it's her, but not necessarily the primary reason. Believe it or not, it's losing you that worries me more. I'd rather welcome her in the family, than lose you forever."

Daniel narrowed his eyes, confused. "Wait a second," he said. "You're telling me you did this…the alcohol, the shop-lifting…because you want to welcome her in the family?"

"Yes, and that scares the hell out of me," Claire explained, placing a hand on her son's knee. "I know you trust her, but I don't know if I can trust her."

Daniel placed his upon his mother's hand, and looked straight into her eyes. "Then trust me, Mum. All I'm asking you is to have faith in me, my choices and the people I choose. You've always been supportive, and that's been important for me. I need you to keep supporting me, whatever happens." He paused, and Claire's lips trembled. "You're my Mother. I can't do this without you."

The woman brought her hands to cup Daniel's face, smiling. He could see the wetness in her eyes, and smiled back. Claire took a deep breath and nodded. "I will always be there," she whispered. "And I'm sorry for what happened. It was stupid, immature- "

"Stop it right there," he said, taking her hands in his. "I don't want your apologies. You're not apologizing to me. You need to apologize to yourself. Promise me this won't ever happen again."

"When did you become the parent, here?" Claire asked, chuckling.

Daniel chuckled, too, but squeezed her hands. "Promise."

"I promise."

He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek, hugging her tight. "I love you, Mum. I always will."

***

Amanda knew she should have listened to Marc and go to the bathroom on the main floor. Instead, she'd insisted she wanted to explore the house, now that Daniel and Claire were busy chitchatting about whatever Mama Meade's trouble was, and Wilhelmina was nowhere to be found. Betty had tried to tell her that it wasn't polite to just invade people's privacy, but as usual Amanda had ignored. Now, however, while she was walking around, in the first floor, she regretted not having followed her friends' advices, or at least not bringing anyone with her. She knew the stairs leading downstairs had to be somewhere, because what the hell, she had come upstairs in some way, hadn't she? So why was the staircase nowhere to be found?

"Alright, Mandy," she whispered to herself, stopping in the middle of the corridor. "First off, this house is not that big, you can't be lost. And secondly, even if you were, it's not that big of a deal: they'll see you're missing and they'll send a search party. Maybe they'll make a desperate request on live television. No, wait, better. They'll go on Oprah, and they're all going to cry together about how awesome you are."

"I'm not sure I want to know who you're talking to?" came an amused voice from an opened door nearby. She gasped and walked towards it, opening it wide. She was in a classy studio, with elegant dark furniture and red curtains hanging against a huge French window giving on the pool in the garden below. Wilhelmina sat comfortably at the desk, writing something on a bloc-notes. She barely lifted her head to acknowledge the girl coming in and kept on writing.

Just when she was about to turn around and leave tiptoeing the room Wilhelmina looked up and bit her bottom lip, looking the girl up and down. The woman's stare only was enough o freeze Amanda on the spot: she didn't want to be there, alone with her, but she didn't want to leave either, and risk upsetting Wilhelmina, whatever she was doing.

"Amanda," Wilhelmina said, tapping the pen's butt on her chin. "What are you wearing?" Amanda's eyes widened, looking immediately down at her outfit, fearing some fashion faux pas. "Don't worry, I just need the names," Wilhelmina explained.

"Uhm…" Amanda stuttered, confused. "The dress is a McQueen, and the shoes are Jimmy Choo." She flapped her hair around an looked down at her neckline. "This necklace," she said, holding the pendant up, "…is vintage. No idea of the designer, but it's gorgeous. It makes my eyes look pretty. Well, prettier."

"Bottom line, Mc Queen and jimmy Choo," she said, looking down at her bloc-notes. "Not useful. Never mind, you can go," she added, waving her hand. Amanda turned on her heels and moved to close the door, when Wilhelmina stopped her again. "I'm coming too," she said, throwing the pen on the table and carrying the bloc-notes with her. When she was by Amanda's side, she took in the girl's intimidated expression and brushed past her. "I'm not going to hurt you, you know?" she suggested, and the girl scurried after her, slowing down when she was by the Editor's side.

Amanda glanced at her sideways, while Wilhelmina led her through the rooms, clearly accustomed with the place. "Isn't it weird?" she asked, before she could stop herself. That's what Marc usually as there for, too bad he was nowhere near now.

"What?" Wilhelmina asked, but really asked herself when she might have given the impression she wanted to chat.

"Being here," Amanda explained, pointing to their surroundings. "You were here with Mister Meade before. And now Claire lives here, and you have an affair with her son."

"Relationship."

"Huh?"

"I have a relationship with Daniel," Wilhelmina pointed out, not looking at Amanda. They turned left and finally reached the stairs.

Amanda smiled at the specification, as they started going down, the big entrance slowly coming into sight. "Well, isn't it weird?" she insisted.

Wilhelmina didn't answer at first, and when they reached the bottom of the staircase she looked round. She peeked inside discretely inside the dining room, where she could see Daniel and Claire were still talking, sitting round the table. She noticed a pair of legs dangling from the armchair of a couch, the back of it not allowing her to see who it was, but judging by the yellow socks and the frumpy green skirt she knew they had to be Betty's.

She returned her gaze upon Amanda and sigh, shaking her head. "It is," she admitted. "But I'm not letting it take its toll on me." She tried to give the sentence a final tone, suggesting the conversation was over, but Amanda just kept going.

"He really likes you," she said, smiling softly. Wilhelmina stared at the other woman's features, not knowing what to say.

"What makes you think that?" she finally asked, opting for the only road she'd never thought of running: words.

"I've known Daniel for a long time," Amanda said, shrugging. "He gets all territorial, when he likes someone. He's always asking for you. He tries to be sure he knows everything about you. He does his best to always look manly enough, because he wants you to be proud of him. I'd say that's a pretty big crush," the girl concluded. She smiled bitterly. "I know, because he never did, with me."

Wilhelmina took a deep breath and, subconsciously, her hands went to the material of her dress, smoothing it down her curves. She nodded once, and turned her back on the girl, heading for the dining room. On the threshold, however, she leaned her hand against the doorframe and looked at Amanda.

"You're a smart girl," she said. "Smarter than you think, or at least smarter than what you want other people to think you are." She paused, pursing her lips and looking down, pondering carefully the next words. "You would have been a good assistant."

Amanda smiled, feeling a connection with her for the first time. "Thank you," she said. Suddenly, she cheered herself up and walked, with a steady determined pace, swaying her hips, out of sight and into the room the others were in.

Wilhelmina stared at the spot where the girl had been, then she turned around and followed her. Feeling their presence, Daniel and Claire looked up. "Hey," he said, standing up and approaching her. "Where have you been?"

"I needed to sort a few things out," she said, waving the bloc-notes in the air. She looked round and frowned. "Where's Marc?"

"Coming!" came the boy's voice, from the kitchen.

"And what exactly is she doing?" Wilhelmina asked, looking at Betty's body, slumped over the couch, eyes closed and lips parted, snoring softly. "She's sleeping?"

"Yeah," Daniel said, smiling at the sight. "Let her," he added, placing a hand on Wilhelmina's forearm. "She's tired. I'll fill her in, tomorrow."

Wilhelmina nodded and walked up to the table, placing the bloc-notes on it and sliding it over to Claire. She caught it and looked at the list of name Wilhelmina had scribbled down. "What is this?"

"That's a list of Elle's most important advertisers," Wilhelmina explained, just as Marc walked into the room and drew closer to the table. Amanda had already jumped on the table, crossing her legs. She looked at the people around the table and continued. "As all of you know by now, I have changed the basic ownership form, transferring all of the material to myself. However, making the actual move from Elle to Mode won't be as easy. There's legal issues to be considered. The pictures, the ads, they belong to the advertiser as much as they do to me, right now. We can't allow any mistake. This is the last step."

She paused dramatically, shifting her stare between the components of the group.

"Those advertisers are not easy to handle. I'm talking Gucci, Louis Vuitton, Marc Jacobs, Versace, Prada…and the list goes on," she added, pointing to the bloc-notes Claire had in his hands. "We need to talk to them. We need their approval. They need to sign agreements. As I said, this is the last step. If everything works out, as I think it will, they will trust me blindly and do whatever I ask them to do. A little stir will only increase their sales. There is, however…" she added, starting to walk around the table. None of them looked at her, all were looking intently to the long list of names on the bloc-notes Claire had placed in the middle of the table. "…a small chance the thing might blow up."

"Blow up?" Claire asked. "What do you mean blow up?"

"They might not get on board with our little plan," Wilhelmina explained, continuing on her path until she reached Daniel's side and she stopped. Claire looked into her eyes. "They might be afraid of legal consequences, moral implications…or just plain poor judgment. If that's the case, our cover will blow up, and we'll be in big trouble. I'm going to be kicked out of Elle, without the articles, without the pictures, and without my reputation. Basically, we'll have nothing, and we'll have no jobs and there's not going to be a magazine to come back to."

Amanda took small quick paces to the side, reaching Marc. "Marc, she's scaring me," she whispered.

"She scares me all the time," he replied.

"I want you to be ready, and I don't want you to blame yourself if something like this happens. Most of all," she added, raising an eyebrow. "I don't want you to blame me, because there's only so much I can do. It's in the hands of the advertiser's good faith. And a bit of luck."

Claire sighed and drummed her fingers in the surface. "Wilhelmina, are you sure bringing Daniel to the meeting will do us any good? Wouldn't it be better if it was only you? They're your bitches, after all."

"Well, my bitches will need to see that things are different. They'll be easier to convince, if they see the Mode environment is one of cohesion; they will be more willing to help us. And I want him there because they have to see that…" she paused, weighing what she was about to say. "They have to see that I respect him, and trust him enough, and that it's not just another way to push Daniel out of the company."

Daniel put an arm around her shoulders, and looked down at her, smirking. "So you respect me?"

"Oh, shut up," she said, shrugging his arm off her shoulders, but a small smile betrayed her.

Claire assisted the scene, but her expression was indecipherable. "When are we planning this meeting? We have the softball game coming up on Friday, we can't have that before that."

"I'm going to start calling people tonight, and arrange the meeting for Saturday. I'm probably going to beg most of them, due to the short notice, but I need the main advertisers there. And I mean advertisers, not reps. I want the goddamn important people there, I'm not gonna waste my time with their lackeys."

Claire nodded and stood up. "Are we done?"

"One last thing," Wilhelmina said, biting her lip. "As hard as it is for me, Claire…I think it would be nice if you came with us. At the meeting, I mean." Claire narrowed her eyes, and waited for Wilhelmina to continue. "Oh come on," Wilhelmina exclaimed. "Don't make me say it."

"Say what?" the woman asked, a hint of a smirk curving her lips.

"It's not just Daniel that I have to show respect for."

Claire's smirk widened, and she folded her arms against her chest. "Are you saying you want me to be there because you respect me?"

"Well, I'm not a fan of the shade of blonde you use to have your hair dyed. And I think you should stop wearing vivid colors, because you're no longer twenty. But despite all the things I don't like in you…Hidden under liters of gin and vodka, there might be something good."

Claire nodded, amused. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"Please, do. My skin will melt if I go any further."

***

"Daniel, I hate you."

He looked up suddenly, looking quizzically at her as she entered her bedroom. He was on the bed, writing down the numbers of the people she was supposed to call that evening. They'd left Claire's house a few hours earlier, after the reporters had followed his mother's room as they'd foreseen. They'd dropped Betty, Marc and Amanda at the boy's apartment, while they'd gone to Wilhelmina's apartment, sneaking in from the side entrance.

"What did I do?" he asked, noticing she had her black Elle shirt on, and a pain of black tight trousers. "Why are you wearing the softball uniform?"

"Because I needed to see if it was still good," she said, stepping closer. "And obviously, it's not, and it's your fault." She hooked a finger in the waistband of her black trousers and pulled at it, showing it was at least one size bigger than it should be.

"I don't do your laundry, Wilhelmina," Daniel explained. "I don't know how I could have anything to do with your pants being larger than they should."

"Oh you don't?" she said, narrowing her eyes. "It's not the pants that are bigger, it's me. I lost weight, and now it looks like I'm wearing Betty Suarez's mourning pants." He looked down at her stomach and chuckled. "Why are you laughing? I have four days to find a pair of black tight trousers with white seams. And that's an awful lot hard, because they either are terrible math-teacher pants or I just came back from the gym pants."

"Oh, stop fussing," he said, pushing the list he was writing from his knees and pulling her to sit on his laps.

"I'm serious," she said.

"Oh come on, I'm sure one of your bitches can do that for you," he said, mimicking his mother's voice. She chuckled at the reference and twisted in his laps, so that she was straddling him. "Shall we make those phone calls?" he asked.

She sighed and nodded, shifting position, and laid herself in bed next to him. He handed her the phone and the bloc-notes with the numbers he had scribbled down.

"Alright," he said, glancing down. "First one."

"The bitches at Dior," she said, dialing the number. She placed the device against her ear and turned her head to kiss Daniel. She pulled back immediately when she heard the voice answering on the other hand. "Hello, this is Wilhelmina Slater. I need to talk to Delphine Arnault-Gancia."

Daniel leaned in trying to listen to the conversation, but Wilhelmina pushed him away. He pouted and she rolled her eyes.

"No," she told to the person she was talking to. "I don't care, I need to talk to her now. It's very important. Tell her it's me, she'll pick up the goddamned phone in a second." She frowned and looked at Daniel. "They put me on hold. That whore better pick up, because if she doesn't I swear I'll destroy- Hi sweetheart!" she exclaimed out of the blue. "How are you?" She nodded, listening to what the other woman was saying, and Daniel tried to listen again, but she shoved him away. "I'm glad," she said, putting on a fake smile. "Look, I needed to talk to you because I'm calling an urgent advertising meeting on Saturday. It's a very important matter, and I need you to be there. No, not a rep, I need you Delphine."

"I'm going under the shower," he whispered, kissing her shoulder. "Stop the sucking up and join me when you're done."

Wilhelmina watched him as he stood up and left the room, shooting her a last look before disappearing.

She shook her head as the person on the other end tried to catch her attention. "Yes, yes, I'm here, sorry," she said, hastily. "Uhm…So. Will you be there? Perfect. The meeting is at 5pm, at our studios on 28th Street. I'll see you then, bye bye."

She disconnected the call and heard the noise of water running from the bathroom next door. She bit her lip and tried to focus on the names on the paper in front of her. She started dialing, but Daniel's singing voice distracted her.

"Daniel, I told you to stop singing under the shower!" she yelled. He didn't listen to her, and the singing continued. She threw the phone on the bed and stood up, snorting. She walked into the bathroom, where she could see Daniel's shadow in the shadow.

She slid the partition opened and he stopped, looking like a kid caught with his hands in the jam jar. She shook her head and turned to leave, but before she could reach the door she felt the jet hitting her back. She spun around and saw Daniel holding the shower head, with an amused expression.

"Are you stupid or what?" she asked, her back dripping water on the already wet floor. He smirked and directed the jet towards her again, soaking her. She sputtered as the water hit her in the face, and looked murderously at him.

"Come on," he said, stepping aside, motioning for her to join him. "No point in walking away now, you're soaked already."

***

The rest of the week passed by too quickly for Wilhelmina. On Friday morning, she walked round the bedroom to gather the last things before heading to the diamond. Marc was waiting for her in the car, but he kept texting her to hurry up or they would be late. She stopped reading his messages after the tenth, knowing she would only grow more anxious if he kept pressing her.

Daniel hadn't stayed, that night, knowing it would be way too dangerous. The eyes of the fashion world were on the two editors in chief, wondering if there would be a corpse by the end of the game. When she was sure she had everything, she closed the door behind her. Minutes later, she was walking in the hall of the building. She could already see the car, parked just outside. She marched down the sidewalk, crossed the street running on her high-heeled snickers and jumped inside.

"Good morning!" Marc exclaimed, his voice dripping with irony. "We are so early, this morning! Oh wait, no…we're one hour late."

"Stop the preaching," Wilhelmina said as the door rode through the New York streets. "I'm the star of the day, I'm fashionably late."

"Sure, plus you're nervous as hell."

"Wilhelmina Slater doesn't get nervous."

"Look at your index finger," Marc said.

She looked at her hand and noticed the nail was shorter than the others. She'd been biting her nails the whole morning, indeed. "I broke a nail," she said, narrowing her eyes dangerously.

Marc nodded solemnly. "I see," he whispered. "You talked to Daniel?"

"No," she said. "We're not attached at the hip, you know?"

Marc bit his bottom lip. "You do realize I could say something extremely vulgar right now, don't you?" Wilhelmina rolled her eyes, chuckling. "But I won't, because I'm a classy man. Speaking of classy, I love those trousers!"

Wilhelmina looked down at her new black pants and smiled, remembering when Daniel had walked into the house, two days before, saying he had found the perfect pair of pants for the softball game. "I know," she said, reminiscently. "I lost three pounds."

"You did?" Marc exclaimed. "You look fabulous. Not that you weren't, three pounds ago," he added quickly.

The car stopped when they arrived at Central Park's West Drive, closed to the traffic except for the cars that showed the Elle/Mode pass. Wilhelmina and Marc exited the car and walked under the trees for a while before the diamond came into sight. She stopped, in the shadow of an oak, staring ahead as the reporters and the visitors crowded the stands. Marc stopped beside her and took a deep sigh.

"You ok?" he asked.

"I am," she replied, too fast to sound convincing. She looked at him and he lifted an eyebrow, sympathetically. "I'm not, Marc. I'm a wreck. If this thing goes down the drain I'm screwed."

Marc placed a hand on the woman's shoulder and squeezed lightly: he was happy to see she didn't shrink away. "you thought this through carefully, Willie. There's no way this is not going well. I've been there with you, I've seen it all, and let me say…this time, you outdid yourself. This is the best plan so far. You've been amazing, and everything…everyone will go back to the place where they belong."

She snorted and shook her head, running a hand through her hair.

"Don't do that," he said. "You'll ruin the hair."

She looked at him, incredulous, and then burst out laughing.

***

He was leaning against the net, watching the people in the field handling bats like they were experts players, when they really didn't even know how to hold them right. He located Joe Zee, in the distance, talking to Suzuki St. Pierre. Studying the whole diamond, his eyes fell on Amanda, dressed in her usual skimpy cheerleading outfit; Betty was with her, in a more decent outfit, holding the pom-poms under her arms. Amanda had allowed her into the cheerleading squad because she needed someone to jump on.

"Daniel Meade," came a voice he didn't recognize, somewhere behind him.

He didn't look around and sighed. "I'm not giving any interview today, I'm sorry."

"I'm not here to interview," responded the voice, drawing closer.

Daniel looked left and saw the man that was standing there, looking at the field ahead of them through the net. He was a tall man, probably in his early fifties. He was in a business suit, elegant, too elegant for a softball game. He studied the man's profile, noticing a certain hardness in his eyes.

"You're not a journalist," Daniel stated, narrowing his eyes.

"I'm not," the other man answered, turning to face him and stretching out his arm. "Nice to meet you."

Daniel looked at the hand the man was offering, and instead of shaking it he folded his arms on his chest. "Who are you?" he chose to ask, suspicious.

"I'm a friend of Wilhelmina Slater's," he said, smirking. "An important friend."

"Look, I don't know what you want, but unless you've been living under a rock you must know I'm currently not on speaking terms with Wilhelmina," he said. "So, whether you're just a noisy reporter who wants me to trash her or someone she's paid to do the dirty job for her, I'm not going to stay here and listen to what you say." He turned and started to leave, but the man stopped him, putting a harm on his shoulder, roughly.

Daniel turned around, shrugging the hand off his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," the man said. "I don't mean to be rude, but I just really wanted to meet the person whose stupidity helped me make a shitload of money."

"What are you saying?" Daniel asked, not following a word of what the man was saying.

In that moment, they heard noises coming from the far opposite side of the field, as the reporters hurried down the stands to reach a certain spot on the edge of the diamond. He squinted his eyes, and couldn't help but smile when he saw Wilhelmina walk in, looking gorgeous as always. Somehow, however, seeing her wearing the Elle uniform seemed wrong: he knew the white Mode uniform suited her much better. He couldn't deny that she looked still ravishing, though.

"What's that smile, Mister Meade?"

He had almost forgotten the man, who was looking at him with a weird expression. As much as he tried to wipe the smirk off his face, he couldn't. He opted for a quick escape, and turned again, walking away.

"Nice to meet you, Daniel," the man called after him.

Daniel stopped dead in his tracks, as a flash crossed his mind and a sudden memory of the man hit him. In a second he remembered who that person was, and he turned around very slowly, facing him. He took deep breaths and swallowed loudly. He'd just been caught checking Wilhelmina Slater out by Arnaud Lagardère.

***

She was walking along the deserted corridor, going from the dressing rooms to the diamond when, stepping in front of a door, it creaked open and an arm sneaked out, grabbing her and dragging her inside. She screamed, but the same person who'd dragged her pressed a hand against her mouth.

The light was switched on, and she found herself staring into his blue eyes.

She pushed his hand away from her face and hissed: "What the hell do you think you're doing?" She locked the door hastily, and turned round on him, hands firmly placed on her hips and an angry look. "That was stupid and dangerous! I someone happened to walk by…"

"I did something stupid."

Wilhelmina shook her head, and looked at the ceiling. Unable to look at him, she started inhaling deeply to calm herself. "What did you do?" she asked, spelling out each word.

"I talked to Lagardère."

Wilhelmina gasped. "Arnaud? Arnaud Lagardère?" she asked. Daniel nodded, with a grimace. "Oh for fuck's sake, why! What happened? What did you say?"

"I didn't really say anything," he said, biting his bottom lip. "But I'm afraid he might suspect something. Why else would he come up to me?"

Wilhelmina looked round. "Are you sure no one is here?" she asked. "We're in a dressing room."

"Yeah, I checked," he exclaimed. "Don't change subject now. Do you think he might be looking into this? Maybe you forgot something, maybe something slipped and we didn't pay attention, maybe-"

"Stop, Daniel," she deadpanned. "No, nothing went wrong, I didn't slip anything to him, and our behavior have been nothing but perfect throughout this thing. He would never guess, trust me. He's probably just trying to gloat for the fact that he has me and you don't. Allegedly," she added, grinning.

He smiled and leaned in to kiss her. She slid her arms around his neck, pulling him into her, but he pulled back. "No," he whispered. "This is not happening here."

"What exactly do you think I was thinking?" she said, laughing. "I'm not going to have sex with you in here!"

"Good," he said. He pulled her in to kiss her again, but he pulled back again, looking down. "I hate it that you're wearing the Elle colors. You should be in white and orange."

Wilhelmina tilted her head to the side and lifted an eyebrow. "That must be the cutest thing you've ever said to me," she stated.

Daniel threw his head back and laughed. "Sometimes I think you love Mode more than you love me."

"Oh, but I do," she exclaimed, in on the joke. "But it's ok, you can be the hot gardener and we can have a torrid affair behind its back."

"Torrid affair is good," he agreed, cupping her face and kissing her one last time before spinning her round and slapping her butt. "Off you go."

She opened the door, on the threshold she turned and narrowed her eyes. "You need to stop slapping me," she hissed, closing the door quickly after her. She walked down the corridor and out in the sun just in time to hear the music starting. People, on the stands, were clapping. She reached the Elle bench under the scrutiny of the cameras, and Suzuki St. Pierre's voice filled the air.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the 10th annual Elle vs Mode charity softball game! It's the event of the season and everyone is wondering: will Daniel Meade finally beat Wilhelmina Slater down with his bat? Or will it be Wilhelmina Slater who'll catch all of his balls? Let the game, and the fight, begin!"

Wilhelmina stood at the side, as Daniel walked up to the Mode bench. She followed him with her eyes until he sat down next to his mother. Nearby, Amanda, Betty and a girl she'd never seen before were chanting and jumping. She closed her eyes, and her heart was beating faster.

It's almost done, she kept repeating to herself.

When Joe Zee walked into the diamond, there was a roar of applause coming from the stands. He reached the pitching mount, and bent down a few times to stretch the leg's muscles. He looked at her and winked.

"Joe Zee pitching for Elle magazine!" Suzuki's voice exclaimed from the speakers. "Everyone was shocked to hear he was going to be in the Elle team, but then again, it's Wilhelmina Slater's team, nothing can really shock you."

Joe Zee positioned himself on the mount, ready to pitch. Wilhelmina noticed her own hands were gripping the net furiously. She sighed and swallowed.

"Good luck Joe!" Suzuki exclaimed.

Joe stretched his hand back, and was ready to launch, but something stopped him. He narrowed his eyes in a confused expression, staring at the stands. He turned to Wilhelmina, and his eyes were wide. Wilhelmina shook her head, questioningly, but he just went back to staring ahead. She followed his eyes and saw what he'd seen.

There, on the stands, was Robbie Meyers. Big, dark sunglasses on, dressed in an impeccable blue tailored dress, with her arms folded on her chest. However, it was not Robbie who was worrying her. She shifted her gaze on the man who was standing next to her, talking and smiling, too nicely for her taste.

Arnaud Lagardère.

"Oh crap."