Color Me Pretty

and miraculously, as if by magic, everything is dry. A little dirty, but dry. Even my eyes. I touch my cheeks and then I just start laughing. It's a little crazy, sure, but I think I deserve a moment of insanity, don't you? I laugh until it hurts, and then I start crying again. Emmett climbs in behind me and lays down next to me, reaching out to take my hand and wrap his fingers around mine.
    “Welcome,” he tells me, and I stop laughing to give him a look. I have no idea what it is he's talking about.
    “Welcome?”
    “Welcome, Claire Simone-the-future-Sinclair, I think you've just arrived.” And then he raises himself up on his elbows, and I lean over, and we kiss like they do in old movies – long, strong, and perfect.

The moment I enter Lianna's office, I'm surrounded by activity, people running here and there, fabric flying like kites. It takes almost fifteen minutes for me to grab somebody's attention and even then, all they can do is tell me to sit down on the couch while they get Lianna. It's another half an hour before she comes, but I try to enjoy myself, basking in the wild frenetic energy of the place. I always wanted to be a part of something like this and now, here I am. I squeeze my dress tight, glad that I was able to make some last minute improvements to it, and wait.
    Models stop by and get fitted, and I don't feel jealous of them anymore. It's incredibly freeing. All I'm worried about at the moment is whether anyone but Kylie will be showing up to Emmett and my wedding. At least she freaked out when I told her, congratulated me like crazy and gave me a kiss on the lips that I was absolutely not expecting. Her wild reaction helped to make up for everyone else's silence – sort of. I think about my mom and Marlena a lot, wondering what they'd say if they knew. Would they banish me forever? Give me an ultimatum? In my heart, I know that's not true. I know that eventually, they'll come around and they'll love Emmett just as much as I do. It's going to take time, but thankfully, I have some of that now.
    “Claire,” Lianna says, bustling in from the back, fingers red and sore, eyes puffy. She doesn't seem nearly as perky this morning as she was last night. I wonder if she got any sleep. “Come with me.” And then she takes me in the back, past rows of sewing machines and tables covered in notions and fabric. She pauses at one of these and sweeps everything to the floor, gesturing for me to lay my creation down in front of her. “I know this is short notice, but I've been thinking this whole time that something was missing in the show. We have several prominent, local designers, models, photographers, but there was something about it that was coming across as false, do you understand what I'm saying?” I open my mouth, but she forges on, too excited to keep her ideas contained. I like that about her. Lianna Cheung has not lost herself to this industry, blended into the walls and pushed the status quo. I can tell she wants to change things, and I'm right there with her. I'll do whatever it takes to help. “We don't have the spirit that I was hoping for.” She snaps her fingers and then points at me. “But you do.” She spins around and comes back to the table with photographs. They're images from the security cameras that day I came in soaking wet and miserable, drenched in my own pain and fear.
    “What are you doing with these?” I ask her as she unzips my bag and examines my garment with steady hands and a critical eye. Whatever it is that she sees, she must like. I touch the black and white shots and am grateful that I'm not in the same place now as I was back then. That was not a good place to be. I shudder.
    “I want to show these, Claire, along with some new photographs, pictures of you as you are now, and I want you to walk.”
    “Me?” The word comes out sharper and higher than I would've liked. Somehow, it's hard for me to imagine that Lianna would want me in her show. There's still one, last demon clinging to the folds of my skirt.
    “Yes, Claire,” she says, reaching out and taking my hand, looking at me with dark brown eyes and a quirky half-smile. “I want you to walk, and I want you to wear your own dress.” She pauses and squeezes my fingers tight. The snake tattoo on her arm seems to smile at me and flick out his tongue. This is it, Claire, it tells me in a hiss. This is your chance to have everything. This is your chance to find success. I focus my gaze back on