Chapter 6 - Chapter Four — Chandré

What are the odds?

Whatever they are, they're stacked against me. Of all the people to sit down in my chair at today's fashion show — a show I wasn't even booked for in the first place — Nazareth Ramoshaba.

I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought of him often over the years. How could I not? Every milestone of his career that he celebrated, my brother mourned. Sometimes the good things that happened to that man were the very things that sent Cliff on his worst benders. When Naz's club won the league a few seasons ago and he got a winner's medal, Mama couldn't find Cliff for days. I flew home to help her look, she was so desperate. The boy who was once her greatest source of pride has delivered the most sorrow to her door.

"Thank you again for stepping in today," Catarina says, sipping her drink, the light off the pool in Naledi's back garden throwing a glow across her face.

"Ag, thanks for asking me." I swirl the pomegranate martini in my glass. "It was fun."

It had been. I hadn't done a fashion show in ages, and I'd forgotten the rush that comes with the lightning-fast changes and the last-second adjustments. I practically launched a few of those models down the runway when the time got tight.