Culinaria L'amore

Culinaria L'amore Chapter Thirty-Eight

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I have a question for you guys. I'm debating whether to enter as the best cover or as the best title for the Special Awards category in the Watty Awards. I'm kind of a lost case when it comes to choosing so do you guys think you could leave me a message telling me if I should enter in the title or cover tier?

Also, check out my collection of poems for the Attys! 5000 Syllables Of Love :)

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It was ten o'clock, Garrett and Mira were yelling, my room was a mess, and I wasn't done packing. With a stressed sigh, I looked at my suitcase that was filled to the brim with fancy dresses, heels, and casual skirts and shirts, wondering if I should bother taking everything out just to see if I put my hairbrush in. After all, if I was going to be spending my time on television, wouldn't the makeup artists have plenty of brushes?

I sat back on my heels observing my messy bed and the pile of clothes that had been rejected by Toben who had come in earlier and sorted out all of my acceptable outfits; looking at the pretty big load, my fashion obviously was not good enough for him. My eyes drifted over the memories that had been stored in this room: the corner of the nightstand that I often stubbed my toe on, the array of pillows that lay on the red couch, never used because I was always afraid of getting them dirty. God, there were a lot of remembrances in this suite, all of which I was going to be leaving behind.

This moment reminded me of four months ago, back when I had been in the exact same situation, getting uprooted again and going on another adventure, except this time I knew what to expect and it was making me more nervous.

What if we didn't win?

I looked down at my phone, still warm from me holding it to me ear during my long conversation with my mother, tracing the small scratch on the purple case. She was not able to take me to the airport today because she had a job interview so I spent most of my morning listening to her comforting prep talk, enjoying and missing her presence. The confidence in her voice when she said I had the ability to take home the trophy warmed my heart and made me feel as if we could do it, even though I had occasional moments of what ifs.

"Kirsten?" Garrett yelled from below, his voice echoing, sounding tired and tinted with anger. "You ready yet?"

Groaning as I slowly lifted the weight off my toes and onto my legs, I zipped up my bag, shoving my hairbursh dilemma to the side and opened the door to the hallway, pushing my suitcase behind as I shut my bedroom door, sparing my room one last glance. Then I took a deep breath, which was hard considering the tightness of my white button up shirt, and headed down the stairs, careful not to chip the wood with my bag's wheels.

"I'm here." I replied a second later to Garrett's question as I pulled my way down the last flight of stairs to a main foyer where at least a dozen people milled around. Most were familiar: Yivanni, Mr. Bianchi and his gruff countenance, Angela and Alonzo, a couple of workers, a red-nosed Harrison, and Mira, sadly. Garrett nodded at me briefly before turning back to his company, the said model.

Allowing the butler to take my suitcase, my eyes landed on Mira's appearance and my confidence dropped. She stood haughtily, dressed in a form fitting dark blue blazer that looked like it was cut right for her, with a low cut sparkly white tank top underneath. Her slender, tan legs were bare beneath a pair of white denim shorts, accentuated by gold, strappy high heels.

In comparison, my white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to my elbows and my simple black skirt clasped ot my stomack with a blue belt looked drab. And probably costed a lot less. With a sigh, I realized that I wasn't jealous of the fact that she was with Garrett, thank God, but because standing next to her, I always felt inferior, as if I didn't deserve to be in the same room as she was.