dedicated to @unholytrifecta I love diving into sicko territory with you like two little scrooge mcducks
non-linear, lucavale, model au, 3.5k words
2.
Vale buzzes her hair off on a whim in the week between the Paris Spring fashion week and the British Fashion Awards. It’s been less than twenty four hours since she stepped off the plane and she’s itching for. Something. Hasn’t been able to rid herself of that nervous energy.
This is how Uccio finds her, in the bathroom of her mother’s house and shaving her head with a pair of old clippers that used to belong to Graziano. A pair of blunt hair shears lying discarded in the sink. Tufts of hair drifting onto the bathroom floor, some of them landing on Vale’s bare feet.
“I hope you’re planning on wearing a wig to the Fashion Awards,” was all Uccio said.
Vale ignores her. Instead focussing on keeping the hand guiding the clippers steady.
“This isn’t going to help the rumours,” Uccio points out afterwards, while helping Vale vacuum all her hair off the bathroom floor before Luca gets home from school, when it becomes clear that she has no intention of wearing a wig, “that you’re a mean dyke backstage.”
“I am a mean dyke,” Vale shrugs, running a hand over her newly buzzed hair, she had been worried that it would come out patchy but — so far so good. It was lighter, shorter and closer to the scalp than she had intended but smoother too, she can feel the breeze from the fan on her scalp. How curious. “That’s no reason for anyone to stop booking me.”
“Yeah because you’re also Valentina Rossi.”
“Who else would I be?” she grins. She unplugs the clippers and spins around, arms extended, “how do I look?”
Uccio rolls her kohl lined eyes, crosses her arms in a way that pushes her impressive tits out, “like you’re going to inspire a generation of impressionable young girls to shave their heads and get nipple piercings.”
Vale presses a manicured hand to her chest and feigns holding back tears, before leering at Uccio’s chest, “you say the sweetest things.”
4.
Luca grips onto the strap of her backpack and scans the backstage area, tries to peer through the pandemonium and locate her needle amidst the haystack.
Somewhere along the way she’s lost Uccio as well, though knowing Uccio — Luca suspects she slipped out some side door for a smoke.
Luca eyes an irritable looking man in a headset, wonders if she’ll get scolded and told to stay out of the way if she asks him if he’s seen Vale. She doesn’t want to get Vale in trouble either, if she’s not where she’s meant to be right now.
It is exciting, Luca concedes. The breakneck speed that people are dashing in and out of rooms and the glittering embellished dresses that the models are being zipped up into. She’d stopped to watch some of them getting ready and one of the women noticed her, beckoned Luca over and dug around in her handbag, offered Luca a little orange coloured lolly. Luca had almost accepted before she remembered Vale’s stern instruction that Luca not accept anything to eat or drink unless it came from her or Uccio.
“Are you lost, sweetie?”
Luca jolts and is ready to apologise for getting in the way when she loses her train of thought altogether
Luca takes in the big brown eyes and perfectly straight nose of the woman crouching down in front of her and feels light headed. Her gaze sweeps over sharp cheekbones dusted with rosy blush and a glossy pink mouth. She just might be the prettiest woman Luca has ever seen.
The woman sweeps a curtain of perfectly straight silky hair off her shoulder, “you’re Valentina’s baby sister right? Gosh that resemblance,” she reaches a long willowy arm out and wraps her fingers around Luca’s shoulder, her grip surprisingly strong. “Impossible to miss!”
Luca nods and tries not to visibly squirm.
“I remember, you both closed Mugler a few years ago — ugh,” the woman closes her eyes dreamily, “adorable.”
Luca nods, eyes darting around. Everyone backstage seemed to be in a rush but she really wants to find Vale. Her mama’s one condition for letting Vale take her backstage to another show was if she kept an eye on Luca at all times — I can’t watch her when I’m on the runway, Stefania, Vale had reminded her sarcastically. Well then Uccio can watch her until you finish your walk, their mama countered. Only now Luca can’t seem to find either of them and the man with the headset keeps shrieking something about how they only have ten minutes left.
Vale had always said it was like a circus backstage, Luca doesn’t think she ever fully appreciated it until now. Last time she’d been too young to fully appreciate how stressed everyone seemed to be, had been too distracted by Vale and her beautiful feathered wings and golden crown. Like an angel, Luca had whispered to Vale at the time, like it was a secret. No, Vale had whispered back, re-arranging Luca’s hair before cupping her flushed cheeks, you’re the angel, Maro.
Luca blinks and the tall woman continues, is using the kind of voice Luca hates, honey sweet and deliberately slow like Luca is unable to follow her English, “how old are you now, sweetheart?”
“I’m eleven,” Luca explains. She doesn’t know where Vale is, she’d told Luca that she was getting her hair done and make-up touched up but Luca has done two laps of the hair and make up station and no Vale.
“Oh my god,” the woman coos and Luca grips her backpack strap even tighter, “you’ll be taking her place on the runway in a few years,” she winks, Luca is momentarily mesmerised by the shimmery silver shadow on her eyelids, the way it changes colour with the movement, like a pearl, “it’s hard to believe sometimes that she’ll probably continue to get booked into her thirties.”
Luca frowns, “she is the most famous supermodel in the world,” she points out, taking care to make sure she is choosing the right words in English.
“Well yes,” the woman smiles sympathetically, “but we all have to retire sometime, the new girls are all getting younger and younger,” another heavy sigh, “we’ll all be replaced sooner or later.”
Luca is about to tell her that no one could ever replace a seven-time Model of The Year winner when a voice calls out:
“Oh Luca, there you are — fuck off, Candice” Luca is so relieved to see Vale emerging from a little side room that she doesn’t even chastise Vale for her language. She’s been hanging out so much with the British and American models, sometimes Luca hears her in the phone to them and can barely understand a word.
Luca catches a glimpse of a woman stumbling out of the room behind Vale, she’s pretty, long blonde hair that tumbles over her shoulders. She looks like Vale’s age when she first started modelling. Luca watches as the woman tugs at her skirt to straighten it. Her face is so pink and she’s leaning heavily against the wall as if her legs can’t hold her up.
“Is she okay?”
Vale doesn’t even spare a glance over her shoulder, readjusts the straps of her own dress, smooths her hands down her sides. Clicks her tongue and checks her lipstick in a nearby mirror. “She’ll be fine.”
Luca keeps staring at the woman, the way her legs are shaking and making her wobble in her platform heels, “will she be able to walk?” The man with the headset has been around again and is yelling that there’s only five minutes left now.
“Don’t worry about it,” Vale fiddles with her belt so that it sits lower on her hip, Luca is pretty sure one of the dressers would scold anyone else for making changes to their look, but it’s Vale so no one says anything, “if she’s a professional she’ll make it work, if not she should choose another profession.”
The iciness catches Luca off guard. Over Vale’s shoulder, the woman has sunk to the ground, eyes still slightly glazed over.
Vale has not looked over at her once since emerging from the little room.
It must show on Luca’s face, her concern. Vale’s expression softens immediately. She huffs, “don’t worry about it, Maro,” she brushes some of Luca’s hair off her forehead. “Come sit on a chair and you can watch the show from the screens.”
The man is still screeching about it almost being time for first looks to hit the runway but Vale pays him no heed. No one stops her or asks her why she isn’t lining up with the rest of the models. Valentina Rossi, Luca has long learned, is afforded the right to move through the world as she pleases. Vale told Luca that she’d teach her this skill but Luca hadn’t the heart to tell her that she doesn’t think it’s something that can be learned. Vale is closing the show tonight anyway, she probably has some time before someone actually appears to dry and drag her away from Luca.
For the time being, Vale takes her time, as if this is the most important task for her, finding a suitable chair for Luca. She eventually parks Luca on one next to the walkway leading to the runway, right in front of the monitors.
“Good luck, Vale.” Not that Luca thinks she needs it. Luck was for mere mortals like Luca and the girl who is still probably sitting in a crumpled heap in her wrinkled skirt.
Vale cups Luca’s cheek, eyes crinkling, the gold shadow on her lids makes her eyes look like sea glass, “thank you Luca, remember to watch the screens okay? I’ll blow you a kiss.”
Luca nods. She’ll watch the screens intently, Vale keeps her promises.
3.
The photo they flash on the screen when they announce Vale as a nominee is from the latest Prada campaign. Vale with her back contorted into an arc, clad in a sage green cashmere peacoat, long golden legs bare and with a head full of golden ringlets. She blows a kiss to the camera that pans to her, conscious of how the movement makes the fabric of her dress rustle.
It’s the same photo they blow up behind her when she glides on stage to accept the award for Model of The Year. Anna Wintour looks like she’s eaten a lemon with how her lips are pursed as she hands Vale the award, Vale ignores her. She is careful to angle her shoulders back and prop the award on her jutted hip so she can push her tits, small as they are, out. She thinks Uccio will get a kick out of that, wherever in the building she is.
Speaking of Uccio, she was right, there were gasps when Vale arrived on the red carpet. Again now, when the lights on stage hit off the two delicate silver rings holding up the front of her dress to her nipples. What an image she must make, buzzed hair and tiny little bare tits, the thought of the headlines alone makes her grin.
Manfred had checked three times if Vale was sure she wanted to wear this dress, he’d opened his entire archive to her, sweet of him — but Vale was firm. If this was the year that she pretty much had the award in the bag, why the hell should she play coy about it. They were making a mean dyke the Model of The Year.
The gasps were soon engulfed by applause. If Vale squinted she was pretty sure she could see Kate saluting her with a lit cigarette. Vale grins, leans into the microphone, “allora,” she flutters her inky lashes, “if you keep cheering for me I won’t have enough time to thank the agency, so please — cheer as long as you like.”
Eventually she finds Uccio in the crowd, she gestures for Vale to wrap it up. Uccio, always a killjoy.
“Well, I guess I must thank the agency,” Vale allows, clearing her throat, “thank you for the support and for saving all the good jobs for me,” she jokes. Half-jokes.
“Forgive me,” Vale smiles apologetically before switching to Italian, “in italian now for my mother, of course. Thank you, Stefania for teaching me that a woman should always go where she is properly admired.” She switches back to English lest she burn up all her goodwill in a room half full of Americans and Englishmen by making a speech that isn’t entirely in their beautiful English language.
Another wink, “and thank you Uccio for holding my heels when my feet hurt and my hair when I need to throw up after a night out with all of you.”
More laughter, Vale shifts instinctively to flip her hair over her shoulder before remembering. She has no hair to flip. A wry smile.
“And finally, my beautiful baby sister Luca, I love you, angel,” her smile flickers and she doesn’t quite know what comes over her, if it’s the bright light angled right into her face throwing her off, she doesn’t know what it is that makes her say, “I hope I make you proud.”
The audience erupts into coos and Vale rocks back on her heels. She blinks, shakes her head, as if to dispel that strange melancholy cloud.
When she looks up again, into that bright blinding light, she’s smirking. Blue eyes carefully half-lidded in the way that she knows makes them look hypnotic, “and you can’t borrow this dress until you’re at least twenty.”
1.
“Can she even walk?”
Luca winces at the shrill question and squeezes Vale’s hand. She’s not sure if this was a good idea anymore but she doesn’t want to tell Valentina that. Luca tries not to scratch her nose, she got told off for that. A woman with a big fluffy brush dusted some sort of powder all over her face and it keeps making Luca sneeze. She would have put more on if Vale hadn’t snapped, Jesus Christ, she’s eight, her skin is perfect — that’s enough powder.
Vale rolls her eyes but doesn’t reply to the man, busy holding still for the woman applying her lipstick with a little angled brush. Luca watches as the lady smears more of the lipstick onto the back of her hand and dips her brush into it, before going back in to line Vale’s lips in precise strokes.
“I had a shortlist of fifteen girls who have actually set foot on a runway before, Valentina— might I remind you? But NO you insisted —“
“Jeremy,” Vale’s voice interjects smoothly, waving off the lady doing her lipstick, “if you cut Luca from the runway, let’s not lie to each other — I will walk right out that door.”
The man’s expression instantly changes and he starts apologising and simpering that, “it’s fine, of course, Valentina, I wouldn’t dream of removing your sister from the line up, I was just concerned that she doesn’t have much experience and might get overwhelmed on the runway with—“
Vale ignores him, turns to Luca and quietly asks, “are you nervous?”
She looks so beautiful, with her golden hair arranged on top of her head in a fluffy crown, big gold wings affixed to the back of her white gown, Luca would probably have told her that if it didn’t feel like her throat was closing up.
Luca can’t tell Vale that she’s terrified, not when she was the one who told Vale that the wish she made when she blew out the candles on her cake last year was to be a supermodel like Vale, but she can’t bring herself to lie either. All she can do is hold Vale’s gaze with her frantic wide-eyed one and hope Vale understands.
“Oh Maro,” she leans in conspiratorially, “it’s okay, you know, I get nervous too but don’t worry,” she squeezes Luca’s hand.
“Valentina — is she going to be fine—“
Vale rolls her eyes and twists around, “fuck off, Jeremy, she is my sister — she is not going to be fine, she will be fucking brilliant.”
Luca tucks herself into Vale’s side, startled by the venom in Vale’s voice, her own feathery little wings bobbing behind her back. She’s never heard Vale talk like that, certainly not at home with Luca and their mama.
Luca fiddles with the hem of the tunic Vale helped her change into. The sandals the distracted lady in a headset gave her are a little too big but Vale had shown her how to tighten the straps as far as they could go so Luca’s feet wouldn’t slide while she was walking.
“Anyway,” Vale twists back around, eyes crinkling and voice softening again, “I’ll be right there beside you, okay? I won’t let anything happen to you, I promise, Luca.”
Luca nods, half-convinced, okay. As long as Vale is there, bad things didn’t tend to happen.
Vale leads them to the entrance of the runway. Luca can hear music coming out from somewhere. It looks very bright. She stands on her tip toes to try and see outside of the little walkway. There must be a lot of people waiting, she smiles a little, maybe they’ll take her photo like they do Vale’s whenever they go out to the shopping center. Vale always guides Luca’s head into her side and covers it with her hands but Luca doesn’t mind. People are always taking photos of Vale because she’s so beautiful, if they want a photo of Luca too it’s probably a good thing.
A man is quietly counting down from ten and when he hits zero he’s gesturing for Luca and Vale to go.
There’s enough time for Luca to spare one more look up at Vale only to find that she’s watching Luca already, smiling, in the soft glow of the backstage lights, she really does look like an angel. A goddess. Vale squeezes her hand, winks. Luca smiles and lets Vale lead them out towards the bright lights and loud music.
The last thing she hears is Vale murmuring encouragingly, “let’s give them a show, Maro….”
5.
Vale winds her arms around Luca’s waist, hooks her pointy chin over Luca’s shoulder. With the mirror, she has a clear view of Vale’s narrowed eyes, her appraising gaze. Shes used to being examined like this, they’ve both made professions out of it. From Vale especially, Luca is accustomed to being studied, the warmth of her considering smile and also the dispassionate scrutiny — both are familiar.
Her long tanned fingers brush carelessly down Luca’s sides. Cup her little breasts. Adjust the fabric so it falls smoother. It pulls on the piercing, makes Luca suck in a sharp breath, press back into Vale’s front.
“People are going to ask you about me,” Vale points out neutrally, “if you wear this tonight.”
“It’s referential,” Luca retorts, Vale tugs again, not happy with the way the fabric falls, and Luca gasps, “it’s Mugler,” she adds breathlessly, not that it’s news to Vale.
She bites her lip as Vale pulls on the fabric once more. Vale is probably jealous, at least a little, Luca’s breasts are humble but Vale is almost flat as a board.
“It’s obscene is what it is,” Vale corrects but she’s smirking faintly, eyes still trained on Luca’s front. She likes to think it’s not just the drape of the fabric, that her pebbled nipples too are getting at least a passing glance.
Luca allows herself a small smile too, even though she’s starting to feel a little light headed from the sensitivity. She has no idea how Vale did it. Luca isn’t even nominated for anything, doesn’t have to worry about making a speech like Vale had to. Luca is just there as a guest, because of her follower count on instagram.
Even tonight, Vale is the one receiving the honorary award. Lifetime Achievement. It’s a big deal, enough of a big deal to fly her little sister in as well for the photo ops. Even though Vale had bristled at the implication of receiving such an award, Luca knows she’s pleased deep down, at the excuse to be the center of attention.
Vale hums, lost in thought. Luca’s attention returns to her reflection. She plucks a flake of mascara off her cheek. Tomorrow the papers will all run their stories. Luca is no fool.
Luca Marini following in her supermodel sister’s foot steps? Luca Marini steps out in DARING vintage Mugler borrowed from Valentina? Luca Marini tries to steal Valentina’s thunder on her night of nights!
Twitter will have a field day, will call her any number of things: desperate, nepo baby, attention seeking — will fall right into the trap. Vale may have been the show, but if they’re all talking about Luca then she is the story too.
“I’m proud of you, Vale,” she turns to peck Vale on her lined but still-soft cheek. Vale mirrors her, kisses her on the cheek. A perfect reflection.
Luca_Marini 10m
[Photo: A reflection in a mirror cropped to show a tanned torso with two silver nipple rings. The rings are holding up two strips of dark black semi-sheer chiffon. Two hands are visible, resting on the black chiffon covered waist]
Caption: sister date last night [two girls dancing emoji] thank you for having us #FashionAwards and for honouring @valentinarossi_46 [burning heart emoji] [angel emoji]
styling: @migworeitbetter
jewellery: @bvlgari
dress: @ mugler
makeup: @frankypaintsfaces
valentinarossiforever: what an achievement! we love you and we are so proud of you @valentinarossi_46
luca_marini: @valentinarossiforever I love her more [winking kiss emoji]
