Page 28 of Taming Achilles

“I’m Ray Ricoda! I can’t believe you pick up your own phone! You are so down to earth!” He squealed again. “Of course, you have no idea who I am but …”

“You’re the fashion designer,” I interrupted him. “I saw your designs at Fashion Week. It’s very sophisticated. I loved the Grecian green dress you made.”

There was silence on the other end. It lasted so long that I had to look at the phone to see if we’d been cut off.

“Oh. My. God!” He screamed as if he was talking to someone in the background. “Pippa Fox knows my stuff! Oh my Goooooooood!”

There was squealing and giggling, and general merriment on the other end.

Geordie looked at me, lifting a brow. He smiled. It was a genuine one, as his eyes flicked back down to his screen. He could probably hear what was happening on the other end.

I liked the amusement in his eyes, but I bitterly wondered if he was making fun of us fashionistas, hamming it up over hemlines and fabric. Was that all I was to him? Unlike Detective Delgado.

“Listen, I know that it might seem impertinent, but I got your phone number from your stylist, and I hope that’s okay. Please don’t get her in trouble, I basically begged and threatened to kill myself if she didn’t …” He had spoken as if it was one, long run-on sentence, and finally had to gasp for breath. Of course, I wouldn’t be mad at a stylist. I didn’t even know she had this number, not that it mattered. “I saw on TMZ that you were in the LA area, and I'm doing a guerilla fashion show down at the Japanese Gardens tomorrow and I wanted to …”

The same gardens that had hosted Lea and Callum’s wedding. Oh, the irony. The sad, bitter irony.

“Yes,” I said, a little excited. “I heard that. I was going to get tickets if I could, but you were all sold out.”

Silence again.

It was honestly just a convenient excuse. I wasn’t going to go within a league of those gardens, no matter how beautiful they were rumoured to be. Thankfully, his show was sold out within minutes of being posted, so the lie simply rolled off my tongue.

“Oh. My. God!” There was that phrase again. “She tried to get tickets but we were sold out.” He squeaked, speaking to someone else in the room. “I can’t believe you wanted to come to my show.” I heard the snapping of fingers. “Hey! Hey! Next time, we make sure we reserve a seat for her! Yes! I don’t care if it’s sold out! I don’t care if you have to build a seat yourself!” Then he took a deep breath again. I imagined he was trying to centre himself. “I’m sorry, I just … wow. I’m so … wow!”

I laughed, and patiently waited, smiling into the receiver even though he couldn’t see it.

I did love his designs. They were avante garde, risque but not lewd, more sensual than sexual. He had a way of following a woman’s natural lines and I wouldn’t feel ridiculous wearing his clothes in real life. Some of the things that go down a runway are monstrous. Absolutely ill-suited for even the ostentatious Met Gala.

Some fashion houses are just juvenile, and in poor taste, made to stand out more than flatter a woman. Not Ray Ricoda. Comfort, elegance, and sustainability were his motto.

“I’d love to attend, Ray,” I said, drawing out his name as though it was my favourite word.

“I don’t want you to attend. I want you to model!” He blurted it out, then squealed again, as if he had covered his mouth with his hand to shut himself up. “I was going to say it better, but I’m just so excited. My heart is just beating out of my chest. I just love you so much, you’re so amazing, and I just … Ugh! This is going awful. I sound like a groupie.”

“I appreciate the enthusiasm,” I couldn’t help but laugh. “Sometimes, I need that too. And you should know that I’m a huge fan of yours as well. Your designs are so elegant.”

“Would you model the wedding dress?”

Well that shut me up.

“I beg your pardon?” I froze. Did I hear that right? A wedding dress? Does he not know …?

No, he must know. Pictures of me partying and enjoying my singledom were all over the gossip magazines after I was jilted at the altar, my fiance rushing down the aisle with another woman. It was humiliating, but manageable. Thankfully, I wasn’t emotionally invested.

“Look, I took the liberty of designing you a wedding dress. The moment you were going to announce your wedding, I was going to spring it on you and hope you liked it, but you know, with everything …” He let out a breath again. “It’s perfect for you. It was made for you. I know a runway isn’t a church aisle, but …” His voice softened, calming a little. “I was hoping you’d do me the honour of wearing it. Show that Duke or Lord or whatever he was what he was missing!”

I laughed a little. I had no desire to show Callum anything. Him jilting me was not even a blip on the frigid thing I called a heart. He and Lea made a good couple. I saw that the day they killed Alex Baas. And the couple that kills together, stays together.

I was dreading our wedding day the way an inmate dreaded the gallows.

“I don’t know what to say.” That was the absolute truth.

“Say yes!” He pleaded. “I promise you, it will be a triumph. I also have other designs I want you to wear, but it’s a dress that needs to be on you.” He sighed again, aggrieved. “Please, it would make my dream come true if you’d say yes to the dress.”

I smiled at his dramatics. His exuberance was contagious. I couldn’t remember a time anyone had ever been that enthusiastic about me. Not my parents, teachers or even my fiancé. Only one person had even been excited about me, and … well, let’s just say he feels differently now.

Why not? I needed to work anyway. I needed legitimate, clean money that was traceable to spend on my life. So the answer was easy. “Yes.”

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