Ask Him

by M. Malone

  Ask Him

  M. Malone

  Contents

  Ask Him

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  excerpt of ask me

  Andre

  Casey

  Milo

  Mya

  Also by M. Malone

  Ask Him

  My life is perfect.

  I know what you’re thinking. No one has a perfect life. But let’s check the evidence. Head of a billion dollar fashion brand. Reigning King of Instagram. My life is a steady stream of… whatever the hell I want, actually. Trips around the world, priceless jewels, fast cars, and even faster women.

  And none of it seems to matter.

  Then I meet someone who doesn’t care about the cars, the fame and the money. She doesn’t know me as anything other than a guy in a bar. She just wants to have a good time. Something I’m more than happy to provide.

  Until she ditches me after the hottest night of my life. And suddenly I know what my life has been missing.

  Her.

  * * *

  Book 1 - ASK HIM

  Book 2 - ASK ME

  1

  “Mr. Lavin! Look this way!”

  Hundreds of camera flashes spark as I turn, holding still so the photographers can get their shots. Ella, the model on my arm, thrusts out one leg and puts a hand on her hip, completely unfazed by the commotion.

  She was a good choice for tonight.

  Movie premieres are not my favorite things but my publicist insisted that walking the red carpet for the latest Oscar contender was a must. The fact that half of the men I’ve seen so far are wearing my designs soothes my irritation at giving up my evening. For a fashion designer, there is no ego boost quite like seeing your designs in the wild.

  “Andre! We love you!!”

  Cheers, whistles and screams erupt from the crowd behind the barricade as I make my way down the red carpet. As much as I hate the press circuit, the fans are the reason why I bother. Everywhere I go, they appear holding handmade signs and wearing shirts with my face on them. They blow kisses, scream my name and yes, women have been known to faint when I stop to give autographs. But the ego boost isn’t why I do this, despite all evidence to the contrary.

  It’s the love they shower on me that makes it all worth it.

  The young man who styled himself from the advice on my Instagram and got the job. The young woman who leaves a comment on a photo of a plus size model that she feels included. The busy executive who can relate to the random stories and pictures I share. These people have a connection with me and I feel one to them in return.

  The flashes continue as I move down the red carpet slowly. If it was just me, I would probably pose once and then move on but the model on my arm deserves her chance to shine. She’s one of the new models chosen to walk in my last show and is hungry for every opportunity to gain exposure. She’s also not interested in men, the only reason I agreed to escort her tonight.

  From the corner of my eye I notice my assistant, Kate, following just out of sight of the photographers, ready to jump in at a moment’s notice. Up ahead, my best friend and the COO of Lavin Fashions, Jason Gautier, is on the arm of Hollywood’s newest starlet.

  The romance must be a PR stunt otherwise he would have told me about it. But either way, the resulting press and media coverage will only be good for Lavin Fashions. Especially since Jason is of course wearing a suit from our upcoming line.

  “Andre! Always good to see you. Have you met Annalisa?” He motions to the heavily made up blonde on his arm. When he turns back to me, his eyes shift to something over my shoulder. Then he pushes me to the side, shoving me into Ella so hard that she stumbles.

  I faintly hear a scream and the sun glints off metal, the shine so bright it blinds me temporarily.

  “I love you!”

  When my eyes meet the young girl’s, for a moment she looks startled, then euphoric.

  “We were meant to be together. Forever.”

  Her arm raises high and for a moment all I can think is this is it. My last moments will be spent at the premiere of a movie I don’t want to see on the arm of a woman I don’t love. Everything feels like it’s moving in slow motion as her arm arcs downward and the knife cuts through the air. Behind her, I have a close up view of Jason’s horrified face as he reaches to grab her but he’s not close enough.

  The knife continues it’s deadly plunge until it tears through the skin on her arm, spraying a crimson streak across her shirt.

  “I love you, Andre! I’m your biggest fan.” Her eyes lock on mine, huge and earnest as she is lifted off the ground from behind. Security surrounds us now, putting themselves physically between us to block me from any potential danger.

  But all I can think is that the true danger isn’t something they can protect me from.

  The danger is in being me.

  2

  This is what I needed.

  I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with the soft, fragrant Italian air and then open my eyes to behold the land that has been in my family for almost a century. There is an undeniable beauty here- the dappled sunlight that spills over the olive grove, the caress of the breeze that brings the scents of the sea - but most important, is the sense of history. Of continuity. Knowing that I’m standing in the same spot my father once stood and his father before him and so on.

  If anything can fill the void that has opened in me these past few months, it would be this place.

  For the last few days, I’ve done everything you’re supposed to do on vacation. Eaten at the local restaurants, taking time to talk to each proprietor, many of whom are the same as when I used to visit as a child. I’ve slept the dreamless sleep that only medication can provide and read books that barely held my interest. Each day and each night I have put forth effort to rest my mind and relax my body and nothing has worked.

  I am still not happy.

  “Who could be unhappy here?” I speak the words aloud, needing to hear them, hoping that putting them out there in the universe will reveal the answer. But the olive trees seem content to ignore me and just be.

  Maybe I should take a lesson from these trees.

  Resolved to enjoy my short time left here, I push the dark thoughts aside and start walking. Most of my days are spent behind a desk now, reviewing budgets and plans as my extensive staff carry out my wishes. Nothing like when I first started, when I was involved in every design. I look down at my hands, smooth and unblemished. Such a change from the days when I had cuts and sores from pins and long nights of cutting fabrics.

  Fashion design is a cutthroat business and no one makes it without having skin, and blood, in the game. But I had more than most, knowing that my background and family were all initially against me. Pampered sons in the Lavin family go into respectable fields such as law or medicine. Not something as frivolous as fashion. There were many long days and nights when I wondered if all the work would be worth it. If I’d ever get to prove them all wrong.

  The fact that I did should give me comfort. Vindication, even. Somehow it doesn’t matter as much as I once thought it would.

  “Andre! There you are.” My mother’s voice floats from behind me, pulling me from my thoughts.

  “Buon giorno, Mamma. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” We exchange kisses and I lead her back to the house. My mother has never been fond of the olive groves and standing in the sun.

  “I tried, mio figlio. But no one on your staff seemed to know where you were. Or at least they wouldn’t tell me.”

  Her words make me want to s
mile but I suppress it. My staff is loyal and would never reveal my location, not even to my mother. Especially to my mother. I’m just shocked that my assistant didn’t call to warn me. Kate is incredibly efficient and knows I don’t enjoy surprises.

  “Apologies. I decided to take a holiday before Fashion Week starts and enjoy the last days of summer. I expect the new line will draw a lot of interest. We’ll be very busy soon.”

  She squeezes my arm. “I never understood why your father loved this place so. He almost didn’t make it away from here. Perhaps it reminded him of his youth. But after the excitement of the city, I would have thought it would be a disappointment.”

  I don’t tell her that the simplicity of this life was probably exactly why my father loved it here. The frenetic pace of Milan and the constant driving need to see and be seen has always been more my mother’s thing.

  “Are you hungry? I can have Chiara make us something.” Although I don’t get here often, I employ a housekeeper from the village to look after the place and cook when I’m in residence.

  Mamma is shaking her head before I finish the sentence. “Not today. I must get back to the city. Anna Maria is having us for dinner. I suppose I’ll have to give her your regrets?”

  “Please do. I’m sure I’ll see her soon. She’s always on the fashion circuit.”

  Anna Maria is my mother’s best friend and one of the reigning dames of their exclusive social circle. She’ll be front row at Milan Fashion Week and in New York as well, no doubt.

  “Of course.” Mamma kisses my cheek as we reach the back door to the small villa. She shades her eyes with one hand as she turns to me. “Promise me you won’t stay too long. I worry about you out here all alone.”

  “I promise. I’ll be back in the States before long anyway. We have meetings.”

  She pats my shoulder gently before turning to go. I can’t even be annoyed by her meddling since she’s not the only one who has expressed concern about my sudden vacation.

  Plenty of my friends wonder why I don’t stay more at my place in Milan or if I wish to remain on the Amalfi Coast, at least upgrade to one of the villas with a better view. Now that I’ve “made it” I can hobnob with Europe’s most wealthy and the Hollywood elite. They don’t understand that I don’t care about any of that. Not the way I used to.

  But it’s time I get back to reality.

  As I walk through the same home that is virtually unchanged from my childhood, I stop to look at a photograph on the wall. It’s a picture of me and my younger brother, Philippe, with our father. Papa is holding Philippe and I’m at his side, looking up at him with adoration. My father came from simple beginnings and taught us the things that really matter in life can’t be bought. As busy as he was, I never doubted that he considered his family the most important thing in his life.

  As I look at the picture, I’m startled by the longing to have that someday. A child of my own. Family. People to care about me as more than just a source of income or an autograph.

  Papa once told me that when I found the right person to spend my life with, I’d feel as though I’d found the missing puzzle piece to my heart.

  I’m ready to find that piece.

  3

  Several weeks later, my time in the olive groves is all but forgotten. As soon as I returned to the office, I was inundated by the usual million and one things that require my attention.

  Budgets that need to be reviewed. Of course.

  Models to be approved for the runway show. Right.

  Finding time to be witty, charming and debonair on social media. Certainly.

  My life leaves little time for such inconsequential details as eating, breathing or sleeping. I’m expected to be Andre Lavin twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.

  I never thought I could be so exhausted of being myself.

  Today, however is something that I’ve been looking forward to. The 22nd annual International Fashion World Gala. Where all of the best minds in the fashion game come together to celebrate hard work, creativity and pure imagination. I’m being honored tonight for my contributions to fashion which seems strange. In some ways I feel like the same naive young man who was starting out ten years ago. Other days I feel about a million years old.

  “Ouch. Merda!” I shake the finger that I just stabbed with the needle. That’s what I get for daydreaming when I’m working.

  My tuxedo is going to be adorned with real feathers, each one hand sewn. The theme for tonight’s gala is “Animal Instincts” and I wanted a costume that symbolized freedom of expression while still being classic.

  However if I don’t pay attention to what I’m doing, my costume will be a little too animalistic because it’ll be covered in blood.

  The door behind me opens and my brother Philippe steps into the room. We’ve been staying at this hotel for the past few weeks, ever since we flew into the States. Philippe is wearing a tuxedo made from a midnight blue fabric that shimmers slightly every time he moves. The suit is perfectly tailored and fits like a glove. Not that I’m surprised. Philippe is a businessman through and through but takes his appearance seriously. He used to joke that I got all the creativity in the family while he got the good looks so he’d better make use of it.

  Of course, he conveniently ignores the Hottest Man Alive magazine covers Kate insists on hanging in the office featuring none other than yours truly.

  “What are you supposed to be?” I ask, taking in his sleek black tie and wingtips. It doesn’t look as though he’s put much effort into following the event’s theme.

  “A man in a tuxedo who’s pissed he’s not at home with a glass of Lagavulin.” He smirks and flops down on the couch.

  The suite consists of two master bedrooms, a kitchen and a living room. Usually when we travel, I don’t even know he’s there unless I seek him out. We often attend the same events but don’t leave together. Usually because Philippe has a date.

  “What will your date be wearing?”

  He grins. “Something that shows as much skin as possible. Hopefully that I’ll enjoy removing later tonight.” He narrows his eyes as he takes me in, as if seeing me for the first time. “Are you all right?”

  I shift uncomfortably under his scrutiny. Suddenly I feel as if every one of the sleepless nights I’ve had lately is visible on my face. Just what I need on a night when I’ll be photographed from every angle.

  The vultures that follow me around don’t concern me, they will angle until they get a bad photograph of me anyway. Those sell better. Everyone enjoys seeing their favorite celebrities look like shit. Hell, I’m not immune to that particular dark pleasure either. But I don’t want my brother to look too closely. He’s probably the only one who can see through my false smile and discover the turmoil right beneath my skin.

  “I’m fine. Tonight is all about me, right? I’m going to enjoy this.”

  He shakes his head slightly but doesn’t push. “All right. I’ll see you there. I need to go pick up…” His brow furrows and then he pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Yelena. I need to go pick up Yelena.”

  Despite my mood, I burst into laughter. “Perhaps you should spend the ride memorizing her name.”

  His rude hand gesture only makes me laugh harder. Speaking with my brother has renewed my enthusiasm for tonight. What I said to him wasn’t just lip service. I have been looking forward to this gala. For years, I didn’t feel welcome and then slowly as my online notoriety grew, I decided I didn’t care if I was accepted by the fashion world or not. Now I’m being honored and my place in the room is no longer contested. It’s everything I’ve been working toward.

  When I finish sewing on the last feather, I slip the jacket on testing the fit. My reflection in the full length mirror leaning against the wall looks elegant and whimsical. Exactly as I hoped.

  “I am going to enjoy this.”

  Maybe if I repeat it often enough I’ll believe it.

  A few hours later, it’s pretty clear I’m going to have
to eat those words. I finally give up all semblance of civility and just walk away from a conversation mid-sentence.

  Not that I feel too bad. The woman my mother has been angling all night to set me up with immediately turns her attention to the next eligible bachelor. No doubt I am simply one of many possibilities on her list of candidates to flirt with tonight. As long as they have the right number of zeros in their bank account, I doubt she cares.

  When I finally push my way through the crowd to reach the balcony doors, the humid air slaps me in the face. I’m probably going to regret my choice of attire tonight, tuxedos and humidity don’t mix, but I’m too happy to escape the horde inside to care. Hell, I’d rather sweat out here alone than be comfortable in the air conditioning in the midst of vultures.

  But as I step closer to the railing, I become aware that I’m not alone. My mood plummets until I recognize the man hiding in the shadows. His dark hair, the exact same shade as mine, is tousled and there’s an unlit cigarette clamped between his lips.

  “You’re hiding out too, I see.”

  Philippe straightens slightly and flashes a tight smile. “Mamma is driving me crazy. I had to make up an excuse to get away.” He takes the cigarette from between his teeth. “I don’t even smoke.”

  We both chuckle at that. I’m not surprised he’s willing to feign nicotine addiction. It’s actually rather brilliant. Maybe I should come up with a convenient excuse for why I need to step outside often.

  That could turn out to be quite useful considering my mother’s current mission to shove every woman she knows of childbearing age in my direction. I hadn’t realized Philippe was getting the same treatment.