Ask Him

by M. Malone

  “At least you found somewhere to hide. I got caught and just spent the last hour talking to a woman who has no further ambition in life than wearing more expensive shoes than her friends.”

  Suddenly it all comes down on me at once. I feel like a piece of fabric that has been stretched until it’s frayed and thin. And I’m starting to not even recognize myself.

  “Do you ever get tired of this?” I gesture around us. “Tired of the fake people, the gossip, the drama?”

  He shrugs. “Of course. But what can you do? This is part of our world and always has been. Remember when Papa was alive and he would throw those parties?”

  Now that brings a genuine smile to my face. My parents used to entertain frequently and of course, Philippe and I were required to attend the events. The world we were born into is obsessed with social standing and appearances. My father never seemed to enjoy those parties the way my mother did. For him, it was a labor of love for the woman he adored.

  “How I hated those parties. And now…”

  “Now you would give anything to attend just to see him again.” Philippe nods in understanding. “Believe me, I know. He would be proud of you, you know?”

  The statement hits me square in the chest. There’s a part of me that wonders if he would be. Not about me, I know that he loved me. But sometimes I get a sick feeling when I imagine what he’d think of my newfound fame and all the accolades I’ve wracked up.

  Nicholas Lavin was not a flashy man or even one who basked in the limelight. He was a quiet man who fell in love with a woman from a different social class. He worked night and day to make his financial services company the best so he could prove himself worthy of her. Nothing can ever touch the memories I have of him. No matter how busy he was, he always made time for his family. And he loved my mother with all his heart until the day he died.

  “This isn’t exactly what he wanted for us. I think he tried to steer us on the path of integrity instead of chasing money and status. If high society hadn’t been so important to Mamma, I think he would have gladly given it all up to go live quietly in the country somewhere.”

  Philippe tilts his head slightly as he looks at me. After a moment, it makes me uncomfortable. I love my brother, partially because he’s one of the few people in the world that truly knows me. Which can be simultaneously heartwarming and annoying. Especially moments like this when my emotions are churning and I’m not even sure what I’m feeling.

  “You’ve been unhappy for quite some time. I’d hoped you’d figure out the why and move on but I don’t see that happening.” He leans against the railing and looks out at the view of the city. “You can talk to me, you know that right?”

  “I do know that. If I knew what to say, I would. I’m just… tired, I suppose.”

  He raises an eyebrow at that. “This is coming from the man who rarely sleeps? What’s really going on with you? Look at all that you’ve achieved. All that you’ve done. What more could you want?”

  His voice is soft which blunts the harsh tone of the questions. It always makes it easier for me to truly think about the answers.

  What do I want?

  Everything I’ve ever wanted is now within reach. Is that not the definition of happiness? I think of the penthouse apartment that is being readied for me even as we speak. Just a few years ago I would have been excited about it. But now it’s just one more piece of real estate that I’ve acquired.

  Just another empty home to fill.

  “It all seems so pointless. I’ve done so much but at the end of the day I’m still alone with no one to share it with. The people I spend the most time with are on my payroll. Every smile, every conversation, is part of their workday. All I ever wanted was success but now that it’s here, it brings its own problems.”

  He sighs. “I know that day on the red carpet affected you.”

  My hands clench on the balcony rail. “Not talking about that.”

  The idea that a young fan almost lost her life because of her obsession with me isn’t something I’m ready to deal with.

  Kate has been monitoring the young girl’s care and we anonymously donated money to help her. Security moved quickly to contain the situation and my team was able to keep the worst details of the incident out of the news.

  But there are still a few who know what happened. Every once in a while someone tries to talk about it with me but I’m just not ready to go there yet.

  Philippe shakes his head. “I hear you, brother. But this is the life we lead. The money will always attract people who want things. But what’s the alternative? I’m sure poor men have it much harder. Try meeting a woman as a regular guy. Take off the perfectly tailored suit and the Rolex.”

  Suddenly he laughs so hard that he bends at the waist trying to catch his breath. “Dio, I can’t even imagine it. You wouldn’t last a day if you had to wear an off the rack suit.”

  I scowl but it’s hard to maintain my anger while he’s chuckling. “So I’m a snob, is that what you’re saying?”

  He claps me on the shoulder. “No. You know I don’t think that. But you have very exacting standards. I wonder what would happen if you allowed yourself to have even a little bit of fun sometimes. You might even enjoy yourself for once. Try it. I dare you.”

  His eyes suddenly go to something over my shoulder. “I have to go. If I see Mamma, I’ll try to distract her for you. Give you a few more minutes of peace.”

  The balcony doors shut behind him and finally, I’m alone.

  4

  I’ve always been a sucker for a dare.

  Sucker is a good word for it, I think as I look down at my outfit for the hundredth time since I snuck out of my hotel. What seemed like a good idea an hour ago suddenly seems like playing with fire. Especially if any paparazzi catch sight of me like this. Just the thought has me pulling my baseball cap lower to shade my face.

  The ripped jeans and cotton T-shirt I’m wearing are innocent enough but now I’m wondering if Philippe didn’t have an ulterior motive for this dare. A picture of me as a Fashion Don’t landing on the cover of a magazine is exactly the kind of thing my brother would think was hilarious.

  Although winning our little wager would be worth it. Technically I’ve already won since a harried mother who almost ran me over with her baby’s pram asked me for my number just a few minutes ago.

  “What can I get for you?”

  I look up. A perky barista is waiting expectantly to take my order so I point to what’s written on the small chalkboard next to the register. Truthfully, I don’t even care what it is. Nothing sold in American coffee shops tastes like what I’m used to back home anyway. This is just an excuse to be out amongst people.

  On the way out of the coffee shop, I take a tentative sip of what smells like pure sugar. Suddenly something slams into my stomach and I have to juggle to keep the hot coffee from flying out of my hands.

  “Ouch!”

  A mass of brown hair slaps me in the face before it settles around a heart-shaped face dominated by a pair of big, amber eyes. Those eyes blink at me several times before it registers that she’s leaning unsteadily against me.

  “In a hurry?”

  At the sound of my voice, she takes a slight step back. Her cheeks flush slightly before her eyes scroll leisurely up and down my body. Somehow her gaze is as provocative as a physical touch would have been. By the time she gets back to my face, my heart is tripping over itself and my mouth is dry as dust. What the hell?

  “Yes, I am. I’m very busy and … have lots of important things I need to do this morning.”

  Her insistence is even more adorable because she flushes bright red as she says it. She’s obviously not a very good liar. Which is refreshing.

  “Is that right?” I raise my eyebrows playfully, enjoying the chance to tease her a little. Hey, she just stared at my dick. I don’t think a little teasing is out of bounds.

  “Yes, really.” She huffs a little, tugging on the bottom of her skirt as if
making sure it hasn’t ridden up. Petite but curvy, she looks like she’s about to rip through the buttons on her blouse if she breathes too deeply. I wonder if she’s outgrown her clothes or borrowed them from someone else. Either way, they don’t do her justice.

  “Oh no,” she gasps, her eyes fixed on the front of my shirt. “Did I do that?”

  I glance down to see the remains of my latte all over my T-shirt. Normally a brown stain like this would be the death knell for a piece of fabric but it hits me suddenly the other benefit of wearing these ugly clothes. If the cleaners can’t get the stain out, I’ll just throw it away and buy another T-shirt. The thought makes me smile.

  Her brow crinkles in confusion before she rummages in the huge bag hanging off her arm and produces two napkins. “I am so sorry. But you don’t seem too upset about it.”

  “I’m not. The coffee was shit anyway. I’m still not sure how people drink that stuff. Give me a good strong espresso any day instead of that sugar water.”

  Her answering smile is so bright that I have the urge to shade my eyes. Looking at her is like staring into the sun. I want to but it’s just too much for my eyes to take in. The thought is perplexing. She’s beautiful, yes, but I see beautiful women all the time. Occupational hazard.

  But those women aren’t talking with you for no reason.

  The women in my world always want something, to be cast in one of my runway shows or to be on my arm at a movie premiere. This one doesn’t care about any of that. She’s smiling for no reason at all.

  She turns to leave but there’s a trash can right behind her. I put a hand on her shoulder to keep her from bumping into it and she glares at me. I snatch my hand back.

  “Just trying to keep you from running into something else.”

  Her eyes narrow but then she glances behind her. “Oh. Thank you.”

  She waves and then keeps walking. I turn to watch her go, suppressing a low growl when I see her curvy ass twitching in that tight little skirt.

  “Madre di Dio.”

  The doorman doesn’t even blink when I pass by but the other people in the lobby of the prestigious Fitz-Harrington hotel stare openly. I tip my baseball cap at them jauntily, enjoying their shock.

  Most of them aren’t sure what’s going on but there are a few who recognize me which makes their expressions even more amusing. I can imagine the gossip headlines already.

  Is Fashion Designer Andre Lavin cracking under the pressure?

  Considering that I’ve made a name for myself by designing couture suits from only the best materials in the world, I can understood why the bystanders are shocked to see me wearing ripped denim and a casual T-shirt. If my mother could see me now she’d be worried about my mental health.

  I ride the elevator up to the top floor of the hotel where I’ve reserved the Presidential Suite for the next month. As soon as I open the door, Philippe looks up from where he’s making a drink at the minibar. It’s not even noon but I don’t say anything. As much as we’ve both been through over the past few months, I’m not going to fault him for needing a drink to get through the day. Hell, I might even join him.

  “Ciao, Andre.” When he gets a good look at my clothes, his forehead wrinkles in confusion. “Stai bene?”

  “I’m fine. I’m cool.” I answer in English. We’re going to be in the States for a few months at least, so I’m determined to catch up on my American slang. “I took your advice.”

  He still looks confused. “And my advice was to go outside looking like a less-fortunate child?”

  “No. This is how all the Americans dress on TV. You told me that if I was tired of the gold diggers chasing me that I should go out into the world as a regular man. So I did.”

  My stomach clenches again thinking of the clumsy American girl I’d met outside the cafe. It’s difficult to find good cappuccino anywhere other than Italy in my opinion but the small shop is the closest thing I’ve found in the city so far. Now it might be my new favorite place.

  “You went outside dressed like that?” Philippe looks horrified. “I meant try wearing a suit that isn’t one of your custom designs. A less expensive watch. Not to go outside looking like a… what’s the word?” He snaps his fingers as he thinks. “A slob! That’s it.”

  I look down at my shirt. My assistant assured me this was a completely normal type of outfit for a man to wear in a casual setting. The T-shirt is a cotton blend that feels stiff against my skin so I’m not sure why anyone finds this comfortable but I’m trying to blend in.

  That’s when I realize he’s talking about the huge, brown coffee stain on the front of my shirt.

  “I assure you, the coffee stain wasn’t intentional. But still, it was incredibly liberating to spend an afternoon with no one asking me for anything.”

  “Enjoy it while it lasts. Soon you’ll have even more people asking you for things. You’re poised to become a household name, brother.”

  I grunt in reply as I head to the kitchen. He’s right and it has been a huge part of why I was all too happy to relocate to the States while undergoing a brand relaunch. My advertising agency designed a great campaign for the launch of Lavin Fashions new bridal line and now they’re going to rebrand the core Lavin Fashions business.

  Me. Essentially they’re going to rebrand me.

  Since I learned to sew as a young boy under the direction of my nanny I’ve been in love with the idea of creating the clothes people live their lives in. Men go to some of the most important events in their lives wearing my designs– graduations, business meetings, weddings, even funerals.

  This is a big deal.

  It’s a strange thing to think of a company redesigning my image. But I long ago relinquished any personal rights to my name and likeness. Andre Lavin is more than just who I am, it’s my company, my legacy and I know how incredibly lucky I am to do what I love each day.

  If I have to sacrifice some of my sanity, then so be it.

  5

  The weekend passes quickly and Monday morning I’m back in another suit, my usual uniform. After a particularly unproductive morning, I manage to escape the office. But after wandering aimlessly for almost an hour, I have to admit that my attempt at relaxation is a failure. Disgusted with myself, I finally just hail a cab back to my hotel.

  Only to find my mother waiting for me.

  “Mamma. What are you doing here?” I bend down to kiss her cheek, noting her floor length evening gown.

  An optimist would assume that she just left a function and was merely stopping by to say hello on her way home. But I’m not sure anyone could grow up with my mother and remain an optimist. She must want something.

  A buzzing starts behind my left eye that is surely going to develop into a hell of a headache later.

  “Did you forget the Heritage Charity Dinner is tonight?” Mamma’s lips purse into a small frown as she takes in my appearance. While walking I slipped off my suit jacket and removed my tie. “Are you unwell?”

  I resist the urge to grin. “Not yet. But the night is young.”

  She sniffs. “Don’t be impertinent. I was merely asking because it’s not like you to look so unkempt. Not that I should be surprised the Americans are rubbing off on you.”

  This time I do laugh. “My best friend is American, or have you forgotten? I thought you liked Jason.”

  Mamma waves her hand dismissively. “His father is French,” she states, as if this explains everything. “Never mind that. Since you forgot about the event, I’ll assume you didn’t arrange an escort?”

  Here we go. I glance at the Rolex on my wrist. It didn’t even take two minutes before she started up with her real reason for being here tonight.

  “I did not in fact arrange an escort for a charity event that I never agreed to attend in the first place.”

  She ignores me. “Because if you didn’t make any arrangements, there are several young women that will be attending tonight that I’m sure you’ll find suitable.”

  If I’m g
oing to deal with my mother in matchmaker mode, I’m sure as hell not doing it sober. I stop next to the small minibar in the suite and grab the first bottle my hand lands on, not even caring what it is.

  “That’s not necessary, Mamma. I would much prefer to escort my beautiful mother.”

  “Your charm is wasted on me. You’ll be thirty soon. That’s too old to be unmarried.”

  “I’m twenty-eight. Let’s not throw me in the grave prematurely.”

  “You’re not taking this seriously.”

  I raise my glass in her direction. “Well, it’s your fault. You and Papa were quite a lot to live up to.”

  Her eyes soften. “Your father was an extraordinary man. And so are you.”

  Now I really feel like shit.

  “I apologize, Mamma. I didn’t mean to make you sad. Things have been stressful at the office. I don’t mean to take it out on you. I’ll go change and then we can leave.”

  When I return, she stands and takes my arm so I can escort her out. Her smile is bright as we walk through the lobby and she waves discreetly at several people she knows. As we step outside the hotel, our car arrives immediately. The valet opens the door for her while I round to the driver’s side. Mamma prefers to use a car service but when I’m with her, I like to drive.

  When we’re on the road, Mamma squeezes my arm.

  “You boys think I don’t understand. But I see so much more than you know. You’re not yourself, my son. And it breaks my heart to see you suffer.”

  Ashamed that I’ve rebuffed her attempts to talk lately, I squeeze her hand. “I’ve been out of sorts but nothing I can’t handle. I’m trying to find more time to relax.”

  She perks up. “You deserve it. Maybe then I’ll finally get a grandchild out of one of you. How do you expect to meet anyone if you stay holed up in that office all day? Go out and meet people. Whatever it is young people do these days.”

  My mind flashes to the girl I met a few days ago. Housekeeping hadn’t been able to get the stain out of the shirt but I hadn’t had the heart to throw it away. It’s hanging in my closet next to a ten thousand dollar custom Balmain suit.