Chapter 19
NINETEEN
It was, of course, a fiasco from the beginning. But then again, Ryan was certain everything was designed to be that way for him.
“Jade just called out sick,” Javier told Ryan as the two of them battled the crush from the previous show to find a place in the staging area at The Wallace Collection to dress Ryan’s models. “That’s two of our best talent.”
Ryan didn’t have time to break down about the whole thing or to do anything but nod and find a solution.
“You’ve got contacts, Javier,” he said, dodging a pair of women from the previous show who rushed down the narrow aisle between designers, half dressed.
“Do you know anyone who could step in last-minute?”
“You’re in luck,” Javier said with more confidence than Ryan felt. “I’ve been working to set up my own modeling agency, and I’ve got a few people I could call to get over here immediately. You don’t mind trans and non-binary models, do you?”
“If they look good in the clothes and have a fierce walk, I would love them,” Ryan said.
Javier grinned and pulled out his phone, stepping aside to make some calls.
Ryan would be eternally grateful to his friend, but they had more problems than just models.
“Shoes. Shoes. Where are the shoes?” he asked no one and everyone, twisting this way and that to find the box of shoes he’d spent a small fortune on for his models. Of course, now, if Javier managed to pull through with new models, the shoes might not fit anyhow.
“They’re right here,” Gloria said, coming out of what looked like a fluffy cloud of organza that surrounded the showstopper piece from the show that would be right before his. “Someone put them in the wrong place.”
“Yeah, I’m sure someone did,” Ryan sighed, sending Gloria a knowing look.
Giorgio was in the building. He’d seen the bastard come in earlier, when his first model had called out.
Ryan had been at the top of the stairs, and as he passed through the lobby, Giorgio had looked up at him with a sharp grin that said he was about to ruin everything and he would love every minute of it.
Whether Giorgio had come upstairs to the staging area personally or sent someone to do his dirty work for him, Ryan knew sabotage when he saw it.
“Guard everything with your life,” he told Gloria. “I don’t trust Giorgio not to throw paint on the wedding gown or something.”
“He would absolutely do that,” Gloria agreed before heading off with the box of shoes.
Ryan turned his attention to the rack of clothes in front of him.
Somehow, against all odds, he’d pulled off a cohesive collection that might actually cause a stir when it walked through the long gallery in—he checked his watch—half an hour.
His threesome-inspired spring designs would turn a few heads, to say the least, but turning heads in the fashion world was a good thing.
Of course, he would enjoy the head-turning a lot more if Art and Graeme were there.
For the hundredth time, he checked his phone. The last message he had from Graeme was that they were on their way, but they’d hit traffic on the M25. Which was horribly typical.
The message had been sent almost forty-five minutes ago. They should have been there by now.
“Okay,” Javier said, striding back over to him on his long legs, face already dazzlingly made-up. “Jemma and Patience are in, but they’re clear on the other side of Hyde Park at the moment. They’re going to bust their beautiful, little arses to get here in time, though.”
“Great,” Ryan said, too breathless for his liking. It wasn’t the breathlessness of exertion, it was one hundred percent pure panic.
“You alright?” Javier asked, clamping a hand on Ryan’s shoulder, like he needed to keep him from shooting off like a firecracker.
“Yeah,” Ryan lied. “I just wish Graeme and Art were here.”
“I’m sure they’re coming, honey,” Javier said, full of kindness and not a hint of censure. “They really care about you.”
Ryan smiled and patted Javier’s hand on his shoulder.
Graeme and Art did care about him, each in their own unique way.
Graeme was his sweetheart, the bright-eyed, innocent, baby gay who helped him to see the world he’d become a little jaded by with new eyes.
His urge to protect Graeme while also getting him out of his shell and into a wider acceptance of himself made each new day interesting and kept him humble and motivated.
Art, on the other hand, was the loud, give-no-fucks lover that he needed to bring him out of his shell.
Art was fearless and free, and while it was a good thing for all that in-your-face energy to rub off on him, Ryan also felt like Art needed him, and Graeme, to keep him from whizzing off into folly or danger that might really hurt him.
The tacit disapproval the university had expressed over Art’s lifestyle wasn’t something Art could ignore. That was where he and Graeme came in.
The three of them gave each other everything they needed, everything that they wouldn’t be able to get from just one or the other of them. It didn’t work if all three of them weren’t together.
Ryan had taken that concept, that deep, emotional feeling, and used it to design his collection.
Everything was in threes, from the pieces of the suits that were about to walk the runway to the asymmetrical skirts and dresses to the wide shoulders and narrow waists of his separates.
And when the audience saw his sleek wedding gown walk down the aisle with two androgynous partners…
well, he hoped it would make the statement he wanted to make.
“It’s never going to work, you know.”
Giorgio’s deep voice startled Ryan out of his last-minute steaming and sorting. He whirled around, steamer still in one hand, to find the silver-haired devil grinning at him.
“Giorgio,” he acknowledged the man, then turned back to his work.
“You think you’re going to make an impact with any of this? With your sly reference to polyamory?” Giorgio pressed on, moving to stand beside the rack of clothes Ryan was working with.
“I don’t have time for you today, Giorgio,” he said, even though his insides felt like someone had poured snapping hot coals down his throat. “Moira, could you come over here and put this on,” he called to one of his models, who had just arrived.
Giorgio sent the young woman an intimidating smile, but he didn’t budge from his spot.
“You might think the fashion world will gobble up this unusual offering,” he said, “but you and I both know better than that. The fashion world only pretends to want innovation. They don’t want anything that strays too far outside of what they already know.
Especially if they feel like you’re mocking them when you do. ”
Ryan turned back from handing Moira a hanger with her first look. “I beg your pardon?”
Giorgio shrugged. “You know that Marco Valliant is very sensitive about his two pretty little things.”
Ryan frowned. A second later, it connected. The designer Marco Valliant had gotten into some hot water a few months before for his relationship with two young models. It wasn’t the numbers that had raised eyebrows, though, it had been their age.
“This has nothing to do with Marco,” Ryan said, turning away from Giorgio again as another of his models arrived.
“That’s not what Marco has been told,” Giorgio said, checking his nails.
A burst of anger shot through Ryan. Giorgio was just the sort of snake who would spread rumors about the intention behind his show. The problem was, Marco was a big enough name in the industry that if he was offended, it could cause real trouble for him.
“I don’t care what Marco thinks,” Ryan lied, focusing on his models again. “The motivation behind this show is personal.”
“Yes, and so was the way you left me,” Giorgio said, not even trying to hide the comment from the models.
A few of them exchanged wary looks, but most of them knew nothing was any of their business except the clothes they were being asked to wear.
That didn’t stop Ryan from wanting to be over and done with Giorgio’s nonsense forever.
Once he handed off one of the larger gowns to a model he’d worked with in Italy several times, he rounded on Giorgio and stared him dead in the eyes.
“I don’t care what you think of me,” he said.
“I’m not coming back to you. I was never ‘yours’ on anything other than a professional basis.
You can throw whatever you want at me and destroy my business before it gets off the ground, but—”
Before he could finish, he spotted Art and Graeme pushing their way through the swirl of movement, people, and fabric to make a path to him.
In an instant, Giorgio truly didn’t matter.
He was a fly buzzing around his head. The only men that really mattered in his life were the two that dodged a half-dressed model, nearly knocking her over, bumped into a rack of clothes as they crossed paths with one of the dressers from the previous show, and stepped on the long hem of someone else’s gown.
“Sorry, sorry,” Art called out, alight with the excitement of the moment. “Traffic was a bitch. I had to drive on the shoulder a few times and probably should have been pulled over at least five times.”
“Are we supposed to be back here?” Graeme asked as he and Art reached Ryan and took turns hugging him. “I told Art we weren’t allowed up here, but he insisted on coming anyhow. We can leave if we need to.”
Despite everything swirling around him, Ryan laughed. It was so typical of both of them. Art, his bull in a china shop, and Graeme, his conscience. He never would have been able to choose between them, and nothing made him happier than knowing he would never have to.
“You look hot,” Art said as Graeme finished hugging him. “And I mean that in every sense of the word.”
“Do you need a bottle of water or something?” Graeme asked. “I think I saw a case just back there.” He gestured over his shoulder with his thumb.