Chapter 35
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
“You can’t be serious,” Annika said over brunch.
“Why not? I think it would be cool.” I took a big bite of my Eggs Benedict. “We’re not having a huge wedding so it’s big enough to hold everyone and we can decorate any way we want. Sean said we can have it catered?—”
“You are not having your wedding reception at Monks,” Annika said, flipping through a glossy magazine on top of the stack she’d brought with her. She shoved it right under my nose. “Look at this fabulous wedding. This is what you want.”
Annika had wedding fever. It had been a month since Gabriel proposed, and she was my self-appointed wedding planner.
I glanced at the glossy magazine spread. The wedding looked extravagant and over-the-top and nothing like what we had in mind. It was also staged, highly stylized, and everyone in the photo was a model. It had probably taken two people to get the “bride” into that gown.
I’d need someone to hold the dress up for me when I needed to pee. Eating, drinking, and dancing would be out of the question too in that frothy concoction with a form-fitted bodice. I’d need a separate chair at the table just to hold the train.
I closed the magazine and returned it to the stack. “Save the magazines for your wedding,” I said. “We’re not that worried about where we have ours, and I can’t imagine Gabriel dressed in a tux like the Ken doll in that photo. I want us to look like us .”
“Your fiancé is a rock star and you’re a fashion designer. You’d better not let him show up in jeans and those stupid boots.”
I didn’t care what Gabriel wore. A secondhand suit or jeans and a T-shirt with his hair all messy, it was all the same to me.
I was marrying the man, not the rock star.
Annika held up her hand. “Leave everything to me. I’ll plan the most fabulous wedding and all you’ll have to do is show up.
And find the perfect dress, of course. We should go shopping next week.
Oh, and we’ll need to sample cakes. Unless you want cupcakes.
Or profiteroles would be fun. You know what?
We’ll have a whole dessert buffet. Why choose? ”
“Hold your horses there, Martha Stewart. We want something low-key and stress-free. Just a fun party to celebrate with our friends.”
“Let’s move that fun party to Waikiki or the South of France,” Annika said. “Or literally anywhere other than Monks.”
“We haven’t made any firm decisions yet but when we do, you’ll be the first to know.”
She sighed. “Well, at least your runway show will be fabulous.”
My runway show was on Tuesday. As in three days from now. I still had a million things to do so as soon as Annika was done eating, I signalled for the check.
“You’re coming, right?” I asked as we walked out the door.
“Are you kidding? I’ll be sitting in the front row in my fabulous Cleo Babington creation.”
“You’ll be the star of the show.” I hugged her goodbye outside the restaurant. “I have to get back to work.”
Gabriel always said that I was running a fashion empire, but in reality, I only had a few people working for me in a cramped space I’d rented in Midtown. This would be my eighth collection, and my fourth runway show, but I still felt like I was winging it.
When I got home that evening, I checked the mail. Our marriage license had arrived.
I sprinted up the stairs and burst through the front door, excited to show Gabriel.
Then I remembered that he was at the recording studio so it would have to wait.
On Tuesday morning, I woke up to the rich scent of freshly roasted coffee.
“Rise and shine,” Gabriel said. “It’s your big day.”
I groaned. “Don’t remind me.”
I sat up and he handed me a mug of coffee. Gabriel had gotten so into coffee that he was a connoisseur now. We’d gone from not even owning a decent coffee maker to having a whole coffee bar with a fancy Italian machine and specialty beans that he ground himself.
I took a sip and moaned. I don’t know what he did, but his coffee always tasted so much better than when I tried to make it. “This coffee is so good.”
“Fairtrade Guatemalan,” he said. Gabriel always made sure to check the beans’ provenance. He was serious about his coffee.
“I got you a bagel.” He dropped a paper bag into my lap and sat next to me on the bed with his own mug of coffee and another brown bag. “I’m going to sit here until you eat every last crumb. You nearly passed out at your last show.”
That was a huge exaggeration. The leadup to a show was always so busy and chaotic that I didn’t have time to eat. Plus, I was always nervous. But I forced down a bite of the bagel just to make him happy. “Thank you.”
“Open up.”
My lips parted on command. He popped a cherry into it. Sweet and juicy and a little bit tart. I grabbed his hand, turned it palm up and spit the pit into it.
He sighed and shook his head. “You’re lucky I love you.”
“Just keeping it real. Everyone else is so busy kissing your ass,” I teased.
He was, after all, a global phenomenon now. I’d never doubted it for a minute. I knew he’d hit the big time and now, with three albums out, Gabriel had conquered America and his albums had gone platinum.
But he didn’t take his fame seriously. If anything, he went out of his way to avoid it.
Gabriel hated celebrity culture and all the trappings that went with it so all my qualms about the music industry changing him had been for naught. Gabriel was still Gabriel.
I held out my hand, palm up. “Eat a cherry. Spit the pit in my hand.”
“You’re so kinky. Watch that dirty mouth or I’ll make you late.”
Tempting but I had to get going and so did he. I ate as much of the bagel as I could and then it was time to get up and get ready for the day.
“You’ll be there today, right?” I asked after I got out of the shower in my towel turban and the silky black robe Gabriel bought me in Japan.
He was already dressed and ready to go in jeans and a black thermal that looked really sexy on him.
I ran my hands down his chest and rubbed my thumb and forefinger over the ankh for good luck.
He pulled me into his arms and kissed me. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
“The show starts at four but try to be there by three, okay?”
“Okay.”
“I know you don’t want to walk the runway so if you feel really uncomfortable, I’ll completely understand?—”
“Hey.” He cupped my jaw and lifted my face to his. “I told you I would, and I’ll do it proudly. You designed that shirt and jacket for me. No one else gets to wear it.”
I smiled. “You’ll be the star of the show.”
“ You’ll be the star of the show. The rock star of the fashion world. Your career will never take a back seat to mine again, okay?”
I nodded. He’d made me promise that I would never ditch everything again to go on tour with him.
“Okay. But I loved being on tour with you and I don’t regret a single minute of it.
I’m going to arrange my schedule so I can join you this summer too, so you’ll just have to find a way to deal with it. ”
“Like it’s such a hardship,” he said. “I set Kenny up with the music so he should be good to go. I can’t wait to hear it. The acoustics are great there.”
I loved that he was so excited for me, and so supportive that he’d even hired a sound guy and put together the playlist. “What would I do without you?”
“You’ll never have to find out.” He gave me a playful swat on the butt. “Now go get ready. I’ll see you at three if not before.”
Gabriel was really good about that. Whenever he said he’d be somewhere, he always kept his word. But I still had my arms wrapped around him and tightened my hold, not wanting to let go.
He knew what I was doing. Trying to delay the inevitable.
My stomach was all jittery with nerves, so my tactic was always to hold on to him tightly. Preferably until the next day when I wouldn’t have to deal with a temperamental makeup artist and the critics sitting in the front row.
“You’re going to be fine. You have absolutely nothing to worry about,” he assured me. “I’ll get there as early as I can, okay? And once you get into it, you’ll be fine. It’s like a big party back there.”
This was true. We even had rock stars coming to our shows, most of whom were dating the models.
We didn’t have time to stand here all day, so I released him. “Okay. You’re free to go to the studio now.”
“You’re too good to me,” he said as he strode away.
“Don’t I know it,” I called after him.
I heard him laughing as the door closed behind him.
Then I kicked my ass into gear and channelled my badass boss mode. Or, at least, a close facsimile.
I still had no idea what I was doing, but I swear that half of being successful was just faking it ‘til you make it.
Backstage in the gothic-style church, there were approximately five hundred people running around, with the models milling about in various states of undress, but I couldn’t help peeking from backstage as the seats started filling up.
“Don’t look out there,” Simone said, steering me away so I wouldn’t obsess over who was sitting in the front row with a discerning eye and what their reactions would be. It always amazed me when fashion editors, journalists, and celebrities turned up at my shows.
Sometimes I worried that I’d only gotten this far because of nepotism.
Thanks to my mom’s memoir, which got a lot of hype and starred reviews, journalists just loved to point out that the “hot new designer shaking up the fashion world” was none other than Nick Ashby’s daughter who was currently dating Gabriel Francis.
I adored Gabriel and was proud to be with him, but why couldn’t my designs be judged purely on their own merits? Why did journalists always have to attach a man’s name to a woman’s accomplishments?
When critics lauded Gabriel’s albums, they never once referred to him as Cleo Babington’s boyfriend.
“Xavi,” I said. “More kohl. More liner. Think The Cure.”
He shot me the evil eye. “Every. Single. Time.” He threw up his hands and cursed me in rapid-fire Spanish. “Trust me. I know what I’m doing. I practically invented the goth look.”
I wouldn’t go that far but okay, I trusted him.
I checked the time again. It was three forty and still no sign of Gabriel.
“How’s this?” Armando asked, standing behind the model’s chair with tongs in hand. He’d straightened Noelle’s long dark hair to within an inch of its life while she smoked cigarettes and drank champagne.
“Perfect, Armando. You look gorgeous, Noelle.”
She blew me a kiss. “I love your shows. It’s always such a great party. Good vibes.”
“You brought the good vibes with you,” I said, hurrying over to Simone who was sewing a willowy blonde into a black lace bustier. “Are you okay?”
“We’re fine. The seam ripped.” She waved me away. “Go help Gigi get into that dress.”
I turned to go then paused. “Simone…”
“You’re welcome. And you’ve got this. It’s going to be a sensation.”
“I love you, Simone.” I blew her a kiss. “I love you too, Xavi,” I called.
“You should. How fabulous does this makeup look?”
“Fabulous,” I declared.
“Tonight, we’ll drink champagne and toast to our collaboration,” he promised.
“It’s a match made in heaven,” I teased as I helped Gigi into a sheer black lace dress and did up the tiny silk-covered buttons going up the back.
When Gigi was ready, I helped Noelle into a blood-red mini-crini trimmed in lace and ribbons.
There was still no sign of Gabriel. Most likely, he’d gotten so engrossed with his work that he’d left the studio at the last minute and got stuck in traffic.
He should have left earlier. I couldn’t believe he’d left me hanging like this. He was supposed to close the show, but he wasn’t even here.
I felt like that kid back in junior high waiting in the wings for my dad to show up for the talent show.
But I didn’t have time to dwell, so I brushed off my disappointment and focused on the show.
Here goes nothing. I crossed my fingers as the models strutted down the runway, opening the show to a Siouxsie and the Banshees song.
“Xavi. If Gabriel doesn’t show up in the next two minutes, can you fill in for him?"
Xavi ran his hand down his body. “Do I look like I’m six feet tall with Gabriel’s body type? I’d be swimming in that jacket.”
I sighed. Xavi was slim and around my height, five foot seven. I’d tailored the leather jacket and the shirt to fit Gabriel’s exact specifications.
“It’s okay, my love,” Simone assured me. “Let’s just keep this moving. If Gabriel doesn’t turn up, you’ll just throw that jacket over your shoulders and strut down that runway like you own it.”
“That’s exactly what you should do. Own it, girl,” Xavi chimed in. “But if you really need me, I’ll do it.”
While I appreciated the belated offer, I knew he didn’t want to wear a jacket tailored to fit Gabriel and I couldn’t really blame him for that. The proportions would be all wrong.
We only had fifteen minutes to impress, and I’d worked too hard to drop the ball now so I kept moving. Quick outfit changes and off they went again.
But as time ticked by with no sign of Gabriel, I had a pit in my stomach. It wasn’t like him to just not show up. Gabriel would never do that to me.
Something was wrong. I could feel it in my gut.