“Yes, thank God. Mom’s gorgeous. Black hair, blue eyes, almost the whole Elizabeth Taylor thing. She dressed like a star, too. Between that and the whole sleeves problem, I think I was doomed to a career in the fashion industry. This,” Zane added with a wave of his lasagna-laden fork, “is delicious.”
A fashion designer mama’s boy. On one hand, hecouldbe straight. On the other, he was a walking stereotype in all other regards, so he probably wasn’t.
He did, however, appreciate her cooking, so Vicki smiled at him again. “Thank you. I like to cook, but it’s a terrible effort doing it every night for one person, so I spent one Sunday a month cooking all the things and fill my freezer up.”
“Oh my God. So organized. I can’t usually find a fork.”
“But that’s what Dion is for.”
Zane touched the tip of his nose, and for a few minutes they ate in companionable silence, mostly interrupted by Zane mumbling about how good it was. “I don’t want to sound all Hollywood, but I don’t eat cheese very often. This is amazing.”
“Oh, I didn’t think of that. You said no allergies, so…”
“No, it’s not allergies, it’s vanity.”
“Oh.” Vicki’s eyes widened and she looked at her plate in dismay. “Oh no. Maybe I should be watching my weight before getting this dress made?”
“Not even slightly. For one thing, you’re a designer’s dream, with your height, curves, and bone structure. For another, I’d be embarrassed to call myself a professional if I couldn’t design a gown that you would look stunning in at any size. Good design isn’t about flawless figures. It’s about making what you’ve got look fabulous. That’s what I want to do. After dinner I can take your measurements, maybe, and then I’ll really know what I’m working with, but?—”
“Take my measurements,” Vicki said wryly. “AfterI’ve eaten a plate full of lasagne?”
Zane grinned, that brilliant, inviting smile that she’d never seen in celebrity pictures of him. “Well, the Starlight ball goes on all night, and you’ll need to eat at some point. We’ll want to give you enough room to actuallydothat.”
She eyed him skeptically. “Do designers really think about that? Everybody knows there are sitting and standing dresses. Are there really eating dresses, too?”
“There’s every kind of dress,” Zane promised, but laughed. “I have to confess, though, that I feel guilty for designing standing dresses, even if the client is looking for that wonderfully fitted look. I always try to have them sit down at least during the measuring process so I can worksomeease into the design, and ideally I have them in for at least one fitting where they have to do something like bend over to see if they can adjust a shoe strap. Speaking of shoes.” He actually looked under the table as they finished eating. “Do you wear heels?”
Vicki looked under the table, too, as if her feet were strangers to her. “Not very often. Never those four or five inch ones you see on the red carpet. Should I start practicing?”
An expression of such terrible conflict crossed Zane’s face that Vicki laughed out loud. “So the answer is ‘ideally, yes, but I don’t want to ask you to do that?’”
“See, when I got serious about fashion design, my mother got me half a dozen pairs of stiletto heels and made me not only learn to walk in them, but stand around for several hours wearing them, for weeks. Every time I started to get the hang of a pair, she’d switch them and I’d find out there were subtle differences in how they hurt, or how my balance changed, or just…all kinds of things. So from apurelyhaute couture viewpoint, yes, four inch heels would be terrific. But I swore from the beginning of my career that I would be prepared to design fabulous, flattering, elegant clothing for people who wanted to wear a pair of flat-soled sneakers on the red carpet.”
“Youarea unicorn, and Idowant to meet your mother, and how about we compromise on like…two inches? Three? I actually don’t think my feet will bend enough to manage four inch heels.”
Zane mumbled, “Definitely not a unicorn,” but smiled. “Mom will love you. Especially if my father doesn’t. Oh no.” Amused distress settled in fine lines around his eyes. “I can’t take your measurements, not unless you have a measuring tape lying around. I didn’t bring one with me.”
“No? You don’t just go around with a measuring tape and small sewing kit with you, in case of fashion emergencies?”
“I may have a small sewing kit,” he admitted almost guiltily. “Needle. Thread. Tiny but very sharp scissors. No measuring tape, though.”
Vicki laughed. “Well, technically speaking, I probablydohave a measuring tape around here somewhere, but it would take me the rest of the night to find it, so we can wait on measurements until…tomorrow? When are you leaving?”
“Right.” Zane winced. “Right, Dion wanted me to talk to you about this. Somebody took our picture at the diner this morning, and we look sort of…intimate.”
A blush laced with confusion spilled through Vicki. The idea of intimacy with Zane was enough to make her want to knock all the dishes off the table and get down to business right there, but she was also pretty certain they hadn’t done anything at all intimate at breakfast that morning. “Um?”
“Very intense. Looking into each other’s eyes,” Zane said hastily. “Romantic. And there’s at least one tabloid running with it.”
“Oh.” Vicki’s eyes widened. “Oh. Um. Wow? Is that…something that happens a lot to you?”
“Well, no, it’s really not. And Dion thinks we look—sound—like a fairy tale. Small town boy makes it big, comes back to sweep the beautiful girl off her feet with a gown designed just for her…”
“Oh,” Vicki said again, faintly. “Oh, well, yes, I see your point. His point. So…?”
Zane wrinkled his face up in obvious apology, or maybe discomfort. “So he thinks I should lean into it. That nobody is going to believe a ‘just friends’ line, because they won’t want to. It’s too good a story to let truth get in the way, and he thought clients might go off my brand if I just ignored you. So he wanted me to ask you if you’d consider…well, dating me.”
Hope leaped in Vicki’s heart, and heat rushed through her. Maybe clearing the table for sex wasn’t out of the question after all. She drew a shaky breath to answer, but Zane blurted, “Fake dating, I mean! He said fake dating, and he’d arrange for somebody to give you an out at the ball so you wouldn’t be stuck with this insane celebrity-adjacent life of mine, and…oh, God, it’s a terrible idea, isn’t it,” he said as he took in her expression.
