Chapter 18

Italian Style

As they walked towards the main entrance of The Venetian, Kate was still trying to squeeze the remaining water out of her ugly floral dress. Thankfully, the sizzling Vegas heat had almost dried her hair out, but her dress remained slightly damp.

‘I still can’t believe you pulled me in,’ Kate said.

‘I still can’t believe you pushed me in,’ Trevor replied.

‘That was an accident. Just like marrying you was an accident!’

‘Accidentally on purpose.’

‘This isn’t funny, Trevor. I’m soaking wet because of you!’

‘Mrs Rush, behave! It’s only our second date.’

‘Ugh, you’re worse than Siobhan for making everything sexual.’

‘Nobody’s worse than Siobhan for making everything sexual.’

‘Good point,’ Kate said, accidentally smiling.

‘Was that a smile, Freckles?’

Another rookie mistake on her part. Winning this game meant keeping her guard up at all times. She was a woman on a mission, she reminded herself.

‘It was a grimace at best,’ Kate said, correcting herself.

‘I’ll take it,’ Trevor said. ‘Anyway, we better get you a new dress.’

‘It’s starting to dry out. I’m sure it’ll be fine eventually.’

‘That dress will never be fine,’ Trevor said, looking at the horrific floral patterns. ‘You need a dress that’s worthy of your beauty.’

‘Oh give me a break, I’m like a seven on a good day.’

‘There you go, running yourself into the ground again. I thought you would have gotten over your ugly duckling syndrome by now.’

‘Great, more psychoanalysis from the Vegas DJ,’ Kate said, throwing her eyes up to heaven.

‘You don’t believe in self-love?’ Trevor asked.

‘Well, loving myself would be a lot easier if you didn’t keep highlighting my flaws.’

‘I’ve literally never done that,’ Trevor said, confused.

‘Oh please, you call me Freckles like every ten seconds!’

‘Don’t tell me you’re still insecure about your freckles after all these years?’

‘I just don’t like any attention being drawn to them.’

‘Women never cease to amaze me,’ Trevor laughed.

‘Be very careful what you say next,’ Kate said. He was on thin ice as it was, without making sweeping generalizations.

‘Women still don’t realize that what makes them unique is also what makes them beautiful.’

His statement was surprisingly inoffensive. And on top of that, there was some truth in it.

For as long as she could remember, her self-esteem had conditions. It was either ‘I’ll love myself when I lose five pounds’ or ‘I’ll love myself when I get these freckles lasered off’. Self-love was always something she would achieve in the future based on reaching a certain goal. But when she actually achieved the goal, there was always another thing to fix down the line.

Confidence, it seemed, was an oasis in the desert, a mirage always so near yet so far. She knew how dysfunctional that sounded, especially from a feminist perspective. After all, every time a woman hates herself, the patriarchy wins. She hated herself for not loving herself. It was a self-defeating cycle that she feared would never be broken.

‘Well, women are given unrealistic beauty standards from the moment they’re born,’ she explained. ‘If you don’t fit the mould, society makes sure you know it.’

Trevor stopped and looked Kate dead in the eye. ‘How the hell can’t you see that your freckles are the most beautiful thing about you?’

Shit.

The flutters were back.

But it was time to close the shutters.

‘Hasn’t saying “your flaws are beautiful” become a bit of a cliché?’ she said, refusing to be wooed.

‘Except they’re not a flaw,’ he laughed. ‘When I call you that nickname, I’m trying to compliment you.’

‘And yet you always manage to make my blood boil.’

‘So what, you want your skin to have the same complexion all over?’

‘That’s the dream.’

‘Your dream is to be a sky without stars?’

‘Oh my God, you’re the most dramatic man in the world,’ Kate laughed.

‘Let me guess – you always compliment other women’s freckles?’

‘Well, yeah, they look gorgeous on other women.’

‘But they only look ugly on you?’

‘Well . . . I . . .’ she stuttered. When he said it like that it really brought her self-esteem issues into full focus.

‘Word of advice, Freckles,’ Trevor said. ‘You can’t hate yourself into loving yourself.’

It was an oddly profound thing to say, delivered with a kind of conviction only he was capable of. But she didn’t feel like discussing it any further. She didn’t like the way he was holding a mirror up to her. But then again, wasn’t that just further proof that she didn’t love her reflection?

Trevor led Kate through the Venetian to a fabulous little shopping area. It had its own Venice canal, just like the one outside, and the roof was painted like a stunning blue sky. For a brief moment, Kate forgot she was indoors.

As she looked around the designer stores, Kate felt like a fish out of water. Sure, there were designer brands in Ireland but Kate could never afford them. She used to window-shop from time to time, but whenever Norman was with her, he would always say designer clothes were a rip-off. He was right, she supposed, but was there anything wrong with daydreaming about it? Everyone has the right to fantasize.

‘Is Versace okay?’ Trevor asked.

‘Excuse me?’

‘For your new dress. They also have Gucci, Armani, Prada . . .’

‘Trevor, that’s not exactly within my budget,’ she said. ‘Let’s just find a souvenir shop with something cheap.’

‘Freckles, haven’t you figured out yet that you’re not the one calling the shots?’ Trevor asked. ‘I’m the one with all the power.’

‘But . . .’

‘My wife should be dressed in designer, and that’s non-negotiable. So I’ll ask you once again. Is Versace okay?’

‘Alright,’ Kate agreed, apprehensively.

Trevor walked ahead towards the boutique and Kate followed behind him. When they got to the store window, she looked up in awe at a dress being displayed on a mannequin. It was beyond anything Kate had ever seen before. It was a blue velvet gown with a plunge neckline and a thigh split. It was elegant yet bold, the epitome of glamour and sophistication. It was the kind of haute couture one only ever sees at the Met Gala. A work of art, in every respect.

‘Wow,’ she said as she stared at it.

‘Oh so you do have good taste . . .’ Trevor teased. ‘Come on.’

They walked into the store and were greeted by a beautiful stylist with cheekbones for days.

‘Mr Rush, you’re very welcome,’ the stylist said, looking him up and down. She was clearly another one of his fans.

‘Hi there. My wife and I had a little boating accident,’ Trevor said. ‘We’ll be needing some new clothes.’

‘But the cheapest thing you have,’ Kate insisted.

‘Ignore her. She’s a rescue.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘You have amazing cheekbones, by the way,’ Trevor said to the stylist.

Kate was raging, but she had to admit he had a point. The stylist should have been modelling the clothes, not merely selling them. She looked like one of those women in Trevor’s Instagram photos. Perfect face, perfect body – perfect everything, really. But the cheek of him to compliment her while Kate was standing right there. Even though it was clearly just an attempt to annoy her, she hated that it was working. Then again, why did she care?

‘Thank you, Mr Rush,’ the stylist said. ‘Quite a compliment coming from you.’

‘My wife will take the dress in the window, and I’ll take something similar to what I’m currently wearing.’

‘Wonderful. I’ll take your wife to the fitting room and my colleague will take you to the men’s section. Mrs Rush, right this way.’

Before Kate could object she was already being whisked off to the women’s fitting rooms. She was in love with the dress from the window, but she was terrified to learn the price. The stylist grabbed one of the dresses off the rail and opened the fitting room for Kate. ‘Let me know if the size is okay,’ she smiled before closing the door.

Kate braced herself as she turned over the price tag.

$4,500.

She nearly collapsed with shock. But at the same time, she shouldn’t have been surprised. The dress was a work of art. And art wasn’t cheap.

She wanted it more than she had ever wanted an item of clothing, but she felt so guilty about the price. It was more expensive than her wedding dress, for crying out loud. But it truly was divine. And if Trevor really wanted her to have it, then she didn’t exactly have a choice. Maybe this could be one little out-of-character indulgence she could allow herself to enjoy. She could even take it home to Ireland. Norman didn’t need to know who bought it for her. Or how expensive it was.

She took off her soggy floral dress and began to unzip its fabulous replacement. But just as she was about to slip it on, her phone began to ring in her handbag again. Surely Norman wasn’t calling again so soon. She needed him to give her some space while she tried to get her life back on track.

Kate took out her phone. It was worse than Norman.

It was her mother.

‘Shit!’ Kate said.

‘Everything alright in there?’ the stylist asked.

‘Yes, I just have to take a phone call!’

‘No problem – I’ll circle back.’

Kate took a deep breath before answering the call. Several years prior, she had made the mistake of showing her mother how to do video calls. She was regretting it more than ever now. ‘Hi, Mam!’ she said, pretending as if nothing was wrong.

‘Kate O’Connor, I’m not one bit impressed with your behaviour!’ Margaret said. Her face was way too close to the screen and all Kate could see were her chapped, pursed lips.

‘Mam, hold the camera further away from your face,’ she instructed.

Margaret pulled the phone back to reveal the entirety of her sharp face. She had a scornful look that Kate knew all too well. She was about to give one of her lectures.

‘Kate!’ Margaret said. ‘Where in God’s name are your clothes?’

‘They’re on the ground beside me, I’m just changing,’ Kate said. She didn’t need to mention she was changing in Versace. ‘What’s the matter, Mam? It must be the middle of the night back home.’

‘It certainly is the middle of the night, Kate. And I’ve just been woken up by a very disturbing call from Norman. He said that you’ve extended your hen party by two days and you’re behaving like a lunatic!’

‘Chloe got us two extra nights for free because she’s an influencer. I couldn’t say no.’

‘And if Chloe influenced you to jump off a bridge, would you do it?’ Margaret asked.

‘No, Mam, I obviously wouldn’t.’

‘Oh, so you do have a bit of common sense left? So why did Norman tell me you’re behaving like a completely different person? He’s worried sick!’

‘I’m still me, Mam. Women are allowed to blow off some steam on their hen party. It’s not the end of the world.’

‘It might be. Norman is up the walls with nerves. He said he was looking at plane tickets to go to Vegas and bring you home.’

‘HE CANNOT COME TO VEGAS!’ Kate panicked.

‘Well, he said something about you being in a sports car and a strange voice saying you’d been taken. He thinks you’ve been human trafficked!’

‘Mam, look at me. Does it look like I’ve been human trafficked?’

‘Well, you’re in a tiny little room, wearing only your bra and knickers and your hair looks soaking wet. So yes, Kate, it does look like you’ve been human trafficked actually.’

‘I just fell into a canal . . .’

‘A CANAL?’

‘A very shallow canal, Mam! I got a bit wet so I’m in a changing room now putting on a new dress.’

‘Great, you’ll have pneumonia before the wedding. If there’s even going to be a wedding!’ Margaret snapped.

‘Of course there’ll be a wedding, Mam. Will you please call Norman back and tell him not to come to Vegas? He’s overreacting.’

‘Is he, Kate? Because it seems to me like you’ve forgotten who you are. I don’t know what’s going on over there but I’m your mother and I know when something is off.’

Margaret always knew when Kate was lying. But she couldn’t find out about her drunkenly marrying Trevor Rush. Margaret had always told Kate that he was a lowlife, a ruffian who didn’t deserve her. She always said that Trevor was completely wrong for her. He wasn’t ‘good people’, as she put it. Which wasn’t particularly fair, considering she never even met Trevor.

But wasn’t she right to a certain degree?

Margaret was there through all the tears after Kate caught Trevor cheating. She knew the devastating effect he’d had on her. Those sleepless nights listening to Taylor Swift heartbreak songs had seemed never-ending at the time. But Kate had risen above it. She couldn’t revert to those days.

One cannot heal backwards.

Trevor was a cheater and Norman was loyal. That was all there was to it. But the only way to get away from Trevor and back to Norman was to power through these dates. Once they were over, she could go back to normality and pretend this never happened.

‘Mam, I promise I have everything under control. You just have to trust me,’ Kate said.

‘Fine. I’ll tell Norman I spoke to you. But mark my words, if you do anything to jeopardize this marriage, I’ll be found dead of shame. And your poor father is worried sick too. You know full well stress can cause cancer to come back!’ Margaret said.

There was a knock on the fitting room door. ‘Mrs Rush,’ the stylist said. ‘Do you need more time?’

Shit.

‘I’ll be out in just a minute!’ Kate said, in a fluster.

‘Kate . . .’ Margaret said, suspiciously. ‘Did that woman call you Mrs Rush?’

‘No! She was talking to someone else!’

‘So why did you respond?’

Kate felt the smothering feeling engulf her once again. She felt completely caught out. ‘She’s . . . she’s telling me to rush because someone else needs the fitting room.’

‘But she—’

‘I have to go, Mam! Tell Norman everything is fine! See you Friday!’

Kate hung up and caught her breath once again.

She felt unbearable pressure from Norman and Margaret. There was nothing she hated more than when they teamed up against her, which was something that happened quite often. They needed to give her some space and let her get this annulment. Calling her and panicking wasn’t going to help the situation. She had been very nearly caught out in the lie about who Mrs Rush was, but at least Trevor hadn’t barged into the video call. That would have been a whole new level of disaster. But the smothering feeling was easing. She just had to keep it together until this nightmare was over.

Kate looked down at the price tag once again.

$4,500 was far too much to spend on a dress, no matter how much she would have loved it. She couldn’t let Trevor pay that much. Sure, the dress was a work of art, but she wasn’t the type of girl who wore works of art. That was for the runway models, celebrities, taste-makers. It’s not like she was going to be invited to the Met Gala any time soon. Her mother was right.

She had to remember who she was.

‘Excuse me,’ Kate said, opening the dressing room door.

‘Yes, Mrs Rush?’ the stylist said, coming over.

‘Yeah, so this isn’t really in my price range. Do you have anything for around $400?’

‘You mean like a belt?’

‘Well . . . no,’ Kate said. She couldn’t exactly wear a belt on its own. ‘I’ll just take your cheapest dress. Sorry to be a pain.’

The stylist gave Kate a strange look. ‘Mmhmm, I’ll be right back,’ she said.

After a minute or two, she returned with a silver bodycon dress.

It was perfect. Simple yet elegant.

And only $999.

Still not in Kate’s price range, but at least she wouldn’t feel as guilty for wearing it.

She slipped it on and put her own heels back on, which matched the dress surprisingly well. She walked out of the dressing room and saw Trevor standing in a fancy new suit, waiting for her. He looked both impressed and disappointed at the same time.

‘Well, what do you think?’ Kate asked, giving him a twirl.

‘It’s nice,’ he said. ‘But it’s not the one you wanted.’

‘The other one was very flashy. I’m a simple girl, I like simple dresses.’

‘Hmm . . .’

‘This is perfect for me, honestly.’

‘Well, it’s certainly an improvement from earlier anyway,’ Trevor said. ‘Miss, could you take off the labels and scan them for us? We’d like to keep these clothes on for the rest of the evening.’

‘Sure,’ she said as she removed the label from Kate’s dress. ‘And what should I do with the dress she wore in?’

‘Burn it,’ Trevor said, deadly serious.

‘Hey!’ Kate said. ‘I love that dress!’

‘Well darling, it most certainly does not love you.’