For as long as I’d been working at RSB’s iconic domed nineteenth-century building in St. Andrews Square, I had used my rare sunny day lunch hours to stroll to the shops on Multrees Walk.
Multrees Walk was a pedestrian street fleeted on both sides by some of the biggest names in fashion. I had allowed myself to look longingly at all the window displays, but I’d never gone into any of the shops. That’s because the very first time I strolled over to Multrees Walk on my lunch break, I decided—with a shiver of forbidden lust—it would be far too dangerous for me to actually shop there.
So for five long years, I continued my over-budget relationship with Ted and Kate, but only allowed myself fleeting glances at the windows on Multrees. After all, there was a difference between going over budget and breaking the bank.
But that Saturday, less than an hour after Magnus dashed out of the apartment because, “Sorry, Tara, I cannae let my team down,” I was awoken from my nap by Iain’s smart apartment telling me a stylist named Ana Smith was outside the building requesting entry.
Ana spoke with an accent so posh, it was impossible for me to tell whether she was from Scotland or England. As it turned out, a famous Scottish singer who was engaged to one of Magnus’s teammates had asked Ana to help me get ready for my big debut.
“My big debut?” I said, confused. “Wait, are you talking about Magnus’s rugby match?”
As a matter of fact, she was. Because I was going to this match, I would need advanced wardrobe planning, she insisted.
Gamely deciding to play along, I tried leading Ana to my closet of really nice clothes, telling the stylist, “Okay, I have a ton of stuff that should work. But I was leaning toward a cute little Kate Spade sweater I bought last year.”
Ana burst into tinkling laughter as if I had told her a truly funny joke. And then she whisked me downstairs to a waiting car.
A short while later, we pulled up in front of Harvey Nichols.
“Oh, my God. This is Multrees Walk!” I exclaimed.
“Yes, it is,” Ana answered, wrinkling her nose at the luxury department store as if it smelled bad. “I’m afraid this is the best I can do on such short notice. Normally, I’d take you to London. Everyone on Bond Street knows me. But alas, we only have a couple of hours.”
I pinched myself, wondering if this was a dream and I was still napping. But no … even my wildest shopping dreams didn’t include personal shoppers, and there were two waiting for us as soon as we stepped off the escalator. Ana gave them both air kisses before explaining the “emergency” on her hands.
As it turned out, these people believed just as urgently as Ana did that lives would be destroyed if I couldn’t find the perfect outfit for Iain’s big game. The next couple of hours flew by like they were part of a movie montage. After a flurry of consults and pulls, I found myself staring open-mouthed at my reflection in the private dressing room’s beveled mirror.
Ana and her emergency fashion team had outfitted me in a boat neck “jumper.” It looked like a normal sweater but when I put it on, I discovered it was in fact a miracle in disguise. It clung to my curves like a peach-colored hug. And it seemed to be made of a material I could only describe as “cloud.” It was too warm to be a cotton blend but too soft to come from an animal.
Ana and my helpers also found me a pair of truly amazing skinny jeans. They didn’t constrict my stomach, yet they somehow made it seem like I possessed the physically impossible ethnic beauty triangle of ample hips, ample booty, and thigh gap—at the same time. Like a Kardashian. I kept putting my legs together and then spreading them apart, trying to figure out how the jeans were pulling off this magical feat.
And just when I thought the outfit couldn’t get any better, one of the shoppers presented me with a pair of rose python slingback heels. I had never heard of the shoe brand before, but the detailing was so fine, I suspected a real python had given its life so these shoes might live…on my feet. Even more impressive, thanks to a concealed platform, the stiletto heels turned out to be way more comfortable than they looked.
Not that it mattered. The shoes matched my magic cloud sweater and jeans so perfectly, I would have happily limped out of the store if it meant I could wear them.
Ana stood next to me with a resigned sigh.
“It will have to do,” she said with a glum shake of her head before she twisted a gold-and-diamond Bulgari Serpenti watch onto my wrist as if it was a cubic zirconia tennis bracelet.
“Um, correction: it’ll more than do,” I insisted, unable to look away from my reflection in the mirror. This was exactly what I’d dreamed of during my window-shopping expeditions, drinking in all the clothes and accessories I couldn’t remotely afford to buy.
But here I was now, standing in Harvey Nichols. Because of Magnus.
“It will do, Ana,” one of the personal shoppers assured the disappointed stylist. “After all, you don’t want her to look too posh during her debut. This outfit gives her a more down-to-earth vibe.”
I screwed up my face. How many “down-to-earth” people wore outfits to sporting events that cost nearly five figures?
But aloud I said, “Thank you. This is way better than anything I ever thought I’d need for a rugby game.”
“A rugby game where every aspect of your appearance will be dissected and judged,” Ana pointed out.
Annnddd cue the trip to the salon with the two-year waiting list.
Some poor woman in the middle of an ombre treatment was all but chair tipped out of my seat, so the head stylist could oversee my “emergency” keratin treatment while a middle-aged woman attended to my nails.
As much as I loved all the pampering, I couldn’t help but feel a little relieved when I was finally put under a hair dryer and given some time by myself.
But just as I brought out my phone, a message appeared across my screen: “Feck this game miss you like a fuckin vital organ wish we were still in bed”
Even though it was from an unknown number, I read the punctuation-free message and imagined Magnus’s deep grumble.
I smiled and my thumbs hovered over the touch pad, but then instead of returning the message, I swiped over to the contacts screen and typed in Iain’s name.
I hesitated, guilt twisting my stomach, but this was the rest of my life. I couldn’t simply take a back seat and let Magnus drive my future from here on out. And though today had been a shopping dream come true, it wasn’t enough. It just … wasn’t.
Clamping my lips, I pressed the green call button.
It went straight to voicemail. Which I supposed I should have expected, considering this was his satellite phone number and only meant for emergencies.
“Hi, Iain,” I said at the beep. “This is Tara. I know you’re probably in some jungle somewhere, but I have to go home to my pack … and I was hoping I could borrow your private plane …”