Page 25 of In the Frame

“Sorry, it must be late there. Maybe we can meet another time, then,” I dare.

“Perhaps.”

“If you need more fake dates…”

“I’ll call you should I need one,” Florian assures me, his voice surprisingly warm. “Thank you. Good night.”

“Night. Bye.” I hang up, clutching my phone against my chest for a moment, unexpectedly euphoric. As the last boarding call rings out, I enter the train, covered in goose bumps.

Chapter Twelve

By Thursday afternoon, there’s no sign of the suit.

I pause outside Ivan’s before going in for my latest shift to check my phone yet again. There hasn’t been a single peep from Richard, though he’s hardly the peeping sort from my limited experience. I mean, I don’t know for certain.

But I’m freaking out because there’s no suit, and with no suit, there will be no wedding for me to go to, and I’ll disappoint my friends. Florian said he would see to making arrangements to return it—with Richard synonymous with arrangements—and I’m supposed to leave tomorrow around lunchtime for Brighton. Presumably with something to wear.

As the saying goes, desperate times call for desperate measures. I scroll through my contacts, find DE LIGT INVESTMENT HOLDINGS on my phone, and call. Because it’s slightly less daunting to call Richard than Florian. And Richard would be dealing with suit logistics anyway like it’s the next mission to the moon.

“De Ligt Investment Holdings. Richard Walker speaking. How may I help?” Richard’s voice, cool and not exactly inspiring much faith in the help part. Or, at least, any theoretical help that he might or might not offer me.

“Hi. It’s Matty Gowen-Smith calling.”

“Ah. Mathias.”

Is that a good sign or a bad sign that he recognizes me right off? Probably bad if I’m getting the Mathias treatment. Though, to be fair, he did call me Mathias last time too.

“I’m calling about my suit that I need to pick up. Since you have Florian’s suit now. Or presumably, Florian has his suit back.”

“Mr. De Ligt is in possession of his suit,” he affirms.

“Could I have my suit back too, please?”

“I do not have your suit. Why would you think I have your suit?” Richard’s voice is cool. Sharp.

More importantly—wait, he doesn’t have my suit? “Why not? Florian said you would have it dry-cleaned and returned to me.”

“I’m afraid I’m not aware of any suits other than the one you returned recently.” His voice is ice.

Undaunted, I keep going, because of Paul and Caden’s wedding and the fear of letting them down hitting harder than any prospect of Richard disemboweling me. “It’s a suit swap. Like a prisoner swap. I mean, not that I know anything about prisoner swaps. Anyway, I need mine swapped back. Because I have a wedding to go to on the weekend, and it’ll be a disaster if I don’t have it back. Please.”

I’m not beyond begging, if that’s what it takes.

“As I told you, I only have had the suit that you returned last week. Which belongs to Mr. Ligt.”

This is terrible news. Why haven’t I heard about the suit? Why doesn’t Richard know about it? “Well… if you see my suit, would you let me know?”

“I will. Good afternoon.”

The line goes dead in my hand. And I have a disaster lined up in front of me for tomorrow. Shit, I’m going to be into my overdraft by tomorrow.

When I check my phone during my break, there’s a text message. Not from Richard or Florian, but from another uni friend, Johan, who’s meant to be my date for the wedding.

Bad news. I won’t be able to make it back in time. Still away for work and I’m going to be here into next week. Nightmare

I groan and text back.

What’s happened?