All That Glitters (4 page)

‘So what are you suggesting?’

‘I want to make you the anti-WAG,’ Aaron said triumphantly, and Ella could have laughed out loud. What was he on about?

‘I want you to lose the bimbo image you’re starting to unconsciously adopt. You’re not stupid – I heard you ran your own little cake business a while ago – and I want to make you classy, respected, and someone who has every right to be famous . . . and not just famous because they’re married to a footballer. I’m thinking Princess Diana meets Carla Bruni-Sarkozy meets Michelle Obama. I want to make you a role model.’

Ella’s eyes widened. ‘You sound like a fairy godmother,’ she said, and as Aaron sat down she relaxed. She could handle the calm version of Aaron, coarse and crude as he was, but she felt a little freaked out by the manic side of him. ‘But why would you do this for me? I don’t understand.’

Aaron shot her a big, wolfish grin – one that showed off his perfect teeth. ‘I’m doing this for my career, and for Danny’s. Like I said earlier, I want Danny to be bigger than David Beckham, and everything needs to be in place to do that. He has the dream house, and a gorgeous wife, but darling – and excuse me for saying this – you’re lacking ever so slightly. You’re a beautiful girl with a great body, but that’s all people know about you. I want to make you so dazzling, so incredible, that it will reflect well on Danny. It’s my job to make him the best, and that means I need to make you the best, too.’

Ella was sitting by the pool when Danny came home, and he was buoyed up with energy from a training practice. Kingston United were playing Arsenal that weekend, and Danny wanted to get a hat-trick against them. He loved being a footballer, and genuinely believed that if he worked hard enough, he could achieve anything. It was one of the things Ella loved about him. He was so determined.

‘Hi honey, I’m home,’ he called, in a camp impression of a 1950s husband. ‘Did you miss me?’

Ella grinned. She always did. And now that her real friends – the ones she’d grown up with, like Stacey – were melting away, he was the person closest to her. ‘Of course I did. But guess what: Aaron came to see me today. Did you know?’

Danny looked slightly uncomfortable, but only for a moment. ‘He did mention it, yes. What do you think of his plans?’

Ella shrugged. ‘I’m not really sure. He was going on about making me into a role model, but he didn’t say exactly how he was going to do it. Do you have any ideas about what he’s thinking of?’

Danny shook his head. ‘No, not really. But you don’t mind, do you?’ he asked gently. ‘I’m so used to Aaron controlling my image – right down to what suits I wear – that I forget what he can be like sometimes. It’s natural that he’s taking an interest in you, too. I’m Danny Riding, striker for Kingston United, but together we can be The Ridings. We could be a brand.’

‘I know,’ Ella said. ‘That’s what Aaron said. But can we be, really? I mean, you’re an amazing footballer, but I’m nothing special. Maybe you should be married to an Oscar-wining actress or something.’

Danny sighed, and took Ella’s hands in his. ‘Ella, you
are
special. You agreed to be my wife, for one thing – and I know that can’t have been easy for you.’

Ella laughed. ‘Are you kidding me? You have thousands of girls after you who’d kill to be in my position.’

‘Well, yes.’ Danny raised an eyebrow. ‘But the point is, I wanted to marry you, and being married to a footballer isn’t exactly plain-sailing. My schedule isn’t like other people’s, and I appreciate that you’ve given up on your career dreams so that you’re at home more.’

‘But it was my choice to do that, and I’m happy with it,’ Ella said firmly. ‘Working all hours and trying to get a business off the ground really affected my relationship with Fin, and I’m choosing not to do that to us, to you. Getting ahead used to be so important to me, but . . . I don’t know. I just don’t feel that drive any more. I want to support you. I don’t care that you’re a footballer, or that your agent wants to turn me into some modern-day saint. I just want us to keep being happy, and if doing things like “being a brand” makes our relationship stronger, then I’ll do it.’

Danny raised Ella’s hands to his lips and kissed them. ‘You’re an angel, you know. I don’t know what I did to deserve you.’

‘What, apart from helping me get my self-respect back after being dumped, taking me on trips in an exotic country, and then making me the happiest girl in the world? No, I can’t possibly think what you’ve done,’ she teased.

Danny smiled. ‘So you’re cool with Aaron’s plans, really?’

Ella nodded. ‘I’m your wife, and if it helps with your career, you know I’ll do it. We’re in this together, you and I, and don’t you forget it.’

‘Ella, I never will.’

Chapter Three

Ella stood in the doorway of her huge, mirrored, walk-in wardrobe, and stared in astonishment. True to his word, Aaron had started his ‘Ella Riding Makeover’ project, and the first thing he’d done was get rid of all her clothes. Gone were her cute summer dresses from Topshop, her perfectly fitting jeans from Wrangler, and comfortable jogging bottoms and hoodies from Hollister. And in their place were . . . well, Ella wasn’t really sure. All she could see were boxes and boxes of new clothes, from stores like Pringle, Hermès, Nicole Farhi and Michael Kors.

‘Aren’t you going to open them?’ a voice said from behind her, and Ella turned to see Danny leaning against the wall in the hall. He’d been working out in their gym, had his top off, and was glistening with sweat. He looked so hot; Ella knew that a million girls would have killed then and there to take her place.

‘Aaron made sure that everything is in your size. All you need to do is work out which pieces you want, and someone will come to collect the rest. You can keep whatever you like, and send back what you don’t.’

Ella spun around again and stared at all the boxes. She wasn’t sure where to begin, as there were so many. She tentatively opened up one from Lanvin, not knowing what to expect, but when a flash of ivory silk peeped through the tissue paper her heart raced. She pulled out a beautifully demure shift dress, with a high neck and a sweet bow around the waist, and when Ella turned it around, she saw the back had draped panels that would swing seductively when she walked. It was sophisticated, elegant, but also very sexy. If this was Aaron’s idea of classy, she was excited. Very excited.

She opened the next one. Fendi: a draped, v-front dress in a juicy papaya crepe. And then there was a package from Marc Jacobs containing an opulent antique rose and gold embroidered jacquard dress that would fall just to the knee. Next was a canary silk cocktail dress from Alberta Ferretti. Cream silk-blend wide-leg trousers from Chloé. A belted navy origami dress by Roland Mouret. Black crepe, slim-leg trousers by Vanessa Bruno. And a stunning, floor-length Zac Posen gown in a deep indigo. The clothes were so beautiful, so classic and so stylish that Ella couldn’t quite believe they were for her. They were so
grown up
.

‘Or, you can keep everything and not send back a single piece,’ Danny remarked in amusement, as he caught sight of Ella’s expression. She looked like she was in heaven.

‘It’s too much,’ she whispered. ‘It’s just all too much.’

Just when she thought her life was utterly perfect, it got better and better and better.

‘The next stage of your anti-WAG makeover is to sort your hair out,’ Aaron said to Ella distractedly as he played with his Blackberry. ‘You look great, darling, but we really need to sort out your barnet.’

Ella fingered a strand of her light-brown hair. She’d got it highlighted at Michaeljohn just before the wedding, and she thought it looked pretty perfect. What was wrong with it?

‘WAGs all have that hair-extension, Barbie-doll thing going on again,’ Aaron explained, as if he were reading Ella’s mind. ‘Apart from Victoria Beckham. This week. She’s probably the only one to have something a bit more avant-garde, but then, she’s really old so she can get away with it.’

Ella opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

‘We’re positioning you as a self-assured, self-confident young lady, so we need to chop your hair off,’ Aaron said, and he looked up from his hundreds of emails. He stared at Ella as if challenging her.

‘So I don’t look like the other wives?’ Ella guessed, and Aaron nodded.

‘Partly. But have you ever thought about
why
all those girls have such long, porn-star hair? It’s to keep their man. They think their husbands won’t cheat if they look as perfect as possible, and they think having long hair’s sexy.’

Ella bit her lip. She was confused. ‘But long hair is sexy, isn’t it?’

Aaron let out a little snort of laughter. ‘On a normal girl it is. On a WAG it just looks desperate. Don’t worry, we’re not going to get all your hair chopped off – I want it just off the shoulders. I want you to look fresh. Modern. Smart. And not at all desperate to keep your man. You’ll see what I mean.’

After Ella had her haircut, she did. Her gorgeous long hair was now cut to just above her shoulders, in a sexy, messy bob. Her heart-shaped face looked slimmer, her violet eyes sparkled, and she looked cool and chic. She loved it . . . and when she popped into Aaron’s office just around the corner from the exclusive salon she’d visited in Mayfair, Aaron did, too.

‘Wow,’ he said, as he looked her up and down approvingly. She was wearing an olive-green Stella McCartney chiffon dress, Yves Saint Laurent braided sandals, and was carrying a suede and crystal Marni clutch. With her choppy new haircut, she looked like someone special – like someone who led the fashion pack, and didn’t care what anyone thought of her. She appeared effortlessly sexy, unfussy, and if you saw her on the street you’d think she was a magazine editor or someone important in her own right. Not a footballer’s wife. ‘You look sensational.’

Ella blushed under her new fringe. She knew she looked good, but she couldn’t quite come to terms with her appearance. Where was the girl who’d sat at Heathrow airport when Fin had broken her heart? Back then she’d worn jogging bottoms and a ratty old vest top, and she’d not cared about split ends, her spare tyre, or what she looked like. How had that girl transformed into the woman she was now? She couldn’t quite believe how Aaron had worked his magic on her.

‘Thank you so much,’ Ella said simply, as her eyes shone with happiness. Words couldn’t really describe just how grateful she was to Aaron for everything he’d done for her. She knew, deep down, that he was only doing his job, and that he’d be this generous with whoever Danny Riding had chosen to settle down with, but it didn’t make any difference to her. She was so blissfully happy with Danny and her new life, and a lot of that was due to Aaron’s relentless organisation and care.

Aaron smiled, and ignored a ringing phone. ‘It’s my pleasure, sweetheart,’ he said softly. ‘With your new look we’re going to make a lot more money. You and Danny can now really be a brand. You’re fresh, you’re different, and you definitely stand out from all the other couples. Forget the Beckhams and the Rooneys. The Ridings have got it all.’

Ella laughed in delight. This was ridiculous, so ridiculous. No way would people think she and Danny were like the Beckhams. It was just impossible!

‘And now the next thing for you to do is get a “career” going.’ Aaron leant back on his desk and waited for Ella’s reaction. He wasn’t disappointed.

‘But . . . Danny’s always said being his wife was my job,’ Ella said. ‘We made the decision together that I wouldn’t work – that I wouldn’t pursue a career because it would mean that Danny and I hardly saw each other.’

‘I’m not talking about a real career,’ Aaron said simply. ‘I’m talking about magazine work.’

‘You mean you want me to pose for
Loaded
?’ Ella felt sick.

Aaron rolled his eyes. ‘Ella, haven’t you been listening to a word I’ve said? No, I don’t want you to get your tits out for the lad mags. The last thing I want is for you to come across as the type of girl that needs that sort of validation. I was thinking more along the lines of you being a high-end fashion model who can talk about the clothes she wears. Didn’t you once tell Danny that you love clothes?’

‘I did. I do,’ Ella said slowly. ‘But not in an obsessive, brain-dead way. And I haven’t got any experience, and I’m not built like a model. I’m too short, have curves, and I don’t have the greatest bone structure.’

‘Oh, anyone can look good on camera so long as they’re wearing the right make-up,’ Aaron said dismissively. ‘Besides, that’s not the point. Your favourite Uncle Aaron has landed you a job at
Cerise
magazine. And unlike other magazine shoots, you get to put the outfits together and say why they’re fashionable.’

‘You’re kidding,’ Ella said slowly. She couldn’t quite believe it. She was going to act as a stylist, model and fashion journalist all in one?

‘When have I ever joked about your career as Mrs Riding?’ Aaron said wryly. ‘I’m all about making you and Danny superstars, aren’t I?

Ella had to admit he had a point.

The moment Ella walked into
Cerise
magazine, she wondered if this was all going to be a terrible mistake. She’d been greeted warmly by Lucy, the editor, and had been shown a desk she could sit at while she looked over some clothes samples, but she felt really uncomfortable. Out of place. Everywhere she looked were well-dressed girls who were obviously super-clever and ambitious. In comparison Ella felt a bit dumb. Okay, so she wasn’t stupid – she
had
run her own business for a while, and still tried to keep up to date with current affairs (so long as they weren’t too boring) – but she was adamant that being a supportive wife to Danny was her new job. Her new career. She knew it sounded old-fashioned, but her relationship with Danny was important to her, and she’d made the decision to support him. It wasn’t her being enslaved to him. It was about her making a choice, and she hoped other women – especially the ones in this office – could respect that.

‘When Aaron Kohle set this up he told us you weren’t into doing the usual footballer’s wife thing of looking slutty . . . which is good, obviously, as we’re not that sort of magazine,’ Lucy began conversationally as she took a sip of her skinny latte. ‘I take it you’ve read
Cerise
?’