by Gina LaManna
“It’ll be held here.” Lizabeth spread her arms wide, exposing a view that sent goosebumps shivering over my legs. “Welcome to the D’uomo.”
Before me stood a castle straight from the pages of Harry Potter. A piazza the size of a soccer field stretched before us, engulfing the center of Milano. At least ten tiny cobblestone roads emptied their passengers into this one square, the sight incredible, beautiful, and overwhelming all at once.
A building rose from the ground, statues upon statues formed in ancient white stone, aged across centuries. The D’uomo centered the city, its steps cascading down from the sides into the open square, littered with pigeons.
The twilight hour gave the zone a magical feeling as tourists scuttled to dinner and locals strolled hand in hand. The crowd spoke in low murmurs, their gazes splitting time between uneven walkways and the beauty of architecture that was older than all of us.
“Neato,” Meg said, sucking in a breath and looking to where the sky met the D’uomo spires. “Can we go inside?”
“Later,” Lizabeth said. “It’s gorgeous, isn’t it? When I secured a spot in the Galleria showcase, I was…” Lizabeth trailed off, fanning herself, tears springing into her eyes. “It is truly a dream come true.”
“I can see why.” I smiled and rested a hand on her shoulder. “It’s magnificent here, really. We’ll make sure your debut goes as perfect as you can possibly imagine.”
Lizabeth’s tears never fell. She sniffed once, and then nodded as she pulled us into the Galleria, a large, semi-open-air shopping center next to the D’uomo. My head swiveled left and right, trying to keep up with all of the store names. Most of them were quite recognizable: Prada, Gucci, Dolce…
“Oh, look. A Mickey Dee’s,” Meg said. “I could use a Whopper. Who’d have guessed they’d stick a McDonald’s next to Prada? I think I like this place. Maybe we could live in Italy, huh, Lace?”
I tried not to let my surprise show. The Galleria reached high above us, the ceilings a work of art. In the center, an open space joined four hallways in a cross, the arched ceiling holding it all together.
“They’ll add runways down each of these hallways,” Lizabeth said, gesturing in every direction. “The center stage will be right here in the middle.”
“I’m the grand finale.” Angelica puffed a few more rounds of her cigarette. “Me and The Miranda.”
Lizabeth nodded, stars in her eyes. “The grand finale.”
“Then we better teach you some self-defense,” Meg said. “In case anyone comes after the necklace, you can kick their…” she trailed off. “How do you say butt in Italian?”
“Self-defense might not be a bad idea!” Lizabeth turned to Meg. “What a brilliant idea. Let’s set up one or two lessons. The show is in two days, so we have all of tomorrow wide open to go over some simple things. It never hurts to be prepared.”
“I didn’t sign on for zis,” Angelica said. She brushed her shiny hair out of her face, the strands a pale blonde that could only be natural. “I’m a model, not a…a brute.”
“You need a little brute in you.” Meg winked, then gave her a loving elbow nudge. Unfortunately, Meg had a lot of love, and her elbow almost knocked Angelica over.
I caught the model before she toppled over. I righted her like I might a toothpick, and apologized. “Maybe I can show you how to use pepper spray or something instead, Angelica.”
“That’s settled, tomorrow afternoon. Meet here, all of you. Angelica, we need to do the practice run anyway.” Lizabeth clapped her hands. “Now, let me show you to your apartments. Angelica, do you have a ride home, or shall we drop you?”
Angelica waved her cigarette, drawing images in the air with the smoke as she turned on her heel and stalked down the hallway. In the distance, a bright orange Lamborghini revved its engine, and I had a feeling she had a man behind the wheel waiting to collect her and take her to…well, wherever models lived.
“Nice girl,” Meg said, admiring Angelica’s figure disappearing into the evening darkness. “Maybe she’ll teach me how to swing my ass like that when I walk.”
I smacked Meg’s arm. “Don’t start, Meg. We’re security, not models.”
“Probably a good thing.” Meg sashayed a few times. “I’d throw my back out swinging my hips like that.”
“We have one last thing to discuss.” Lizabeth turned to face me. “Payment.”
I waved a hand. “We already discussed it, and you offered more than enough. Plus, you bought our flights over here and back. Believe me, it’s plenty.”
“I know I gave you a price tag already, and that won’t change. However, I am referring to a small bonus.” Lizabeth surveyed us both. “It’s not unusual to provide a bonus for good work, ladies.”
“Keep talkin’,” Meg said. “I’m listening.”
“Lizabeth—”
“I insist.” She paused dramatically. “During your vacation after the show, I am taking you and Meg and Nora shopping. Lacey, we are going to find you the most beautiful wedding dress in the world!”
My eyes widened to the size of jumbo cookies. “Me? Shopping? No, I’m easy. I don’t need a fancy dress. I don’t even like shopping.”
“Then this is the perfect gift for you! You don’t have to shop,” Lizabeth explained. “We’ll get you a personal appointment with a custom designer of your choice. Of course I can just pay you in cash if you’d prefer, but I’d really love to introduce you to my designer. He’s from here, the fashion capital of the world. He’ll design you a custom dress—all expenses on me. While we’re at it, he’ll fit Nora and Meg for their gowns, as well. That way you’ll get paid and get your wedding taken care of, all in one go.”
“No, that’s too much. Way too much. I can’t imagine how much that would cost.”
“It’s not too much.” Meg butted me out of the way, extended her hand, and shook Lizabeth’s outstretched one. “We’ll take it.”
“Thank you.” Lizabeth winked at Meg. “At least one of you has some common sense.”
Meg spoke out of the corner of her mouth. “Ain’t that right? I think that’s why she keeps me around.”
I made a choking noise in my throat, but the two ladies had already begun strolling down the hallway arm in arm. I hung back as they stepped through the magnificent archway into the piazza.
My breath caught in my throat at the surreal moment. I was here in Italy, with my friends and family, working a job for the most generous woman on the planet. I did a quick sign of the cross and sent a thank-you to whoever had been listening to my prayers. Then I scurried after the two women before they left me behind.
Lizabeth tucked us into the car with Mr. Racecar Driver once again and instructed him to drop us at our apartments in a blur of languages.
“Aren’t you coming?” I held the car door open.
Lizabeth shook her head. “I have a private apartment a few blocks away, and I’m going to meet Harold. He’s waiting for me there. But don’t worry; Nora, Carlos, Clay, and Anthony should already be at your destination. I reserved three apartments on the same level—separate rooms, entrances, and doors—don’t worry.” Lizabeth blew a kiss. “Ciao, ciao, ciao!”
“This is somethin’, huh?” Meg asked as the driver pulled away, screeching around the curves. “I could get used to this type of treatment.”
I tried to respond, but my lunch was too busy working its way up my esophagus, so I clamped my lips shut, gripped the seat, and prayed some more. As we sailed through Milan, the colorful, quaint shops and intricate architecture provided a cinematic backdrop over the city.
There were as many castles in Milan as there were Target Greatlands in St. Paul. Everything about this moment was a little bit intimidating. As we passed the Rinascente, a towering shopping center, I turned over the phrase Lizabeth had used in front of Angelica—CEO, Owner, Businesswoman.
“I’m not a CEO,” I said to Meg, as the driver parked in front of a tall building and gestured for us to get out. “That t
itle sounds too stuffy, and I don’t like it. I’m just helping out a friend. Saying I’m a CEO gives me heartburn; it’s too much pressure.”
Meg helped me out of the car, then grabbed her own bags from the trunk, waving goodbye to the driver with a flick of her wrist. “You listen to me, Lacey Luzzi. Have some confidence in your work. You’ve been paid a lot of money to do this job, and you didn’t get it on accident. Chickie, put your head up, and tell me you’re a CEO.”
My ears burned as the driver watched us with interest. “Not here, Meg. Never mind, I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“Nope!” Meg stuck her finger at me. “You’re not wigglin’ your way out of this one. Say it, girlfriend. I love you like a sister, but this calls for tough love. Tell me you’re a boss.”
“No.”
“Say it.”
I sighed. “I have a tiny little company.”
“You have a big, growing company. Fake it ’til you make it. Sound confident.”
“I own a business.”
“Better.” Meg bobbed her head in agreement. “But not good enough. You’re the CEO of Lacey Luzzi enterprises, and all that entails.”
“I’m the CEO,” I mumbled. “I own my own business.”
“Thatta girl,” Meg said. “We’ll work on your bossiness later, but that’s a start. Get used to this, sugar plum. Your business is only gonna grow, and you have to be proud. Confident, got it?”
I tried my best to give a confident nod. However, I failed, and my confidence took a turn for the worse. I crumbled to the curb, my heart racing. “The Violet Society. Weren’t you listening? Even their name sounds classy. Sharp. Impressive. Look at me; I am none of those things.”
Meg scanned my yoga pants and flowing tank top, the messy hair and day-old mascara. “I see a girl who is smart, who is pretty and, with the right makeup artist, a girl who could glow.”
I laughed, but it was a hollow laugh.
Meg sat down next to me, the driver still watching our train wreck.
“Seriously, chickadee. You don’t have friends who love you on accident. Your family adores you, and you have a pretty awesome fiancé. He loves you in all your awkward glory. And so do I.” She paused for a one-armed squeeze that popped a tear right out of my eyeballs.
“I’m sorry,” I muttered, swiping at my face. “I’m a mess. Is this jet lag?”
“Girlfriend, The Violet Society’s got nothing on you, okay? They don’t have a psychic best friend and a mobster boyfriend. They don’t have a grandfather who can kill someone with a twitch of his eye. We’ve got your back, Lace. You started this business, but you’re not alone. You bring everyone together, and that is not a skill to be sneezed at, capisci?”
I leaned my head on her shoulder, sinking into the hug. “Thanks, Meg.”
She squeezed harder. “Now, let’s get this fashion show off without a hitch and buy ourselves a dress. We’ve gotta get you married, and I want to look rockin’ for Clay. In fact, I think I’m going on a diet, starting now.”
I swiveled to face her so fast I cricked my neck. “In Italy? Meg, this is a once in a lifetime vacation. You can’t diet now!”
“Hopefully you get married once in a lifetime, too. I’m gonna look hot. Especially if I get a real fancy dress.”
“You look hot already!” I rose to my feet, pulling her with me. “If you can rock that vest, you can rock anything.”
“Oh, honey, I know that. In fact, maybe you’re right. I’ll start my diet tomorrow because if you turn around, there’s a gelato shop calling my name, and probably yours too.”
Meg put her hands on my shoulders and spun me around. Across the street, lit up and looking like heaven-on-earth, was a display window filled to the brim with a rainbow of gelatos. Reds and pinks, flowers and hearts, chocolates and mints—any flavor I could ever hope to find.
“Put your tears back in your head and stop salivating in public,” Meg said. “Let’s drop our bags off in the lobby and grab us some of the good stuff. This diet will start in one hour, and I need to maximize my freedom while it lasts.”
“Eat now, diet later,” I said.
“Now you understand me.”
Chapter 3
After piling our bowls with six types of gelato, a grand total of twelve flavors between the two of us, we re-entered the apartment complex’s lobby, discovered a useless elevator, and turned to face the seven flights of stairs that would get us to the apartment numbers on the slip of paper from Lizabeth.
“This is a really good start to my diet,” Meg said, crunching on a hazelnut. “I’m burning calories like crazy over here. They’re practically falling off my body from this staircase. If I didn’t have the gelato to hold me up, I’d be sliding down on my rear end, too weak to hold my own body up.”
“That’s probably not true,” I said. “We did have a hunk of focaccia about an hour ago.”
Meg paused on level three. “Only an hour ago? I could’ve sworn my stomach was eating itself. Anyway…” She paused, alternating between sucking air and slurping gelato as she reached the fourth floor. “What sort of country doesn’t have a functioning elevator in their buildings?”
I didn’t answer. I was focused on not letting my gelato drip over the side of the railing as we dragged ourselves to floor number eight.
“Maybe I need to diet too,” I said. “We can do a little run tomorrow morning or something. Maybe eat some celery. I suppose I should prepare for the dress fitting, since it is my wedding.”
Meg blew out a breath that twisted strands of hair back from my face. She punched the air when we reached our floor. “Now I need a nap and a sandwich. This diet is exhausting.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t diet in Italy,” I said, raising a hand to knock on the door labeled as B. Three doors faced the hallway from various angles, labeled A through C. “We don’t have a date for the wedding yet, so there’s still time. Let’s wait until we pick the date before we go crazy starving ourselves.”
“I’m not a quitter.” Meg pounded on Door A, the knock so loud that Nora poked her head out from Door C.
“What aren’t we quitting?” Nora asked, curlers in her hair, her mouth devoid of red lipstick for the first time all day. “I want to be included!”
“We’re dieting,” Meg said. “And since dieting is a lot of work, I’m going to go fuel up for it with the slice of pizza I hid in my bag. It’ll help me refocus. Quitting food cold turkey isn’t a good idea. They say, ‘everything in moderation.’ Speaking of turkey…” Meg mumbled to herself as Clay pulled the door open. He took stock of Nora’s inquisitive expression and my exhausted one, and then closed the door just as fast as he’d opened it.
“Good night,” I said to Nora as door B opened. “See you tomorrow.”
“Have fun!” She giggled, nodded to the doorway behind me, and then disappeared behind Door C.
I turned slowly, basking in the reveal of a stunning, half-clothed Anthony. He lounged in the doorway, one elbow on the frame, his other hand holding a towel wrapped around his waist. The black hair on his head curled in every which way, his eyes gleaming with hungry, devilish delight.
When I spoke, it sounded like I was saying hello in my head, but the words came out a jumbled mess that sounded something like Finnish.
He laughed, my most favorite sound in the world. “Get in here.”
I obeyed, but it wasn’t like I had much of a choice. When a man looking like a Greek god tells you to step into his bedroom, you listen. I shuffled into the room, and he closed the door behind me. He stepped close, the scent of him intoxicating after a recent shower, the expression on his face enough to take the knees right out from under my body.
Luckily, Anthony recognized the warning signs of swooning and swiftly removed the half-full gelato bowl from my hand. He placed it safely on the counter, then caught me mid-swoon, one of his arms sliding behind my back, the other swooping behind my knees as he carried me over to the bed.
As I leaned against his bar
e, slightly damp chest, I briefly surveyed the apartment. Small, cozy in feel, functional in its use of space. The kitchen was the size of a closet, which was fine for my lack of cooking skills. It perched right off a larger dining area that merged into a sitting room with a squishy-looking couch.
The bedroom was on the far end of the apartment. A set of French doors decorated with gauzy curtains gave a distinctly European vibe to the room, the curtains dancing in the cool evening breeze. Just beyond the shimmering fabric loomed a range of mountains; I was twenty percent certain it was the Alps. However, geography had never been my strong suit.
“I’ve been waiting all day to get you alone,” Anthony said, distracting me from the details of the apartment. His cappuccino-colored eyes demanded my full attention, his lips parted and hovering above mine as he climbed onto the bed. “Turns out it’s a stupidly long flight to get over here.”
“You’ve made the flight before…” I trailed off, my sentence far less important than whatever he was doing with his fingers. He traced the skin of my arms, throwing my flimsy sweater onto the floor. The shirt underneath quickly followed the same trajectory.
“I’ve never had to make a ten-hour flight in a plane with you, your grandfather, your grandmother, your cousin, and your…whatever Meg is to you.” He leaned in, brushing his lips against my forehead. “Turns out I don’t like having to keep my hands to myself.”
A giggle bubbled up in my chest as his fingers slid down my naked rib cage, his hands reaching for the clasp on my bra. “Flying puts you in quite a mood, huh?”
In answer, he brought his lips to mine, our mouths crashing in a tangle of heat. I thought he’d been focused on business all day, but I didn’t mind being wrong.
“If I didn’t respect your grandfather so much, I would’ve—” To my dismay, Anthony stopped speaking abruptly, his hands stalling over my hips.
“What’re you doing?” I asked. “Why’d you stop?”
Anthony’s eyes wandered across the room.