“Yes, of course.” Uncle Carlo removes a black portfolio from the top of his desk and hands it over to Antonio.
“Great. I just need to tweak these a bit and then get them back to you tomorrow morning.”
“Not big tweaks, I hope?”
“No. Very subtle, but necessary. Anyway, we need to look at fabric that is…less sheer.”
“Certainly. Follow me.”
Antonio and I spend the next couple of hours perusing all sorts of fabric from sheer lace to sheer chiffon, along with numerous types of silk, then rayon, spandex, nylon, cotton, and even some knit fabric. We then create a book full of swatches of fabrics we like best, in addition to swatches of colors we think befits the style we wish to emulate. And all the while I am beaming inside, gratified Antonio is affording me the opportunity to assist with picking out fabrics and colors on a project so grandiose.
Soon after, we pack up and head out, promising to return early the next morning.
“See you here bright and early then. A domani.” Uncle Carlo waves as we drive off.
“Thanks for your help, Daniella. Your design training has proved most significant. I’m really happy you accepted the job.” Antonio looks at me and smiles.
I offer a smile in return when his phone rings, and he instantly answers, “Sì, Nonna. Sto guidando, ci vediamo presto.” He ends the short call, with a satisfying glow on his face.
A Nonna glow. Ugh.
“Are you hungry?” he asks, and I hope the disgust I feel hearing him talk all, presumably, lovey-dovey has not surfaced to my face.
“Yes, I am actually.” I only nibbled on a small portion of the pastry this morning and I feel as though my blood sugar has dropped.
“Great. So am I and we will eat soon. Nonna has prepared a feast for us.”
Wait. What? Nonna? Prepared a feast for us?
I turn to face him, my mouth slightly ajar even before words are ready to fly out. “I’m sorry? You’re taking me to Nonna’s house? Are you sure that’s a good idea? I mean, isn’t there a drive thru—a Burger King or something?”
“Burger King? You’re in Italy and you want me to take you to eat a burger and fries?” He lets out a hard chuckle. “You’re a riot, Daniella Belle.”
Riot or not, I don’t think I’m prepared to meet this Nonna hot model chick. I mean things could get awkward.
I smile wryly. “She doesn’t mind you bringing me along?”
“Not at all. She’s looking forward to meeting you, in fact. I hardly bring anyone with me when I visit her. She welcomes the extra company. The more, the merrier.”
The more, the merrier? Eww. I’m sure my face has turned pale by now.
“Relax, Daniella. I promise you’ll have a great time getting to know Nonna. And I’m sure we will spend the night there as well, especially since we’ve gotta get back to the factory in the morning. Besides, Nonna expects me to spend the night whenever I’m in town. It gives us time to catch up.”
Hmm. I bet.
I plaster on the widest smile possible. “Sounds wonderful. I look forward to meeting her.”
I fold my arms in protest, but I don’t think Antonio notices my objection.
Before I know it, Antonio turns onto a small street filled with rows of quaint homes. He pulls into the driveway of a blue house with an orange roof.
This looks nothing like a home of an Italian model. I expected something less country and more palatial.
“Ready?” asks an eager Antonio.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
I exit the car and prepare myself for what’s next: the moment I come face-to-face with the woman who seems to make Antonio light up at the mere sight of her name and sound of her voice.
Chapter 20
Antonio
This may sound crazy, but I’m a nervous wreck about introducing Daniella to Nonna, being that Nonna means so much to me.
I value her opinion more than anyone else’s.
Yet it’s funny, Daniella looks more nervous than I am right now. Or maybe it’s just pure hunger, having barely touched any of the pastries this morning. As expected, she looks hotter than ever. Tight-fitting jeans—and I unashamedly caught myself admiring how they perfectly caress her rump—along with a plunging neckline top, which leaves a tasteful amount of cleavage visible to my hungry-for-her eyes.
Thank goodness I’ll be busy with Fashion Show and Lingerie Ball planning activities. If I didn’t have those to distract me for the next ten days, I don’t think I’d be able to stand being around her so long without the two of us—
“So this is Nonna’s place, huh?” Daniella asks, putting an end to my internal meltdown.
“Yep. I’ve tried to get her to move to a more metropolitan area, but she loves this house. And actually, I do too. It’s country-like, faraway from those spectators I try so hard to stay hidden from,” I explain as the two of us walk up the cobblestone steps leading up to the front door.
She nods, arms folded, still looking incredibly beside herself.
“You okay? You look—”
“Yes,” she interjects, “I think I’m just hungry. And tired.”
“Right. Well, Nonna is a remarkable cook and will certainly make sure you get your fill. It’s the Italian in her.”
As we approach the front door, I feel my heart beat out of my chest.
Get a hold of yourself, man—they are going to hit it off.
“Nonna,” I shout out, after opening the door. “I told you to keep the door locked.”
Women. Sometimes they never listen.
I help Daniella out of her coat and hang it on the hook by the door alongside mine. “She never locks the door in the daytime. I wish she’d listen to me—stubborn as most Italian women.”
Daniella nods and I can tell she’s surveying the house. It’s quaint and completely old-fashioned—and all Nonna.
I grab Daniella’s hand and lead her to the kitchen. “I’ve gotta admit. I’m nervous and don’t know why. Maybe it’s because this is a first for me. Introducing someone—a woman—to Nonna.”
Daniella frowns. “And why is that?”
“Because no one has been—”
“Antonio? Is that you? Mi sembrava di aver sentito il mio nipote preferito.”
“Yes, it’s me. And, of course, I’m your favorite. I am, after all, your only grandson.”
The clip-clop of shoes pound the tile floor, then Nonna appears from the kitchen, a wooden spoon in her hand, and she immediately embraces me.
Daniella’s eyes widen and a smile consumes her entire face. “Wait. Did you say, grandson? Nonna is your grandma?”
I pull away from my seventy-year-old grandma and chuckle. “Of course, she’s my grandma. Anyway, Nonna this is Daniella…Daniella, this is Nonna—which in Italian means Grandma.”
Daniella beams with delight as she pulls Nonna close and gives her a warm hug. “Oh, Nonna, you have no idea how happy I am to meet you.”
Nonna pulls back, rubbing her hands along the side of Daniella’s arms, giving her a sizeable once-over. She’s much shorter than Daniella is in her high-heeled boots. “Signorina, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” She turns her head to face me. “You’re right, nipote. She’s quite stunning.”
I look away, embarrassed. Perhaps I should have warned Nonna to be more discreet about the way I feel about Daniella.
Laughing nervously, I come up with something to say, to change the subject. “We’re starving, Nonna.”
“Oh sì, venite a mangiare,” she says, then looks back to Daniella. “Let’s eat!”
We gather in the kitchen, sitting around the table that’s been covered in the same blue-and-white floral tablecloth for years. Nonna serves up a few of my favorite dishes that always make me crave home—Saltimbocca - veal wrapped in prosciutto, Lasagne, and Osso Buco alla Milanese -another veal dish braised in vegetables and white wine. Perfecto.
The three of us talk freely about Italy, the impending fashion show, and the CraveMe b
usiness, as we all pig out, Daniella seeming to equally enjoy the feast. I listen to the two of them chatting non-stop, as if they were long lost friends who never missed a beat.
After we eat all that we possibly can, the three of us tidy up and retire to the living room, too full to move. Nonna tells us both there is homemade gelato in the freezer, should we develop a sweet tooth later. And by the time nightfall surfaces, Daniella’s yawns tell me it’s time to show her to her room.
“I hope you don’t mind sleeping here tonight. I just don’t wish to battle the drive and the Milan traffic.”
“Oh, I don’t mind at all. I’m glad you told me about the overnight bag. I’ve got everything I need for the night.” She yawns as she walks alongside me down the narrow hallway to the guest room.
We reach the end of the hall and I slowly open the guest room door, wishing I didn’t have to say good-night just yet. But I know she’s tired and we have another early day tomorrow. “Here’s your room. I’m sure Nonna has fixed it up nice for you. She likes company, that’s for sure—and I can tell she especially likes you.
Through sleepy eyes, Daniella’s gaze dances with mine. “Thanks for today, Antonio. I feel honored to have been introduced to Nonna. She’s a special lady and I can see why you light up whenever you speak with her.”
“I do?”
“Mmm-hmmm.” She bites down on her lower lip. “Can I share something?”
I lean into the door frame, arms folded. “Of course.”
She stares up to the ceiling, seeming to search for the right words to say. “Each time you spoke with Nonna on the phone, I thought she was some Italian hottie model you meet up with whenever you’re in Milan.” She breathes in and out. Then meets my gaze again.
I let out an amused chuckle. “I see. Is that what was bothering you earlier? You thought I was going to introduce you to my Italian hottie lover?”
She nods vigorously, with her index finger over her pressed lips.
I lean in closer to her and softly whisper, “Daniella Belle, I have no Italian lover and in fact, according to TMZ, you are my lover, remember?”
And with that we break out into laughter, before I bid her a very good night.
Chapter 21
Daniella
The starlit sky creeps through the open window shade as I sluggishly awaken from, what seems like hours of sleep.
A smile looms on my face upon my reflection of the last encounter I had with Antonio before I slid out of my clothes, showered, and eased into this small, yet cozy twin-sized bed.
He’s amusing, warmhearted, sexy, and…charming.
And Nonna is everything I imagined a loving grandma to be with her grayish hair, black-rimmed eyeglasses, and warm smile. I have been trying to dismiss the fact that I assumed she was his Italian hottie. That’ll teach me to ever make irrational judgments again. Watching the way Antonio looks up to his grandma made me all warm and fuzzy inside, immediately causing me to think that once I’m over this swearing-off-men phase, finding a man like him will be the top of my wish list.
The digital clock on the dresser blinks continuously—evidently it hasn’t been programmed in quite some time.
I pick up my phone to check the time, certain I’ve already slept most of the night away. By the time I got out of the shower and dried off, I practically crawled into bed.
But shit.
It’s only 11 p.m., meaning I’ve slept for a whopping three hours.
So, now what?
It’s not like I can just turn over and instantly fall back to sleep.
This jet lag thing is pretty fucked up.
Maybe Antonio is awake, too.
After debating in my head whether I should send him a text or not, I finally decide to go for it.
Me: Hi. Are you awake? I can’t seem to fall back to sleep.
Antonio: In the dining room working and eating gelato. Why don’t you join me? I can use some feedback on these sketch revisions.
I think for at least two minutes before I reply.
Me: Okay. I’m on my way.
Peeling back the covers, the cold air hits my bare skin, causing goose bumps to surface all over my naked body. Perhaps I’ll have to rethink this sleeping in the nude thing while I’m in this much colder climate.
I leap out of bed and run into the bathroom, finding sweatpants and a T-shirt, and a cardigan sweater in my overnight bag, slipping into them quickly before making my way out to the dining room.
Antonio sits, shirt partially unbuttoned, hair slightly awry, and he’s wearing eyeglasses. He looks like a young hot professor that every girl in the class has a secret crush on.
I slide into the chair across from his. “Hi.”
He looks up from his tablet, startled. “Hey. I didn’t even hear you come in.” He removes his glasses. “Would you like some gelato? It’s really good.”
“Gelato? I am freezing! Plus, I doubt that it will help me sleep.”
He laughs. “I doubt that too. How about some chamomile tea then? That will help you fall asleep. And I will turn on the heater. I guess I hadn’t noticed it is a little cold in here.”
“Thanks. And I’d love some tea. Where is it?”
“Oh no, allow me. Why don’t you come sit down here and take a look at these designs? Tell me what you think.” He stands, gesturing for me to sit in his chair and then he disappears into the kitchen to make my tea while I peruse the designs.
He’s got skills, that’s for sure. Endless lines of exquisite detail. No wonder his line of lingerie sells the volume it does.
He returns, hot cup of tea in hand. “Here you go.” While easing into the seat next to mine, he sets the cup on the table. “So, what do you think? Feedback, please.”
“They are absolutely beautiful. And I can tell they’ll be far less sheer in the places that matter. What about adding some color trim to a few of the panties, to allow for mixing and matching the bra and panties?” I suggest, holding back the desire to just comfort him by rubbing my fingers through his perfectly messy hair. The poor guy looks mentally exhausted.
In a hot way, of course.
“I like that idea. I’ll add some before I go to bed.” He pushes the tablet to the side. “We need to discuss a few intricacies regarding the fashion show and the ball.”
I take a sip of tea. “Okay. I’m all ears.”
Antonio winks and, for a split second, I think he wants to say something sarcastic. “Fabulous. Now when we head back to Milan tomorrow, I’m gonna need you to work on the following items.” He opens up a notebook and rips out a sheet of paper containing a list of items.
1.’80s music tracks for fashion show—enough to fill our thirty-minute block
2.Runway style sets—these must match the lingerie theme/music each model will walk to
3.Runway backdrop design—what do you have in mind?
Looking up from the list, I catch him staring at me. Not a creepy kind of a stare, thank goodness.
“Anything else?”
He shifts in his seat, placing both elbows on the table. “Uh, yes. Let’s see. About the fashion show. Ramon has worked behind the scenes of each of the CraveMe shows, for the last five years at least, making sure all ten models are dressed and in place. You’ll work with him on number two on that list. But he’s in Aspen right now and isn’t due to arrive here until Saturday.”
I nod and continue to sip my tea.
“Right. Then,” he hesitates before going on, “well, there is the issue of the ball. I uh, I don’t exactly have a date this year.”
I feel my entire body heat up; maybe it’s the tea or maybe it’s the sudden—
“So, will you be my date this year? I promise to be a complete gentleman.”
…the sudden anticipation of him asking me to be his date.
Looking at me, I’m sure it’s hard to tell I’m melting inside. But I need to play it cool, not only to fool him, but to keep myself in check. I’ve sworn off men, and there is no way I plan on getti
ng romantically involved with my dreamy-as-fuck boss.
This is all work-related.
Risky business.
I mean strictly business.
“Of course. Whatever you need me to do to make this event a success for CraveMe.”
“I’m glad you feel that way. Thank you. There is one more thing.”
I raise my eyebrows.
“The top lingerie designers save their newest chemise or nightgown, sporting it much like one would a ball gown for the ball instead of on the catwalk. And this year I am one of the top designers listed. It’s a first for me and I hadn’t thought of who I wanted to wear that piece, until recently.”
I lift the cup to my mouth, waiting to hear more. Like, will I get to meet a famous model now and get to help dress her for the ball?
I take a sip of the now lukewarm tea and before I can even swallow, Antonio says, “You. I’d really like you to wear the piece I plan to feature at the ball.”
Tea goes everywhere—sprayed out of my mouth due to shock. “Shit. I am so sorry, Antonio.”
He flies up out of his seat and just begins to laugh. “Well, I wasn’t expecting that reaction.”
I spring up from the chair, run into the kitchen to grab a towel, then run back into the dining room to clean up tea that has splattered all over Antonio and the table. Only when I return to the dining room, I nearly pass out, coming face-to-naked-bare-pectorals. Antonio has removed his shirt and is using it to wipe up the tea from the table.
Damn, he’s like a fucking machine. I can hardly look away.
“I-I’m,” I stammer, “so sorry about your shirt.”
“No worries. I’ve got plenty.”
We both sit back down and try hard to stifle our chuckles.
And I try hard to breathe like a normal person again.
“I’d be honored to wear anything CraveMe designed. But can I see it first? Before I agree? I mean, I hope that’s okay.”
Antonio nods. “Certainly. It’s at the factory. You’ll see it tomorrow.”
“Perfect, and thank you.”
A corner of his mouth lifts. “For what?”
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