The Italian: Chapter 9

April, two months later

I close my eyes as I stare at the email in my inbox. “Please let this happen.”

This is it; the moment I’ve been waiting for. Three months, seven interviews, an hour-long conference call last week, and it all comes down to this.

One email. I either got the job or I didn’t.

All my hopes and dreams rest on this.

I’m either moving to New York to take up a position in the designing team for Valentino. Or I’m not.

And damn it, I really, really want to.

It seemed crazy when I applied for the position on the other side of the world, but now I’ve gotten used to the idea of moving, I’m excited about it. More excited than I’ve been about anything for a long time. I’ve been looking at rental apartments over there, and I have worked out the area I want to live in.

Now, it just has to happen.

I’m still designing pyjamas. It’s still a great job with a great company, but my life in Sydney is still batshit boring. I’ve bought an apartment and pottered along for a while, even been on a few dates, but I’m itching. I don’t know how I find out what makes me happy but I do know that designing pyjamas and living alone isn’t it.

My finger hovers over the email. Okay, just do this. I inhale deeply and hit open.

My eyes skim the letter until I get to the line I’m dreading.

Unfortunately, you have been unsuccessful in your application.

I slump back into my chair.

What?

For fuck’s sake. I drag my hands down my face and go back to read it from the beginning.

I sit back, dejected and, quite frankly, pissed off.

Great. I read on.

My eyes bulge. What the hell?

“Oh my God.” I bite my bottom lip as a goofy smile crosses my face. Picking the fabrics for upcoming ranges? It’s a dream come true.

Holy shit.

I get a vision of myself being all professional and traveling the world looking for fabric. It could be the opportunity of a lifetime. My mind goes to the last time I was in Italy, and that stupid bastard the Italian Stallion, Rici Ferrara. It’s been a while since I thought about him and his fuckable package.

Asshole.

I can’t think of him without getting angry.

Rome is six hours away from where I’m going. If I don’t go to Rome, I can’t see him. Problem solved.

Excitement begins to sink into my bones.

Italy.

Not quite New York. It’s the other end of the spectrum, sure, but it is away from here. It’s exotic and new, and not to mention the position is amazing. It’s a no-brainer really. I’m stupid if I don’t do this. I roll my fingers on my desk as I go over my options.

Fuck it. I’m going.

May, one month later.

“Ciao.” I smile at the concierge over the counter.

I’m in the hotel where I’m staying for the next couple of weeks in Milan—The Chateau Monfort. I’m trying desperately to contain my over-the-top excitement. This place is already fabulous; I can just tell. The foyer has huge limestone arches and a marble concierge desk. The floor is an exotic tile. Don’t even start me on the artwork in here. Let’s just say, I can tell that I’m in Milan.

Over the last month I’ve been listening to my Italian tapes like a woman possessed. I really want to learn the language while I’m here and I am going to try to converse as much as I can in Italian.

“Vorrei fare il check-in, per favore. Mi chiamo Olivia Reynolds.” I smile proudly. Yes, that’s right. I speak Italian because I live in Milan and shit. I bite the side of my cheek to stop myself gushing about how cool I have suddenly become.

The man on the counter speaks. “Certo, signora! Ha prenotato online?”

Oh. Jeez, he said that fast. “Ah, può ripetere per favore?”

“Abbiamo aggiornato la sua prenotazione e abbiamo incluso un pachetto colazione,” he says way too fast.

My coolness was premature. “Do you speak English?” I ask.

“Yes, Madame.” He smiles, knowing full well he just knocked me down from my pedestal. “We have you booked in for a period of six weeks.”

“Yes.”

He types something, and then reads the notes. “Oh, you are here for Valentino?”

“Yes.”

He continues to type. “What do you do for them?”

“I’m a textiles consultant.” I beam. That sounds so cool.

“Impressive. You are in room two-three-two on level two.” He slides my key over the counter. “We have upgraded you to also have a breakfast package. It’s served daily in the restaurant on level two from 6:00 a.m. You have full access to the swimming pool on level three with a gymnasium and a day spa. Concierge is twenty-four hours, and we will arrange all of your transfers for you if you call ahead. There is around-the-clock room service available with an extensive menu.”

I grin brightly. “That all sounds great. Can I please have a kettle, coffee, and tea supplies brought to my room?”

“Of course, I’ll order that now.” He types something into his computer. “Your luggage will be up shortly, and if there is anything you need, please dial nine.”

“Okay.”

“Enjoy your stay in Milan, Miss Reynolds.”

I bounce my shoulders. “Thanks.” I make my way up to level two and down the wide corridor until I get to my room. I walk in and my breath catches.

The room is huge, full of antique furnishings, chandeliers, and gorgeous artwork. Sheer white drapes cover the windows, and the view over the city is spectacular. There’s a circular table made from dark wood, and matching chairs with upholstered cream velvet cushions. There’s also a large couch in the same velvet, and the carpet is thick and lush. Holy shit, the bed. It’s round, king size, and has a white netting canopy over it.

What the heck? A king size round bed? Now I’ve officially seen it all. I look around in awe. This place is fucking amazing. It’s like a fairy tale.

There’s a knock on the door and I rush to open it. “Your kettle, coffee, and tea supplies.” The porter smiles.

“Yes, please, come in.” I open the door and watch on as he sets them up in the little kitchen area. “Will that be all?”

There’s another knock on the door.

“Yes, thank you,” I say as I open the door. Another porter has arrived with my luggage.

“Your luggage.”

“Yes, just put it here.”

He wheels my suitcase in, and I tip them both. “Thank you.” They leave me alone.

I look around my room with a broad smile on my face. I quickly text my mum.

I’m going to make a cup of tea, put away my clothes, and then go to sleep.

I start work at Valentino in two days.

Holy shit, is this real?

I walk up the street until I get to the big old stone building. The iconic V sits above the door, and I feel my stomach flutter with nerves.

My first day of work.

This is it.

I’m wearing my sensible yet stylish clothes, black business pants, a camel turtleneck with black pumps… all Valentino of course. My blonde hair is in a low ponytail and my makeup is natural. I don’t know if I’ve ever been so nervous. What if I can’t do this?

You can. Shut up.

I drop my shoulders, stand up straight, and power walk inside.

“Hello, my name is Olivia Reynolds. I’m starting today,” I say to the kind-looking woman on reception.

“Of course, hello. Please come through.” She stands and shakes my hand with a warm smile. “My name is Maria.”

“Hello.” Oh, she seems nice.

“Welcome aboard. You are going to love it here. Just go up to level three and ask for Fernando.”

“Okay, thank you.”

I get into the elevator and smile, Fernando sounds so… Italian.

I swear to God, this entire thing is like a dream. The Abba lyrics run through my mind.

There was something in the air that night, the stars were bright… Fernando.

The elevator doors open, and I power walk out into another lobby. It’s quiet and a young man is walking through. “Can I help you?”

I clutch my bag tight. “My name is Olivia Reynolds. I’m starting today.”

“Oh, you’ll need to see Fernando.” He looks around. “I’ll go find him.” He smiles and shakes my hand. “I’m Jason. I’m on internship here in marketing.”

“Nice to meet you.” I smile. Jason is a lot younger than me, and he’s American, although he could be Canadian. I’m not quite sure of the accent. He’s cute, and he has light brown curly hair with big brown eyes. He looks like a kid straight out of High School Musical.

I watch him disappear down the corridor.

My nerves bubble in my stomach.

“Olivia,” I hear someone call.

I turn and see a man rushing toward me. “Nice to meet you. I’m Fernando, I’m the Human Resources manager.” He shakes my hand. “We’re so happy that you’re here. I hope your hotel is okay.”

His English is good. I can easily understand what he’s saying. I smile in relief. Phew, that could have been tricky.

Fernando’s short, a little overweight, bald, and about fifty years old, but he seems nice and welcoming.

“Yes, I’m excited to be starting.” I smile nervously.

“Come through, follow me, and I’ll show you around. You’re in design.”

I follow him as he takes me down the long corridor and opens a double door that reveals a large warehouse style room. Huge tables stand in the middle, and a few people are scattered around at desks and computers.

“Everyone, this is Olivia Reynolds,” he calls. “She’s from Australia and is taking over from Seraphina. Make it your mission to come and introduce yourself to her today.”

“Hello!” they all call as they look me up and down.

I clutch my bag as I feel their eyes on me. Jeez.

He takes me down a flight of stairs. “Design and materials are on the level down but it’s easier to take the stairs between these two floors.”

“Ah, okay.” We get to the bottom and my eyes widen. Holy shit, this is every design graduate’s dream. The same big tables that are upstairs are in the middle, but there is also huge timber shelving with rolls and rolls of fabric. Mannequins are everywhere with dresses and samples pinned onto them. Feathers and sequins and buttons and… .my eyes can’t take it all in as I look over the magic of this room.

Leather—rolls and rolls of leather in every color of the rainbow. Holy shit!

“Seraphina.” He looks around. “Where is she?”

She comes into view, and her face lights up. “Hello, Olivia,” she says in a heavy accent as she shakes my hand. I feel myself wither under her gaze. Seraphina is gorgeous, with long dark hair that’s styled to perfection. She has a beautiful, curvy figure, and perfect bone structure. She’s the epitome of Italian beauty. She’s wearing a tight leather skirt that hangs just below the knee and a silk deep red blouse with sky high stilettos. She looks like she’s going to a wedding or something, all stylish and glamorous.

Ugh, why did I wear this? I feel the blood drain from my face. I look like her daggy mother.

“Seraphina is transferring to our Rome offices so that she can be with her fiancé,” Fernando says as he picks up her hand and shows me her huge rock.

She fakes embarrassment. “Oh, Fernando. Behave.” She laughs. “You’re such a showoff.”

“Ah.” I smile awkwardly. “Nice.”

Her fiancé lives in Rome?

No, don’t be stupid. Why does everything about Rome have to be about him?

He’s not the only man in Rome, you know, Olivia, you fucking idiot.

“Great,” I push out. “Exciting.”

“You will work with Seraphina for the week. She will show you around and give you a feel for the position, and then next week you will begin training with one of our trainers for a week. In two weeks, you will take over the role,” Fernando explains.

“Okay.”

“Come this way.” Seraphina smiles. “I’ll show you your new office.”

“Great.” I smile as I follow her, but I don’t feel great. I feel majorly unaccomplished. She’s gorgeous, stylish, and she’s moving to start a life with her fiancé, while I can’t even get the courage to put myself on a dating app.

I really need to pull myself out of this dating funk. It’s getting ridiculous.

She opens the door of the office and my eyes widen.

The room has huge burgundy velvet couches in it, a black desk, and a black, leather office chair. There are huge, framed images of models on the runway in exotic clothing on the walls.

“Bella, huh?” She smiles, sensing my admiration.

“Yes, beautiful.” My eyes scan the room.

There’s a brief knock on the door before a man pops his head around it. “Hello. You must be Olivia?” he says.

“Yes.” I smile awkwardly because he is the most gorgeous man I’ve seen in a very long time. He’s beautiful actually. There’s a golden hue to his thick hair, and he has big brown eyes. He’s well-built and a little older. I would say completely and utterly gay, too, damn it. Why do gay men get the cream of the crop?

He walks into the office and shakes my hand. “I wanted to introduce myself to you. My name is Giorgio.”

“Hello.” I shake his hand. He’s wearing a navy-blue suit and a pink shirt. The top two buttons of his shirt are undone, and I can see a scattering of his dark chest hair. Well, that’s a little bit sexy for the office. Very Valentino, I remind myself.

Seraphina’s face falls in surprise. “Giorgio,” she says. “Nice to see you.”

“All ready for the move?” he asks her.

“Yes, very much looking forward to it.”

Giorgio’s eyes come to me. “So, you’re Olivia Reynolds?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm.” He smiles as he looks me up and down as if doing an internal assessment., and I feel myself blush under his gaze.

“We must have coffee next week, Olivia. I would love to get to know you.”

“Sure.” I smile. “That would be great.”

A frown crosses Seraphina’s face as she looks between us.

“Okay, got to run.” He smiles. “Happy settling in, Olivia. Good luck with the move, Seraphina.” He disappears out of the door.

Seraphina watches him, and then turns her attention back to me. “Have you ever met him before?” she asks.

“No.”

“Huh.” She shakes her head and drops into her chair at her desk.

“What?” I ask.

“Do you know who he is?”

“Who, Giorgio?” I frown. “No idea.”

“He’s the CEO. He’s never been in my office before in his life. I’m surprised he even knew my name.”

“Really? That’s weird?”

“Very.” Seraphina shrugs. “Oh, well, great for you, I guess. Where were we?” she asks.

I shrug. “Me feeling completely overwhelmed?”

Why in the hell would the CEO of Valentino want to have coffee with me? I feel my nerves flutter just at the prospect. What would we talk about?

She laughs. “You’ll be fine and will hold a very important role in the company. Don’t be nervous, get excited. This is the opportunity of a lifetime.”

I inhale deeply as the challenge begins to light my fire.

“The Valentino designers are a nightmare to work with,” she says. My face falls. “But I’ll be working with you from Rome, so we’ll help each other deal with them.”

I smile, grateful for her honestly. “That sounds great.”

She pulls up a chair. “Now, let’s get to work.” She thinks for a moment. “There’s so much to learn, I don’t even know where to start.”

“The beginning?”

“Yes.” She smiles. “Let’s start there.”

I watch the steam float up to the ceiling in puffs. It’s hot, cloudy, and I’m wet with perspiration. I’m in my hotel sauna, wrapped in a white towel and lying flat on my back, staring at the ceiling as I assess my life.

I moved to Italy to change myself.

But did I really think a new job and a new country would change my old habits? Because it hasn’t so far.

I’ve been in Milan for nearly a week. I’ve been working hard and am looking so forward to the career challenge, but I haven’t gone out at night once. Not that I’ve been asked, I guess. That old saying comes back to me.

If you always do what you’ve always done, you will always be where you always were. Something needs to change in my life. I need to change. I’m on the other side of the world and living the same way I was at home… alone.

Deep down, I know what the answer is, but it all seems so desperate.

Who am I kidding? I am desperate.

I’m twenty-fucking-nine and I haven’t had sex since that asshole in Rome. He turned me off men for life. Either that or his dick was so good that it satisfied me until now. It was definitely a dicking that I need to forget. I exhale heavily, annoyed with myself for being like this.

Fuck it.

I sit up in a rush and leave the sauna.

I’m going to do it. I’m going to do what everyone else does to meet people in this day and age.

I’m going to join Tinder.

If nothing else comes from it but great sex, that’s a whole lot of sex more than I’m getting now. Even average sex is better than no sex.

Screw these damn high ideals I have. Where have they got me so far?

Lonely and miserable.

I search through my bag, find my phone, and before I have time to think about it,

I download the app. I watch the dial click around as it downloads. Operation Meet People is underway.

Holy shit, here we go.

I sip my coffee and smile at my phone. I have to admit that this Tinder app is kind of fun and great for the ego. I’m getting lots of swipes, although that could totally be because men swipe anything with a pulse. I have a picture of myself from behind, and I put my name as Olly Reynard. That way, I’m not too out there. I’ve been speaking to this guy for a week. His photo is kind of hot, and he seems nice, albeit a bit pushy. He wants to meet on Saturday night in a bar, but it just seems so weird.

Could I really make myself turn up to a restaurant to meet a stranger? What the heck do you talk about? Talking to someone in texts is so different to sitting and having dinner with them. His message comes through. This is the tenth time he has asked.

I close my eyes.

If you always do what you’ve always done, you will always be where you always were.

This is it. Either step up and be brave or get off this fucking app. I can’t talk to someone and never have the courage to meet them. Maybe if we meet at a restaurant and take it slow…

I open my eyes and I text back.

I hit send. A reply bounces back.

My stomach flips. I already regret this. Shit, shit, shit, shit. I text back.

“Hi, there.” I smirk.

“Oh my God, what are you wearing on your date?” Natalie asks down the phone.

I close my eyes. “Oh, please don’t talk about it.” I sigh. “I’m five minutes from calling the whole thing off.”

“You’ll be fine. I go on a Tinder date every week,” she scoffs. “Why are you being a baby?”

“Men on Tinder only want sex,” I whisper.

“And your point is?”

“I don’t want just sex.”

“Oh, fuck off, you need to get laid… stat. Your vagina is closing up by the hour.”

I giggle. “This is true.”

“You don’t have to sleep with him, just meet him. Talk and see if you feel any chemistry. If not, text me, and I’ll call you with an emergency exit plan.”

“Yes.” My eyes widen. “That’s a great idea. Emergency exit plan.” I frown as I go over the concept in my head. “Wait, do you have an emergency exit plan?”

“No, I just tell them I’m not feeling it and I go home. I don’t give a fuck. I don’t owe them anything.”

Nat is the most honest person I know. “God, I would hate to date you.”

“Me, too. Now, wear something sexy and have a few glasses of wine before you go to loosen yourself up.”

“What if I get too drunk and wake up in his bed with him and his flat mate?”

“Then I’m coming over to high five you. About fucking time you let it all hang out.”

I burst out laughing. “Will you be serious?”

“I am.”

I begin to pace back and forth. My nerves are dancing just thinking about going on this date. “Okay, have your phone on you for my emergency exit plan.”

“Yes.”

“And if I don’t like him, I’m just texting you.”

“Yes.”

“What else do I need to do?”

“Have you got condoms?”

I frown. “No. Should I?”

“Yes, you can’t trust men’s condoms. What if they’ve put a hole in it?”

“Why would they do that?” I ask, horrified.

“I don’t know. In case he’s purposely trying to spread his sexually transmitted diseases or some shit.”

“People do that?” I shriek.

“I’m not finding out. Get your own condoms to be safe.”

I put my hand over my eyes. “Honestly, Nat, I can’t do this.”

“Just shut up and stop acting all innocent. You’ve done it before.”

Him.

I feel anger bubble at the mere mention of Rico’s existence, and I roll my eyes. “He was different.”

“He was a complete asshole, that’s what he was. What are you going to do? Sit over there in Italy and twiddle your thumbs?”

I get a vision of myself still doing the same pathetic things when I’m seventy. “Yes, you’re right.” I inhale deeply as I try to pump myself up. “Okay, I’m doing this.”

“Good, get to the pharmacy.”

The good thing about being brave is… nothing. It completely sucks.

I want to run hard and fast across the water and go back to Australia to escape this Tinder date from Hell.

It’s Saturday night and I’m in the restaurant, but when my date wasn’t here when I arrived, I came into the ladies’ bathroom to hide. I can’t sit at the table and wait like some desperado. I stare at my reflection in the mirror. My hair is set in big curls. I’m wearing a black fitted dress with a low back and spaghetti straps. I have my smoky makeup on with my red lipstick. I look good. I know I look good.

Tinder fuck-on-first-date kind of good.

I peer around the door and I see him sitting down at our table. He has dark hair, and he seems okay. He actually looks like his profile picture. He isn’t hideous, at least. That’s something, I suppose.

I exhale heavily and take one last look in the mirror to give myself a pep talk.

“Right, go out there and pretend that you like him. You never know, maybe you will?”

Oh God, this is a disaster already.

I walk out and weave through the tables. He smiles and waves as he sees me. He seems impressed when he stands. “Olly.”

“Hi,” I push out. “You must be Franco?”

“Lovely to meet you.” He kisses my cheek, and I fall nervously into my seat. The waiter arrives. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

“Please.” Jeez, I need fucking tequila to get me through this. I pick up the drinks menu and glance up, and then I stop dead still. I feel the blood drain from my face.

What. The. Actual. Fuck?

Chiseled jaw, dark eyes, and curly hair? I would know that face anywhere.

Enrico Ferrara is sitting at a table in the back.