Before I can stop it, I lose control of the fantasy and different, much more alarming, images flash in my mind. Matt growling back at me. Surging forward and pinning me against the wall. His mouth on my neck and his hand on my thigh, pulling it up to his waist.
“I hate you,” he’d whisper along my throat, his hips pushing forward, inching me up higher.
My head would fall slack. A moan would slip out of my mouth, but he’d cover it with his. I’d pull him closer and his hand would slide between us and what in the actual outlandish hell am I thinking?
My eyes go wide as I move away again, pulling myself out of my sick daydream and putting as much space between us as is physically possible. My heart is hammering and my mind is reeling. The heavily embroidered curtain behind Matt feels like it’s closing in on me. Air feels hard to come by and I need to get out of here.
Taking a steadying breath, I try to neutralize my features. “Listen,” I tell him. “I know you don’t like me and I’m not your biggest fan either, but we’re both adults and I don’t see why we can’t be cordial to each other. I’ll be gone in a month, and we’ll never see each other again, so I’m sure we can coexist until then.”
Matt leans against the wall, crossing his arms and observing me with a curious kind of coolness. “I can be cordial. Can you?”
“Yes, I can. So that’s it, then. No more dirty looks. No more venomous rhetoric.”
“It’ll be a struggle,” he says, “but I can manage it if you can.” He extends his hand, which I hesitantly shake. His fingers clasp mine and it feels like I’m making a deal with the devil.
Maybe I am.
But no matter the outcome of our truce, it’s a risk I have to take. There can’t be any more distractions while I’m here. I need to focus on my work and my collection. Because that’s why I came to Rome. I’m here for the internship and I’m here for the competition, and if I’m going to turn my life around, winning is the only option.
6
After years of missing stops, going in the wrong direction and accidentally taking express trains instead of locals on the NYC subway system, the world needs to know that the Metro in Rome is an absolute pleasure. There are only three lines—two of which are primaries—leaving a New Yorker cautiously optimistic as they navigate this city that’s historic and new. Ancient and alive. Holly and I, however, are learning that there are a few things that donothelp while riding the Italian Metro, and one of those things is carrying ginormous ferns that are needed for a Gia Luca photo shoot on a near-ninety-five-degree day.
Currently schlepping these almost-trees from the flower market in Campo de’ Fiori back to the office, we’ve somehow managed to make record time as we step out of the station at our Spagna A line stop. Squinting into the face of the midmorning sun, we have a half-mile walk to headquarters and we both know full well that we will be sweaty beasts by the time we arrive. Such is life.
“Well, this is certainly glamorous,” Holly grunts, hoisting her plant up in her arms to get a better grip.
“So glamorous,” I agree. “Most people go into fashion for the art or the culture, but I’m here specifically to get slapped in the face by ferns.”
Taking another smack/scratch to the face by my potted nemesis, Holly actually looks sympathetic as she glances over at me.
“When did you first know you wanted to be a designer?” I ask her, hoping to distract us both as we trudge along the street.
She pauses and pushes the hair out of her face, probably deciding if she wants to answer me or not. “I guess when I was a sophomore in high school,” she says after a few seconds. “I taught myself how to pattern-make off YouTube and made my own winter formal dress. Then I made my cousin’s sweet sixteen dress, and another girl at school asked me to make hers. It was nice, making something by myself. Something that wouldn’t be there if it wasn’t for me.”
“I get that,” I tell her, feeling the same thrill even now when I create new pieces. I don’t ask her anything else because I’m happy she’s sharing personal stories with me at all. And I’m shocked even further when she suddenly goes on.
“After that I started taking sewing classes and I couldn’t get enough. I probably designed and made a quarter of the things I wore my senior year. Not that anyone really noticed.”
“They didn’t?” I ask, not wanting to push her but also wanting her to know that she can keep going if she wants to. She can talk to me, and I’ll listen. I see the uncertainty cross her face and then I watch as it slips away. It feels like a big moment. Maybe it’s not to her, but it is to me.
“My brother was well on his way by then. He was already making a huge splash and he was only just graduating from fashion school. It’s easy to disappear into the cracks when you live with an earthquake like Lucas. My parents are very proud of him.”
“I’m sure they’re proud of you, too.” There’s conviction in my voice and while it makes her smile, she hardly seems convinced.
“Maybe,” she says.
I feel my arms beginning to give under the weight of the fern, but I force myself to soldier on as we continue to walk. “Thank you for telling me that, by the way.” She looks over at me, and I hope I’m not about to make things awkward, but I can’t help it. “I’ve always wanted to be your friend, but I sort of got the vibe that you weren’t interested. Not that I blame you, though.”
She shakes her head and gets a firmer grip on her fern. “It’s not you. You were always nice to me. I guess I’m just used to keeping people at a distance.” Again, I don’t push, and she goes on, “For a solid chunk of my life, I always had to figure out if people wanted to be friends with me for me, or if they were trying to get something from me. My parents are very generous people. They would let me bring whoever I wanted along if we were going somewhere fun, or if they were having one of their parties. In high school, I think I only got invited out to places because we had a driver, which was a huge convenience. My ex-boyfriend even told me he delayed breaking up with me so he wouldn’t miss my family’s vacation to the Maldives.”
I really look at Holly then, and for the first time she lets me see the hurt that’s lingering behind her collected facade. The uncertainty she has in herself. I wish I could will it away.
“I figured at least once I got to college, I could start fresh. But then everyone suddenly knew me because of my brother, and I’m sure half of them thought I only got into the school because of nepotism. Or money. They probably think that’s what got me this internship, too.”
My insides tighten a little as I think about past interactions with Holly. Every time I saw her, I thought she was distant because that was her way, but I understand now that it’s her first line of defense. Her coping mechanism. It makes me sad that I didn’t realize it sooner, but at least I know it now.
“Anyone who’s seen your work knows you got into the program and this internship because of your talent. You’re one of the best pattern makers I’ve ever seen and if anyone says otherwise, they’re just jealous, and it’s their loss.”
