I cough out a jaded laugh. “Yeah, okay. If you haven’t noticed, Matt detests me.”
“Right,” Marco scoffs. “He totally detests you. That’s why he just skulked off like a scorned lover when I mentioned Greg and he had his arm wrapped around you when you were talking to Gabriele.”
“You saw that?” I ask dejectedly.
He takes a victorious sip of his drink. “I see all. And it was quite the sexy arm wrap from my vantage point. Very protective. Very erotic.”
I should have left to pick up Daniella’s FaceTime when I had the chance. “Okay, listen,” I tell Marco. “Whatever you saw, put it out of your mind. Doing anything with Matt would be a huge conflict of interest and I don’t have time for anything other than this internship and competition. Not to mention that me getting together with Matt would freak Holly out, and I don’t want to do anything that could jeopardize our friendship.”
Marco rolls his eyes. “I doubt Holly would get freaked out, and if she did, I would smooth things over for you.”
“You smoothing anything over won’t be necessary because nothing is going to happen there. It just won’t.”
“But I bet it could, though,” Marco replies playfully. “You having a fling with Matt would be the undisputed cure-all for getting over Greg. How are you supposed to move on from that blond cyclone of doom when you’ve refused to date anyone else since him?”
“I haven’t dated anyone since him because I’ve been concentrating on myself. It’s called personal growth.”
“I’m all about your personal growth,” Marco says, “but I’m also convinced that a wild night of consensual, volatile lovemaking would help you in that endeavor.”
I groan and rub the corner of my eye with my free hand. “You’ve lost it,” I tell him. “The heat is finally getting to you.”
“It most certainly is not. The guy writes top-shelf space erotica, Violet. You honestly don’t think he knows what he’s doing in the bedroom?”
I shake my head, yet again. “I’m not listening to you anymore. Let’s just have a toast and move on.” Lifting my glass, I take a cleansing breath. “Here’s to you and me enjoying the rest of the night and these clothes before we turn back into pumpkins at midnight.”
“I’ll toast to that,” Marco says, “but I’m also toasting to your foreign love affair with a gorgeous, gloomy space show creator.” I glower at him as he clinks his glass against mine with an unaffected smile. “Here’s to you getting laid while we’re here. To infinity and beyond.”
8
Our first week in Rome is officially complete as Marco, Holly and I mill around Professor Leoni’s workroom. With our time here a quarter done, I can’t ignore the ticking clock in my head whenever I think of pitching my designs to Lorenzo on our last day. If my designs are strong enough, if I get his vote, all I need is two other votes on the day of the fashion show to win the competition. Just the thought leaves me dizzy. Nauseated-excited. Winning this competition would prove to everyone who doubted me, including myself, that chasing my dream was what I was meant to do. It wasn’t safe, but it was right, and my designs deserve to be seen.
Sitting alone at Professor Leoni’s desk, I glance up from my sketch pad to watch as Marco drapes on one of the dress forms. Draping has always been a huge part of his process and it’s amazing to watch him mold and manipulate muslin like it was clay. It’s like he’s creating art through a completely different medium.
Holly is sitting out on a chair on the little balcony, working in Illustrator on her iPad. She’s finished a good portion of her initial paper sketches and has now moved on to more technical drawings. Sometimes she doesn’t even draw by hand and will instead only sketch digitally. She’s fast paced and endlessly productive and I wish I were more like her.
Focusing on my own designs, I return to sketching a dress that I’ve had in mind for a few days. I’m drawing on one of the premade templates that I created—a sheet of paper with five silhouettes. I sketch my design onto one and then alter it on the remaining four. Maybe I change the color on one and I switch up the cut or the length of the sleeve on another. It gives me five visible options on the same dress concept and then all that’s left to do is pick my favorite. Too bad every time I do choose one, I immediately second-guess myself and decide to start all over. I’m just about to curse myself back into procrastination purgatory all over again when Professor Leoni’s booming voice suddenly echoes through the sunlit room.
“Ciao, amici miei!I’ve come to consult with the busy bees!” Her wild hair is twisted into a bun and she’s once again sporting a flowy caftan, this one in a black-and-white Art Deco pattern. We all greet her as she bounces into the room in all her chaotic glory. “I’m going to start on the outside and work my way in.”
Fluttering over to Holly, she drags a chair along with her and plops down beside her on the balcony. I watch as Holly takes a breath, trying not to be overwhelmed by the professor’s enthusiasm as she shows her the design she’s working on. The professor clutches her chest and coos in admiration, and I have to grin. Competitor or not, Holly coming into her own is wonderful to see. Looking back at my sketch, I’m considering altering the neckline on the last silhouette when Marco hops up to sit on the desk beside my papers, taking a sip of coffee.
“Hello, neighbor. How are we doing this fine day?”
“I’m doing fantastic,” I answer sarcastically, slumping in my chair to look up at him. “I feel energized and confident and really secure in the knowledge that I’m going to win this competition by a landslide. Zero self-doubt or silent nervous breakdowns happening here.”
“Oh, my god, that’s amazing,” he says, playing along.
“It is, isn’t it? I’m sorry to be the one to crush your dreams and ambitions but really, someone has to do it.”
“If it has to be anyone, I’m glad that it’s you.”
I put my hands under my chin in an angelic pose and Marco smirks as he takes another contented sip of his coffee.
“So how are you really doing?” he asks.
I let my pen drop onto the sketch pad and rub the back of my neck. “Not phenomenal but not terrible, either. I have this vision for a line of evening wear that’s sort of inspired by the idea of a gothic mermaid. It’ll be heavy but light with lots of sheer aspects and beading. I’m thinking a predominantly navy and black color palette. Does that make sense? Does it sound lame?”
“Not lame in the least. You had me atgothic mermaid.” He twists his head to peek down at my sketches and offers me an impressed nod.
