Page 110 of Wallflower
I hate sleeping alone every night and waking up by myself every morning. I hate that I can’t find anywhere that sells Pretzel M&M’s. I hate that maybe all of this means I made the wrong decision coming to Milan.
“Things are great,” Dad replies, and I think fast to remember my question. “Business as usual for the most part, although Chord was here this morning to check in on the horses.”
“That’s—” I swallow the lump in my throat. “Oh, Dad. I have to go. There’s a cute littletrattoriahere with a fantastic pasta menu, so I’m going to stop for dinner. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?”
“Of course. Go. Enjoy yourself. You’ve earned it.”
I stuff down the heartache and homesickness as I stow my phone in my satchel and step inside thela gastronomia. In a few short minutes, I’m back on the street with a paper bag of solitude, sadness, and sauvignon blanc.
The place I’m living is only another block away, but when I get to the front door, I freeze on the doorstep, glaring at the key in my hand like it’s the reason for my problems. Inside this building is the Violet James who lives alone in a foreign countrywith nothing but her stupid dreams to keep her warm. And I’m too sad right now to spend another night with only her for company.
I’m somadat myself for being in this situation. Everyone who knows me is so sure this is the right thing. The people I love are proud of me for being here. And it’s only been a month!
No matter how badly I want to go home, I’d look like an idiot if I threw it all in so quickly. But then… didn’t I accept this job just as fast? With no consideration for what was in my heart and every action dictated by the things I was supposed to want? Or more importantly, used to want.
People walk past behind me, and maybe they glance over and wonder if something’s wrong, but I ignore the noise and the press of their eyes. I can’t make myself walk inside this building. I can’t pretend that everything about this place doesn’t feel temporary and wrong.
It’s hard to believe that by achieving something I wanted for so long, I lost everything I gained at Silver Leaf. Confidence. A career. Friends. Family. Love. I moved halfway around the world to live out a fantasy, only to end up right back where I started. In a job I hate and an empty bed dreaming constantly about a life on the other side of the world.
Someone passes behind me in a rush of air, bathing me in a fragrance I know so well. Whoever it is wears Chord’s cologne, and the scent triggers a tidal wave of emotion.
Love. Need. Hope. Regret.
I sniffle as a memory of butterflies and sunlight takes flight in my chest, and it’s been so long since I felt that kind of warmth that I close my eyes and lean my forehead on the door like I used to lean on Chord’s steady, solid chest.
I focus on the sunlight. I focus on the butterflies. I focus on the promise of joy.
Milan was supposed to feel likethis. I was supposed to step off that plane and into the Bellucci offices, and every moment of my life was going to feel the way it did this summer. But it’s not like that at all. My stomach is always in knots. Food tastes bland and uninteresting. I have no interest in exploring the city, and my daily walks to and from work have blended into a hazy nothingness. I haven’t listened to my music or opened my own sketchbook since I got here. I haven’t thought about Mom’s wedding gown in weeks.
The butterflies and sunlight start to dwindle away, and I reach for them the only way I know how. I think about Chord and Silver Leaf, and euphoria explodes in my veins.
A choked laugh surprises me through sudden tears as the answer to my problems floats on the back of this feeling.
I wanted so badly to do the right thing that I never gave myself permission to do the thing that felt right. And what feels right is designing my own line. I want people to wear my name. I’ve missed the opportunity to do exactly that for the privilege of pouring coffee and taking notes for people who don’t see me, let alone respect me.
Why on Earth did I choose to be invisible again when I’d only just started feeling comfortable in the spotlight? There are smarter and more rewarding ways to prove my talent than by sacrificing my confidence and happiness on the altar of the world’s most prestigious fashion label.
And I’m notreallyback where I started… am I? There was at least one person in the Bellucci offices who thought I was good enough to hire, and if I’m good enough to design for Leonardo Bellucci, then I’m more than good enough to go it alone.
All the things I miss so fiercely are exactly where I left them back in California. And the only person I’m letting down by staying here is myself.
Hot, stubborn fire burns in my throat.
Chord wants me to be selfish? Fine. I’ll be selfish. I’ll do what I want and stop caring about what anyone else thinks. And what I want is to not be here anymore. I want to hear his voice and touch his skin and feel his mouth on mine. I want to curl myself into the cage of his arms and never be free again. I want to be tethered to Chord for the rest of my life and chase new dreams with him by my side. I want to go home.
I squeeze my eyelids closed as a single tear escapes.
I want to go home.
“Eyes up, Wallflower.”
My pulse leaps with shock and hope, my breath comes short and fast, and I close my eyes tighter because the voice behind me cannot be real. But my heart knows it’s him before I turn to see the proof, and I sob with relief against the wooden door, tears flowing as all the pain leeches out of me.
I sense him move closer, the scent of him enveloping me before anything else, and then his warm, tender fingers find my chin, and he gently turns me to face him.
“Eyes up,” he says again, slipping his hand around my neck and cradling my head as he turns my face up to his. “And keep them up.”
I open my eyes, and there he is. Here.Mine.
