Page 115 of For Your Eyes Only

“Pietro is a jerk, but he has this wrong idea that’s how the lead designer is supposed to act. He can help you. Keep at him.”

“Maybe.” I shuffle my sketch into my portfolio. “After a while, you start to believe his insults.”

Not having any design school background has given me a major case of imposter syndrome.

“Show him that sketch.” She flicks her wrist. “He’s really into fringe right now. Edgy rock-n-roll is the theme of his show in September. He’s pushing back on all the Barbie pink.”

“He is?” I slide my hand over the ink drawing I finished yesterday. “I have another sketch of a black dress with strappy ties over the bust and around the neck. I paired it with a black leather biker jacket. Should I show him that too?”

“Sure! Bring them all. I wouldn’t encourage you if I didn’t think you had talent.” Her red lips curl into a smile. “You’re a comer, Gia.”

Butterflies are in my stomach at her compliment. I’ve been working on transforming my dance costumes into edgy, sexy streetwear. Trip actually gave me the idea.

He told me the first costume I wore as Glitter Girl—the one that kept him in his seat instead of walking out the door—was the one with green-fringed, assless chaps. Apparently theasslesspart got him. Or my ass.

Who knew my boyfriend avoided strip shows until he saw me dance? He said strippers made him sad because he’d think about all the circumstances that had brought the girls there.

It was unexpectedly sweet, but I had to push back. “Not all strippers come from bad circumstances, you know. Some of them choose the profession, and they do very well at it.”

“You’re saying it was your childhood dream?” His eyebrow arched along with those sexy lips.

“No, but the joke is on you,” I teased. “I actually did turn to dancing out of desperation, and you couldn’t get enough of me.”

“Mm, you can say that again.” He laughed, smoothing my hair off my cheeks and kissing my lips. “You were hot as fuck, and those assless chaps made my dick very, very happy.”

Naturally, that led to a pretty intense round of lovemaking.

We’ve been in Milan together a month, and my personal life is fabulous beyond my wildest dreams. I insisted he come with me, even though we’re still working out the details ofus.

Milan is landlocked, which made me a little sad, having always lived near the sea. So he rented a house overlooking the canal with a view of the mountains in the distance and flowering shrubs climbing the walls.

We open the French doors each morning, and the cool breeze sweeps inside, carrying the scent of coffee and fresh baked sweets from the cafés below. It’s like Santa Croce, and I love him for working so hard to make my transition easier. He spoils me like crazy.

I love my job with Prada, but it’s been tough. Trip was ready to go down and punch Pietro in the nose for all his insults and move me to Armani or Versace, but I want to pay my dues. If I’m going to work in the design field, I want to earn my place here—just like I did when I was a dancer.

Collecting my things, I follow Mira out to the tiny, beige Fiat we’ll take to the iconic temple in the center of Milan. Mira is beside herself because the famous Jacque Carlisle is photographing the campaign for the September issue of AmericanVogue.

“He’s one of the greatest fashion photographers—right up there with Annie Leibovitz and Helmut Newton.”

Annie Leibovitz is the only photographer whose work I’ve seen, but I remembered Trip talking about Carlisle to Anabella. “That’s incredible. He’ll get to see Pietro treat me like shit all day.”

“Just stay cool and keep out of sight. Be invisible.”

Glancing down at my white blouse and full black skirt, I’m not sure if I can. I’ve been trying to dress more like the girls in the office, but with my curves and my hair, it’s tough not to stand out. They’re all stick figures, and my figure is the opposite ofstick.

Lucky for me, Trip loves every inch.

Exhaling a sigh, I follow Mira across the expansive courtyard, carrying a case of water and a giant bag of makeup, pins, clips, and a myriad of brushes. A small tent has been erected off to the side where the models will change and have their hair and makeup done.

Hesitating, I can’t resist gazing up at the massive medieval church with its pointed spires and stunning façade. It’s the first time I’ve been to Duomo since we moved to Milan. I’ve been working so much, we haven’t had time to be tourists.

“It’s so beautiful.” The words slip past my lips before I can stop them.

“One must imagine the peasants approaching this house of God for the very first time.” Turning, I cautiously meet the crinkled blue eyes of an older man with white hair and a gray beard. “It must’ve seemed like entering the Celestial City.”

Dropping my chin, I do my best to follow Mira’s instructions. “I wouldn’t know, sir.”

“What’s your name?” He studies me, arching an eyebrow. “You have the body of a young Sofia Loren.”

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