Page 37 of The Fixer

“Oh, some idiot just bumped into me. I dropped my phone. I’m lucky the screen didn’t shatter.” I shake my head. “Is it too much to ask that people look where they’re going?”

“Tourists are good for business,” Gisele points out practically. “Speaking of which, how’s the search going?”

I make a face. Gisele is about to be on vacation for the next two weeks, and I’ve been looking for someone temporary to take her place.But so far, I’ve had no luck finding help, and I can’t see the situation changing. I’m looking for someone with prior experience working in a small boutique, but the pay isn’t great, and I need them to start on Tuesday. It’s just not going to happen. “Let’s talk about something else.”

She frowns. “How are you going to manage? You have three wedding dresses to make, a calendar filled with fittings, and samples to sew for Milan.”

“I haven’t heard from Milan yet. They might not pick me.”

“They’ll pick you,” Gisele replies. “You’re swamped. Do you want me to postpone my trip?”

“No!” It’s incredibly kind of her to offer, but this isn’t her problem to solve. Plus, she’s been looking forward to visiting her family. “No, of course not. I’ll manage. You just worry about having a good time.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m positive.”

Gisele switches back to her favorite topic of conversation, my surprise engagement. On Tuesday, she admired the ring and asked me a thousand questions about Leo. Wednesday, she found out that we were planning on moving in together but that I didn’t know where I’d be living. “I don’t have time to handle the details, so Leo is,” I said, hoping thatwould be the end of it, but of course it wasn’t. Gisele is astonished that I don’t want to have a say in my new home. Which is, to be fair, a pretty valid thing to be shocked about. “How did the move go? Where do you and your new fiancé live now? Was the apartment he found adequate?”

“It was more than adequate.” I hand her my phone. “Look at my new sewing room.”

She swipes through the photos. “Wow,” she says. “You have so much space.” She zooms in on the cabinets. “Glass doors, nice. And look, you have empty shelves. You can buy more fabric.”

“I think it’s safe to say I don’t need any more fabric.” I unpack a box from my manufacturer and sigh. No matter how carefully Daria packs them, stuff always gets crumpled in transit. I pull out the ironing table and start to press the dresses, Gisele hanging them up as I finish. Then it’s time to open.

Gisele leavesat noon for lunch. I check my phone—again—but the only message is from my mother asking me what time I’m going to get to their house.

Nothing from the Milan committee. I let out a long exhale. As much as I tell myself that it’s too early to give up hope, it’s hard not to get discouraged. I thought my portfolio was strong, and I hoped I’d be one of the front-runners. But maybe I’m fooling myself? Maybe I’m not ready for the big leagues yet.

“Hello? Are you Rosa Tran?”

I look up. The woman speaking is in her late fifties or her early sixties. She’s dressed in a white cotton shirt and a narrow pencil skirt, her auburn hair pulled back in a bun. The clothes are nothing fancy, but everything is of the highest quality, and she looks effortlessly elegant.

“I am. Can I help you?”

“I understand you have an opening for a salesperson,” she replies. “I would like to apply.”

I blink in confusion. I put up a sign in the window out of desperation when I got back from Lecce—did she see it? “Do you have any sales experience, Signora. . .?”

“My name is Annalisa Bartolo,” she says. “And yes, I do. I worked for Moda Nono for fourteen years and for Saratoria Strambelli for another four.” She holds out a piece of paper. “My resume and references.”

Somebody pinch me, I’m dreaming. Moda Nono is one of the oldest clothing boutiques in Venice. Maya Strambelli, who owns Saratoria Strambelli, opened her store a couple of years before me. If Signora Bartolo is telling the truth, I could not have dreamed up a more perfect candidate for the position.

After weeks of searching, this feels like a miracle. I want to pinch myself. “How did you hear about the vacancy?”

“Leo called me.”

What?

“He said his fiancée needed help and asked if I could come out of retirement for a couple of weeks.” She gives me a warm smile. “Naturally, I had so many questions. He’s kept very quiet about you, and I’m quite annoyed with him. But, of course, I was ready to help. Leo is like family, and I’m so happy that he’s finally found someone.” She gives me a searching look. “He hasn’t mentioned me either, has he?”

“Umm. . .”

“My father Niccolo was his tailor.”

Ah.“Leo said he was one of a kind.”

“He was that and more.” A shadow falls over Signora Bartoli’s face, and then she straightens hershoulders. “I’m sure you want to contact my references?—”

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