Chapter Two
Maria
present day
“You wanted to see me,” I said, approaching the owner and editor-in-chief of Bellissima , who also happened to be my father—Angelo Morelli.
You see, it hadn’t always been my father at the helm. Bellissima was actually the brainchild of my late mother. She had made this fashion magazine what it was today—inspirational and paramount to the industry. We were at the crux of it all, and I loved being able to say I was the fashion editor for the publication.
Smart, sophisticated, elegant, confident, and with a heart of gold, Regina Morelli was my idol. I just so happened to have been fortunate enough to be able to call her mom, for as brief a time as it may have been. Now, not a day went by that I didn’t think about her. Frankly, it was hard not to. I felt her presence surrounding me everywhere in the building simply walking the halls.
Of course, I gave credit where credit was due, and the continued success we had was all thanks to my dad. He’d taken on more than his fair share. When he’d worked with Mom, they’d seen to it each issue came out flawlessly, but now he was doing it all on his own, and I couldn’t say I envied him.
I backed up, and the chair in front of my dad’s desk hit the back of my legs. But I didn’t sit until he said, “Maria,” and gestured for me to do so.
I crossed my legs and fixed my pants so they didn’t wrinkle. “I saw your face in the meeting this morning when Perla brought up the idea of adding an ask column to the magazine, but I actually think—”
“Your sister’s idea was very thoughtful, and while I’m not a huge fan of change, I have been studying the market, and I think opening things up to our readers would draw more attention. I even liked Allegra’s idea of extending the column to social media to get more people involved.” He grinned, leaned forward, and held his hands together. “I’m quite lucky in that regard. I have four very bright daughters.”
Who had at one point all worked at the magazine together. It would have stayed that way, but while Perla and Allie (our nickname for Allegra) still worked here, Bianca had chosen to follow her dreams of becoming a wedding dress designer.
“If you’re not worried about the new column, what is it you wanted to talk with me about?” I asked, raising a brow and placing my hands on my thigh.
He cleared his throat and pointed a finger upward, his eyes focused on me. “Before your mother passed away—rest her soul—we discussed grooming you to step into her shoes one day. That day has come.”
I swallowed past the lump in my throat. Suddenly my palms were sweating, and I had an urge to wipe them on my pants.
Me? As the editor-in-chief? I couldn’t. I mean, I’d never thought about it. I loved my current position and never imagined myself in that role. It wasn’t that I didn’t want it. Because I did. Of course I did. I would’ve been a fool if I didn’t. This was huge.
Then again, so were my mother’s shoes. There was no telling if I would be as good as she was, and that thought right there, that I might let her, my dad, and my entire family down and screw up the legacy they’d built, was a lot.
I ran a hand through my hair and shook my head. “Are you sure? Me?” Duh. He wouldn’t have said anything if he wasn’t dead serious. “You’re not retiring, are you?”
He harrumphed, the deep, boisterous sound bouncing off the walls. “Not yet. I don’t think I’m ready to spend my days golfing.”
I let out a sigh of relief and held a hand to my chest. “Good, because this publication needs you. We need you.”
“You think you need me, but, Maria, you haven’t needed me for a very long time, and I think we both know that.” He leaned back and relaxed his rigid shoulders. “Eventually, I will be stepping back as editor-in-chief, but my plan is to stay on in some capacity, beyond as publisher, for as long as the big guy sees fit. There’s too much to be done. The point is, you’re ready. You’ve proven yourself over and over again. You know this industry backward and forward. It’s about time you stepped into the role you’re deserving of.”
“Editor-in-chief?” Just saying the words was surreal. Me, editor-in-chief of Bellissima ? Shut up. “What about Perla? Or Allie?” Allie was the social editor, and I couldn’t see her wanting to do anything but that, but then there was Perla. She organized our editorials and oversaw the shoots from beginning to end. Either would kick butt in this position, so it begged the question, why not one of them?
He shook his head, drawing his brows together. “No. They’ve already asked me when you’ll be stepping into your mother’s role.”
“They knew?” Was I the only one who didn’t know I was going to be groomed to take on this role? Maybe it would’ve been good to let the clueless girl (that was me, by the way—I was in the dark) in on the secret.
“Your mother and I never outright told your sisters our plans for you, but it’s clear to all of us, Maria. It’s you. It’s always been you. You were made for this role.”
I processed his words, barely able to believe this was happening. It was both incredible and nerve-racking at the same time, what with all the pressure that would come with the role. “I will give it my all, and I won’t let you down.”
“I don’t think you will.” He grabbed a folder from the stack on the corner of his desk and passed it to me. “In there”—he pointed at the folder that I was holding with a somewhat shaky grip—“are mock-ups of some layouts I was thinking of for the next issue. I want you to run with them. Use them as a jumping off point.”
I licked my lips, the nerves dissipating as I grew giddier by the second. “This issue is my baby?”
He nodded. “I’ll be here, but for the most part, yes.” His gaze fell to his watch. “I have another meeting to get to with the printers, but you’ve got this.”
I got up and smiled, holding the folder in my hand. “Thank you, Dad.”
He winked before I turned and left. I stopped with my hand on the door. “Wait. Does that mean I get to write the letter from the editor?” I’d asked the question, but I had a feeling I already knew the answer, and. . . someone pinch me! Not really, I had somewhat sensitive skin, but still.
“Of course.”
Of course. Who knew those two words could make my heart skip a beat?
As I walked back to my office, it felt like I was having an out-of-body experience. It didn’t get much better than this, right? I was on the path to stepping into the role of editor-in-chief. Lucky didn’t even begin to describe how I was feeling.
This may have been the best news I had ever received. Well, it was a close second to when I’d found out I was pregnant with Isabella. It went without saying, she was my whole world.
I was on cloud nine as I sat down at my desk and twirled the chair around, squealing in delight. “Oh, yeah! Oh, yeah! I’m going to be the editor-in-chief,” I said to myself in a sing-song voice, swaying my head from side to side as I moved to my own beat. “Oooh, I have to tell someone.”
I pulled out my phone and started texting Dom as my assistant Daphne walked in and dropped off my lunch, courtesy of Dom, as was the Monday ritual.
Mondays were my nightmares. Dom knew that I always ran around like a chicken with my head cut off on Monday mornings, getting Isabella off to school, packing her dance bags, and making her lunches for the week. You’d think over the weekend I’d find time to get it all prepared, but no. It never happened. Not just when I was away for the weekend, either. There just wasn’t enough time. Which was exactly why going out for lunch also never happened. Mondays were my busiest days, and quite frankly, forgetting to eat was quite easy.
Smiling, I opened the bag to discover my favorite—chicken salad on a brioche roll with a cup of fresh vegetables and ranch. Before I dug in, I sent my text off.
Maria: Guess who you’re talking to.
Dominic: Are you day-drinking?
Maria: Does that seem like something I would do?
Maria: Anyway, get this: Dad is looking to make me the editor-in-chief of Bellissima. I get to run with the next issue. So basically, if I nail it, then I’ve got the job!
Maria: As long as I want it.
Dominic: Maria, that’s great news! Why the hell wouldn’t you want it?
Maria: It’s a big deal, you know? I don’t want to mess it up.
Dominic: You won’t. Trust me. You’re going to kill it.
Maria: Come over tonight so we can celebrate. Isabella will be at a sleepover, so we’ll have the place all to ourselves.