Chapter 19
Emma
“ S how me again!”
I sigh and pan my phone around the Piazza del Duomo from my window seat in the café to show Justice for the third time. It’s in the low 50s in Milan, but it’s a sunny afternoon, with tourists gathering in the square to check out the gothic cathedral.
“Happy now?” Her face is a dead giveaway that she is. Justice already squealed over my lunch, like a spring salad with fresh mozzarella requires applause.
“Very!” She cuts into her omelet with too much enthusiasm given our time zone difference. It’s seven thirty in the morning in Austin, a minor detail for the woman who’s ready for a virtual tour of Milan.
I wouldn’t put it past her to try and squeeze herself through the phone to get here. Not that her forehead would fit.
Justice has been a morning person for as long as I’ve known her. She’d wake me up for high school when I stayed at her house while my parents were gone. The same bright-eyed smile and curls pulled up in a loose bun haven’t changed in twenty years.
We text almost daily, but this video call is special. Galentine’s Day has become a tradition since Justice discovered her inner Joan Clayton. No matter where we are on February 13th—me in Milan, and her at home this year—we check in for a date, assuming we’re not already together on a trip. I’m happy to see my girl, but jet lag and a bouncy friend don’t mix.
Justice forks another bite of her breakfast from the setup at her dining room table. Between the tiny bowl of mixed berries, the champagne bottle and orange juice for mimosas, and cheesy Galentine’s Day decorations, my friend takes her holidays seriously.
“It’s gorgeous over there, Em. Are you done for the day?”
I nod. Me and my crop sweater dress set are taking several seats. “Just met with the last vendor. Looking forward to a couple of days of rest before I head back to Cali.”
Fashion week hasn’t started here yet. Everyone is still in London before they hop over and then head to Paris. I’ve done the circuits, moved from one city to the next with the promise of couture, but I opted out this year. The allure is there, but after a while, it’s tiresome.
Moving across time zones is no joke. I need my wits in order to bring to life a new campaign for Soie once I return. I also need to ready my mind to be in the same vicinity as him .
This trip to Milan is right on time.
No social calendar of events.
No distractions…like the one who ghosted me days ago.
“Emma!”
“Hmm? What did you say?”
Her frown softens. “You okay?”
Am I?
“Of course.” It’s where I want to be but miles from the truth.
Justice is in the throes of the honeymoon phase now that she and Terrence are back together. I won’t disrupt that by telling her about Miles and I having sex. Before he left.
It’s been four days since Miles followed me back to my room and laid it down so good I woke up facedown with drool on my pillow. I also woke up alone, which I usually prefer, given sleepovers aren’t a habit. But Miles is different. He told me he doesn’t share a bed with the women he sleeps with. It was wrong of me to assume he’d break his rule.
What we did, what we shared, deserved more than him running off in the middle of the night. I knew the sex would be off the charts, but damn can the man fuck. It wasn’t just his ten-out-of-ten thrusts or his stamina that had me cracking every toe. It was his care—the way he devoured me with his mouth and cherished me with his eyes. Every touch was intentional, like he was in tune with what made me purr. And purr I did, over and over again.
We never exchanged numbers—another sign I shouldn’t expect more. The problem is I want more. Sex, that is. The dick is too good to only try once.
If Jay found out Miles dipped his dick in me and went silent, she’d make Terrence pay him a visit. The drama is unnecessary, and I refuse to burst the bubble she’s in with my mess.
Who knows if Miles is still coming to California to work with Lorenzo. Whether he does or not, I don’t care. New York was a one-time situation. It’s done, over.
If you say so.
“How was New York?”
“Great.” I reach for my white wine to wash down acting thirsty over a man. “The Rustin show was gorgeous, Jay. My collection complemented Kojo’s effortlessly.”
Pride purses her mouth. “You don’t give yourself enough credit. You’ve taken Soie to new heights. How’s that new idea coming along?”
A smile blooms on my lips. “I’m playing around with a few concepts.”
It’s been a dream of mine to make our garments more accessible through a ready-to-wear collection. Justice doesn’t know it, but she’s my muse. I want to design a line for extraordinary women who don’t recognize the authority they wield with their sexual empowerment.
Lingerie is more than an accessory for sex. There’s a confidence that comes with knowing you’re the shit, that your body is worthy of love and praise. That’s what I want for femmes: to lean into their power, revel in the uniqueness of their form, and embrace their sexiness.
“Whatever it is will be incredible. Shit!” Justice hops up in a rush and barely avoids knocking over what’s left of her mimosa. “It’s almost eight. I gotta get ready for work. What time is it there?”
I check my watch. “Close to three.”
Justice takes the phone to the kitchen and leans it on the paper towel holder on the island. “Oh, nice!” Her white oversized shirt rushes past the camera as she hurries to the sink with her dishes. If there’s one thing Justice will do on autopilot, it’s worry.
“Jay, slow down!” I dip my head to keep from cracking up in the café. “Don’t act like you didn’t lay out your outfit the night before.”
She stops, and we bust out laughing. If only the people at her job could see their VP of marketing spinning in circles. Justice has her quirks, but she wears her heart on her sleeve, and she’s the best friend anyone could ask for.
“Let me get out of here so you can enjoy your day.” She catches her breath and chuckles. “Happy Galentine’s Day, Em. There’s a gift waiting for you at your hotel.”
A twinge of guilt hits me in the chest. “I didn’t get you anything.”
“Not necessary.” She waves a hand. “You’re traveling, and you know I do the most. Besides,” she smiles, “I have everything I need.”
Terrence had movers ready to pack up Justice’s studio the minute they touched down in Austin. He missed his wife and wasted no time rectifying the situation. She’s back in the home they once shared, the corner house he bought her after she saw it on a walk.
I wasn’t expecting her to call since they reconciled, but Justice will never miss the chance to show she cares. She’s a walking Hallmark card when she’s not freaking herself out.
“Thank you for the gift,” I say and toss her a smile. I wish I was more sentimental, but it’s not in my DNA.
“Cut the guilt. Gifts are my thing, remember? Go enjoy Italy—and send me photos!”
“Love you, girl.”
“Love you too.”
“ Salute .”
“ Salute .“ I take the negroni from the bartender. Gin isn’t my liquor of choice, but when in Milan.
The bar is quiet, with only a handful of patrons sidling up to the polished mahogany bar that spans the length of the narrow room. Suspended chandeliers set on a low glow illuminate the floor-to-ceiling bookcases, which hold the finest liquor.
I smile down at Justice’s gift on top of my hotel key card. It’s a camera roll keychain with five tiny photos of us over the years.
Homecoming.
A random sleepover.
College graduation.
Our trip to Paris.
A selfie from last month’s singles’ retreat.
Over two decades’ worth of memories captured in a trinket.
The verdict is still out on whether I’ll grab dinner down here or in my room. Sleep is necessary, but so was pairing gold heels with this red satin dress.
A man in a gunmetal suit unbuttons his jacket and folds his long frame into the seat next to me. The sharp edges of his profile melt into a buttery smile, one he directs at me.
“ Ciao ,” he says.
“ Ciao .”
“ Come si chiama? ”
“Emma.”
His steady gaze rakes over my body. “Nicolo. Piacere .”
“Nice to meet you too.”
The conversation switches to English, trading what little Italian I know for a discussion about our time in Milan. He’s saying all the right things to keep my attention, and he’s handsome. But he’s not—
I stiffen at the dark stare cast over Nicolo’s shoulder.
Miles.