walk toward the counters in the back of the boutique. “Stop making me feel like a super bitch. And you don’t have to call me Signora Angelo all of the time, either. I’m only twenty one. That’s just a year older than you, Carla. Do we have a deal? She nods and smiles, but still looks terrified. “Okay. Good.” I’m aware of my high energy. It’s something that scares the shit out of men and makes women admire me, but from a friendly distance.
But that snappy little part of my personality is also the thing that has made me one of the youngest and most successful American boutique co-owners here in Milan. But fame is a fickle thing, and mine threatens to disappear if I’m not able to pull off this gig. The overhead bell blares through the shop. That can’t be a good thing. With my arms filled with lime green dresses, I shuffle toward the storage rooms in back.
“Luca!” I call out. Silence. I glance back at Carla standing in the hallway. She shrugs and gives me a worried look. “Oh my God. This day isn’t happening. I seriously don’t know what crappy things I did in my past life; but they must’ve been pretty damn bad. Luca!” I shout at the top of my lungs, drowning out the must-answer bell. It means there’s someone at the front door, and that person is more than likely the assistant we were expecting, the one from the opera house.
My boss stumbles out of nowhere it seems. He’s adjusting his trousers and smoothing his hair. Yeah, he’s model gorgeous. You know the type: sculpted cheek bones, square chin, pouty lips, ripped abs, and eyelashes that are too long for a guy. But he’s also a man-whore. He’s even tried to hit on me. No luck for him there. I don't date bosses of any type. Plus his equally hot older brother, Rafe, the one who set me up with this job and provided the monies to rent the building we’re in would kill him if he followed through on such a thing.
I raise my left eyebrow. Behind him, a dark haired girl around my age shuffles out of the stock room. She prances over to Luca, throws her arms seductively around his neck, and kisses him as they mutter sweet nothings in Italian to one another. Luca moves a hand over her breast, cupping it. She responds right away and arches her body into his lithe frame. Even I can’t help but to feel something as I stare at them. The pair makes a stunning couple.
The candid nature of Italian culture never ceases to amaze me. I’m thinking that Carla and I will soon be watching a live porn show compliment of my boss. And he's wearing so much strong cologne that the scent of it gets caught up in my throat and chest.
Sighing, I hold down the bile bubbling up from within my gut. Okay, so yes, I realize that I now live in the love capital of the world. I respect and adore my new culture. But when I’m about to lose everything that I’ve worked so hard to accomplish, I have to get serious.
“Hello, Luca, my darling boss and life saver, we have a problem,” I say in a calm voice. I even manage to throw in a smile for good measure. The sex tape session stops at once. The girl slinks away and blows kisses at Luca just before she walks toward the exit. Right. There can’t be that much infatuation in the entire world to make someone act so damn sappy.
I turn my heated gaze on Luca who sometimes acts more like my employee than my boss. “First, let me get something straight.”
“I know. I know, Erin. But Juliette is the sun, and I am the sea rumbling underneath her scorching powers,” he says, waving his hand in the air, a dreamy look on his face. I raise my left eyebrow. Even Carla snickers. Luca is a romantic Sicilian to the core. His family gives birth to poets, painters, and designers as though there weren’t any other careers to consider.
“Seriously, her name is Juliette?” I ask.
“No, but it sounds good rolling off my tongue,” he says and makes a swirling motion with his finger to emphasize his point.
“Uh-huh, and I’m sure next week that blonde girl you took home a few days ago will be wondering why she didn’t ever get a poem created in her