Red Hot Rebel - Olivia Hayle Page 0,16

itself.”

“How do you know it’s terrible if you haven’t seen it?”

I reach for the small case with toiletries we’ve been given. There has to be an eye mask in here. Fishing it out triumphantly, I put it on. “Some things you just know.”

“You’re impossible.”

I lift up the eye mask a while later to see Ivy snuggled up in her seat, her hair a thick, blonde braid down her side and a pair of beige sweats on. Her headphones are in and her eyes are glued to the screen.

She catches me watching and takes out an earpiece. “See? You couldn’t resist watching either!”

I demonstrably pull down my eye mask. Lovely blackness beckons. “Wake me when we land in Italy.”

She mutters something that sounds like such a bore. To my surprise, though, I actually manage to fall asleep, and I’m woken by the announcement in the speakers hours later. Beside me, Ivy has already packed together her things.

She’s glued to the window.

I shouldn’t ask. I shouldn’t be intrigued. But I do it anyway. “First time in Rome?”

She doesn’t turn from the view. “Yes.”

“Good thing we’re shooting all around the city.” I pull out the itinerary from the inside pocket of my jacket. The small, innocuous piece of paper, a list of places they wanted me to shoot Ivy in front of, besides, behind or with. But traveling isn’t a checklist. It’s an adventure.

“I can’t wait,” she says, and there’s a dreaminess to her voice. No pretense. No guard up, either. It’s… disconcerting. I look at her as she looks at the rapidly approaching ground, and find that it’s almost a surprise when the airplane’s wheels touch the tarmac. My hands aren’t gripping the armrests.

Ivy is quiet beside me the entire way through passport control, as we get into the car to the hotel, even as she disappears down to her hotel room.

“We start shooting in an hour!” I call.

She just nods, lost in some sort of daze. Shaking my head, I head into my own opulent room. Ben had truly pulled out all the stops for this trip, showing us the best his hotels and travel agency had to offer. Luxury trips for luxury clients, a tailor-made package for all needs.

And I’m supposed to shoot this dream.

Grabbing the old Canon from my suitcase, the one that’s only fit for my own photography, I open the windows of my hotel room wide. The hot Roman air greets me, along with a view that is almost impossible to beat. Terracotta roofs and beige, stone-colored walls beneath a blue, cloudless sky. A city landscape of cobblestone streets and trattorias. I snap a picture of the tranquility. Perhaps I’d have time later to shoot around the city just for me, not with Ivy or my expensive digital camera. It sometimes captured life in too sharp of an image.

Life can be a dream, and dreams are best a bit blurry.

Ivy is the one who knocks on my door an hour later. “Come on,” she announces. “The eternal city is waiting, and we don’t have many hours of sunlight left.”

I run my eyes over her form. Gone is the surprisingly gentle vision of her on the plane, in sweats and without makeup. Back is the woman with sharp eyes, even sharper eyeliner, and perfectly blow-dried hair. She’s wearing another silky dress, but it’s a burgundy color today. A straw bag hangs at her side.

She looks like the elegant poster child of Italian dreams.

“Yes, yes,” she says impatiently. “This is what they put me in. I know I’m wearing heels, but I stuffed a pair of flats into my bag. I won’t slow you down this time.”

I could say that she hadn’t last time. Or that she looks stunning. But neither are appropriate, nor relevant, so I just nod.

“Good. Let’s get going.”

“When are we meeting Paolo?”

“Paolo?”

“We’re shooting with a model tonight. Another model, besides me, I mean.” Am I imagining it or is there genuine excitement in her voice? She flicks her thick hair behind her shoulder, and with her heels, she’s almost the same height as me. It’s a very rare thing. It almost throws me off my balance.

“At seven,” I say. “Haven’t you been studying your itinerary?”

She rolls her eyes. “All right, all right, I’m the schedule queen,” she says. “Are we starting in this neighborhood.”

“Yes.” I grab the camera and undo the lens, following her out into the Roman afternoon. The air is beautifully warm, the building behind her a soft sienna color. Ivy stops in