Page 254 of The Italian Obsession

“What? That’s ridiculous.”

“Mark my words, I’ll call it in tomorrow.” He looks back up the street toward the restaurant. “Something is off with those two. I can sense it.”

I roll my eyes as we arrive at the car. “I am allowed to have friends.”

“Get in the car.”

I get into the car and slam the door. Damn control freak.

________

It turns out that finding an engagement party dress isn’t all that easy.

We’ve been at this for hours. “Okay,” Giorgio says. “Let me see.”

I peek my head out through the dressing room curtain. “Is anyone around?”

“Just me. Get out here.”

I walk out and smirk as I put my hands on my hips. “This dress is ridiculous. I look like a stripper.”

Giorgio’s eyes drop down my body and he frowns and holds his chin. “Well, that’s not going to work.” He begins to try and tuck my boobs back in as he wrestles with the fabric.

“You think?” I giggle as he tries to stretch the fabric over my exposed breasts. “It was definitely designed for a more petite woman.”

“One without boobs.” He looks me up and down. “Next one.”

I go back into the changing room to try on my tenth dress. “Giorgio, you need to prepare yourself for the fact that I might not be able to wear Valentino,” I call. “I have a lot of beautiful dresses at home. I can just wear one of those.”

“Nonsense.” He huffs. “If there’s nothing here you like, we’ll be making you something. This is the biggest event in Milan.”

I flick the curtain open and poke my head out. “What is?”

“The engagement party, of course.”

“There’s only fifty people coming.” I frown.

Giorgio laughs at my horrified face. “Darling, have you seen the front page of the paper today?”

“No, why?”

“I’ll find a copy for you.” He closes the curtain in my face. “Try the next dress on. You are quite the celebrity now.”

I flick the curtain open again in surprise. “Who? Me?” I scoff.

“Darling, you are marrying Enrico Ferrara, the king of Italy. What did you expect?”

I roll my eyes and flick the curtain closed.

“He’s kept you relatively well hidden up until now. But from here on in, you are officially the property of Italy. Everything you do and wear will be splashed across every magazine in the country. Look at Bianca. She’s the envy of every woman—the queen of fashion.”

My anxiety begins to grow. “We need to find a fucking dress.”

“Okay, then. Next,” he says, his urgency growing along with mine.

I begin to try on the next dress and I hear him talking to someone. “Do you have a copy of today’s newspaper?” He listens for a moment. “Can you chase one up for me, please?”

I pull up the dress and look in the mirror. It’s a deep red fabric, and it’s strapless with a rouched kind of look to it. I turn and look at my behind. This one is better.