The Heir

Carmela showed me yesterday how easy it is for me to walk to work if I set off early armed with my map. I know I will make it in time even if I lose my way once or twice. I slip my red shoes into my bag, and get into my trainers. No point having the heels of my good shoes ruined in the cracks between the cobblestones.

Locking my door, I glance into the pizzeria as I walk past it. I expect it to be empty, but to my surprise it is already buzzing with activity. One of the men makes a beckoning motion towards me. I hesitate, but he moves his hands even more vigorously. Since I am very early, I push open the door and go in.

The man turns out to be a young waiter called Enzo. He and Luigi, one of the dishwashers, insist on serving me a strong coffee from a shiny monster of a machine. It is so thick it coats my tongue like honey. They offer me a cone-shaped pastry dusted in sugar that they tell me comes from the best bakery in Rome, but even the sight of it makes me want to hurl, so I politely refuse. Like every Italian man I have ever met, both lads are outrageous flirts who are unashamedly curious about me. Who am I? Where am I from? How long am I staying? I am only allowed to leave after I promise to come in for a pizza sometime during the week.

The morning air is fresh and the walk is invigorating.

Surrounded by intricate ancient stone work, and gothic spires, I feel exhilarated and excited about my new job. Of course, I hate it that Dante intervened for me, but he is right. I’ve been given a golden opportunity, I can either sulk about it, or go all out and prove that I can do the job and do it well.

Carmela is waiting for me outside the grey building Mirabel occupies. She greets me with a big smile. “Ready to take on Rome’s fashion world?”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. I am a bit nervous. I’ve never been an editor, and to attempt it in a different country … I could fail in a really spectacular way,” I say as I quickly exchange my trainers for my good shoes.

“Or you could succeed in a really spectacular way,” she quips.

Her smile is sincere and I smile back at her gratefully. I am glad she’s on my team. “Thank you, Carmela. You are very sweet. Now if only the rest of the staff are as friendly.”

“Actually, everyone is waiting to welcome the new English editor.”

“You’re sure about that?” Somehow, I find it quite hard to believe her, but I don’t say anything. I know everybody would have gone mad back in Mirabel London if some stranger from Italy had swooped in and stolen the top job from under their noses.

She shrugs. “It’s a good group. We get along very well.”

Carmela holds open the door for me and I’m instantly impressed by the building’s interior. It looks like a church that has been transformed into a gallery for modern art.

“Different, isn’t it?”

“Not at all what I expected,” I agree.

We cross the reception to the elevator. “Wait till you see our floor. I think you’ll be impressed.”

“I already am,” I say, looking around me at the colorful pieces of art decorating the walls.

She pushes the button for our floor. The first thing I notice when we step out of the elevator is the near silence. I expected it to be something like Mirabel London where there’s always a buzz of mingled voices and the usual sounds of a busy publishing enterprise—printers, the clacking of keyboards, people talking over each other. Here it is as quiet as a temple.

I turn to Carmela, puzzled.

“That’s everyone’s reaction,” Carmela tells me with a grin. “It’s the special walls and ceilings, designed to absorb sound.”

I shake my head. “After the constant chaos at Mirabel—this is just … unbelievable.”

“Come on. I’ll show you to your office, and then we’ll make the rounds.”

We walk down a glass corridor. All the while curious heads, men and women in their twenties and thirties, keep lifting up to peek at us. Finally, Carmela opens a door in front of us. “Your office is this way.” She steps in front of me, takes a turn to the right, and makes an expansive gesture with one hand. “What do you think?”

I look around in awe. At the large kidney-shaped desk with a thick glass top, the curving cream sofa, the two easy chairs, and the conference table with eight chairs. This is Italian style at its best. My new office is at least twice the size of Willa’s room back in London. “My goodness. It’s so big.”

“Nice, huh?”

“Nice? Wow. I love the furniture. I certainly never expected an office that could fit a conference table.”

Carmela laughs. “Good. Rosella, the person you are taking over from, liked to hold all staff meetings in her office where she served pastries, coffee, tea, hors d’oeuvres, and even dim sum. Of course, you might want to do things differently.”

I grin. “No. I think it’s a brilliant tradition.”

Carmela grins back. “Are you ready for the tour?”

From then on it’s a whirlwind of people’s faces and names, all blending together. She shows me to a large production studio where a lot of in-house visual content is created. Full of excitement I go from department to department. The Green Room, where celebrities or talent wait before participating in a photo or video shoot. The large styling area, the newsroom with all the TVs so that everybody can follow breaking news or cover awards, the kitchen and bar areas for when deadlines are approaching and staff work around the clock. I can hardly believe how big and glamorous Mirabel’s Rome arm is.

With the tour over, Carmela introduces me to the editorial staff. I’d worried how everyone would react to having a new editor, but so far, there doesn’t seem to be any problem. Everyone is courteous and friendly. Maybe if they knew how I got the job they wouldn’t be so cooperative, but at the moment all is hunky dory.

By the time I’ve met everyone and understood what they all do, it’s nearly time for lunch.

“Ready for a break?” Carmela asks.

“Am I ever!”

Carmela takes over and introduces me to her favorite restaurant in the area.

“I’ve been wondering,” I say as we step inside a small intimate café where painted butterflies decorate the walls, “how your English is so perfect.”

Carmela smiles. “I went to the San Diego State University for my bachelor of arts degree in English. I am working my way up. One day I plan to become the editor of a magazine too.”

I give her a big smile. “I think you’ll make a great editor one day. Thank you for making it so easy for me today.”

“My job is to help you.”

Back at my office, I drop into my black leather chair and try to assimilate and absorb what I’ve learned, as well as collate everything that goes into the magazine. I’m also supposed to write the editorial piece of the month. I buzz Carmela. I ask her to bring me copies of the magazine for the past six months. In a couple of minutes she enters my office carrying the stack.

After she leaves I pick up one of the copies and flick through it. The quality surprises me. The paper is much thicker than those used by Mirabel in England. Of course that has to do with money from advertisers. As I slowly go through the pages to get a feel for it, I’m further impressed by how darned good the magazine is. Suddenly, I feel very lucky to have landed the job—thanks to Dante or not.

As I look through the six publications, I notice that most of the editorials touch only indirectly on the world of fashion. Rather they comment on a wide range of things—from climate change to population growth. It makes me wonder what I should write about for my first editorial. I lean back and stare at the door.

Then an idea flashes into my mind.

I’ll write about an Englishwoman gazing at the Romans and their ways and describe how I react to what I see. With that settled, I decide to start on the piece right away. First develop an outline, then figure out the most important things to concentrate on.

Utterly lost in my thoughts, I’m unaware I’m not alone until someone clears his throat. My head jerks up. For a second it doesn’t registe

r then I jump up to my feet in confusion.

“Signore Ricci. I’m so honored to meet you,” I say nervously.

He laughs, his face tight with plastic surgery. “I don’t bite, you know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Isn’t that what the Americans say when they want to put you at ease?”

I smile with relief. “Yes, I suppose they do.”

“Please, please, sit back down. I came to see how you like everything so far.”

I remain standing, uncomfortable with the notion of sitting while he is on his feet. “Everything is …”

He strolls in. “A little overwhelming, yes?”

“Yes,” I admit.

“That’s why I’d like you to take some time to acquaint yourself with our beautiful city. I believe you know Rome only fleetingly.”

“Yes, you’re right.”

“What do you think so far?”

My smile widens. “How could anyone not love Rome?”

“Splendid.” He sits in one of the chairs and leans back, which allows me to slip into my chair too.

He regards me with clever, cunning eyes. “I’d like you to learn as much about the city as possible.”

“I certainly hope to do just that.”

“I’m going to make it a little easier for you to do so. Before you begin here, I’d like you to take at least a week off and become better acquainted with the city, our culture, the inhabitants.”

I frown. “Before I begin work, Signore?”

“But of course. I would like you simply to learn and enjoy yourself while doing so.”

I stare at him. “You want me to take time off to explore the city?”

“Definitely. You cannot write about what you do not know, nor can you write for people you do not understand. You’ll need to know Rome intimately before you begin to write even one sentence.”

“Yes, I see your point, Signore.”

“Of course, you can come into the office whenever you wish and confer with the staff. You are both a new resident and a new employee and have to adjust to both.” He stands and walks toward the door. “We’ll be seeing each other on occasion … though I generally like to take a ‘hands off’ approach.” He salutes. “Arrivederci.”

Surprise after surprise after surprise. This is going to be a wonderful job.

Chapter 14

Rosa

“I don’t know, Star. I’m so confused. The sex is amazing. I mean, like really hot. And he’s super charming as well, but if I keep going down this path I’m just going to get hurt. Bad.”

“Why? Why do you always have to play it so safe? Just take a risk. You never know what could happen. I have a good feeling about him. I really liked him and I think you’ll be good for each other. I can’t explain it, but from the moment I met him I had a funny feeling that he was the one for you. That he was going to put a ring on it.”

This is a funny conversation. It was usually me urging Star to take a risk and step out of her comfort zone. Then one day she took a leap out of it and has never looked back. “Yeah, he is fun, Star, but marriage material? Absolutely not,” I say as I turn the covers back on my bed.

“You shouldn’t be so hard on him, Rosa. Give him a chance. A baby can change a man.”

I stop and sniff the air. “Oh my God, Star. I can smell cannabis wafting in through the windows. Must be the kitchen staff from the restaurant downstairs. I hope my baby doesn’t inhale it.”

Star giggles.

Suddenly, I hear an unfamiliar buzzing sound.

“And what the hell is that?” I mutter.

“What?’ Star asks, her voice suddenly all concerned.

I glance around to see if there is an alarm clock I’ve missed. The buzzing comes again. “It’s the downstairs doorbell!”

“Don’t open the door, Rosa,” Star whispers.

“I’ll walk to the window and look down,” I whisper back.

“Who is it?” she demands.

I sigh. “Who else but a playboy. See what I mean, Star. What am I now? A booty call?” With more than a hint of annoyance and the phone still in my hand, I hurry down the stairs. I unlock the door, and swing it open. The sharp words at the tip of my tongue die away.

“Ciao, bella,” Dante says standing with one arm propped against the side of the building. It’s not fair. Damn him for looking like a model on the cover of GQ.

“Do you realize how late it is?” I ask, when I finally realize I should stop staring at him like a fool and say something.

“Of course I do. What better time to show you Rome than after dark when all the English tourists are in bed,” Dante says, beaming his irresistible smile at me.

“Oh.” I put the phone to my ear and hear Star laughing. I clear my throat.

“See what I mean?” she crows.

“I’ll call you in the morning. Good night.”

“Enjoy Rome,” she sings before ringing off.

“Thanks for the thought, but I was actually about to go to bed.”

His eyes widen thoughtfully, but to his credit he keeps his purpose. “Come on, let me take you out on a special excursion.”

Hell, I want to cave in and go with him so much, it’s embarrassing, but for my pride’s sake I make a token protest. “But it’s so late?”

He shakes his head. “I won’t take no for an answer.”

I make one last feeble attempt. “I’m already in my jammies.”

“Didn’t the owner of your magazine tell you to get acquainted with Rome before writing a single word?”

My eyes narrow. “Well yes, he did, but how do you know about that?”

“He told me, obviously.”

I scowl and cross my hands over my chest. “Is he going to be giving you reports on me?”

“Don’t be silly. Of course not. It was his first meeting with you and he happened to mention it.”

“Right,” I say suspiciously.

“Go on. Throw on a pair of jeans. I promise you won’t regret it. If I am not the best tour guide in Rome, I don’t know who is.” He smiles, and the warmth of it melts the last bit of feeble resistance I have inside me.

“I suppose you better come in and wait while I change,” I say hurrying back up the stairs.

I pull on a pair of white jeans and a lime-green crop top and go back out to the living room. He turns around from looking at my nest of photos. He walks over to me. Putting one finger under my chin he raises my face up to his. I stare into his eyes. They are almost yellow, like a wolf’s.

“God, how could anyone look so fucking edible?” he mutters thickly.

I remember how he ate me out last night and blush like a teenager.

He smiles slowly. “I never thought I’d see you blush.”

I open my mouth to say something cutting, but he lays his finger on my lips. “Sometimes, you don’t need to say anything, bella.”

Then he takes my hand and pulls me toward the stairs. “Come on. Rome awaits.”

“Where’s the taxi?” I ask, glancing around and expecting to see Salvatore parked nearby. When my eyes return to Dante, I find him taking helmets off a yellow Vespa.

“Oh, no. I’m not getting on the back of that thing with you!” I shake my head. “Those scooters are dangerous enough during the day.”

“Rosa, where is your sense of adventure?”

“I’d have to say, back in London.”

“Come on. All young lovers ride Vespas in Rome.”

“Is that what we are?”

“Get on and find out,” Dante says, holding out one of the helmets.

I hesitate for another second before I take it off him. “I hope I don’t live to regret this,” I mutter.

“You know Vespa means wasp in Italian,” Dante adds sweetly as I climb on the back of the scooter.

“Yeah, I hope that name doesn’t come from the sting you get when you fall and hit the pavement!” I grumble, strapping on my helmet.

“Just hold me tightly and y

ou won’t fall,” Dante advises, his eyes glinting.

I wrap my hands lightly around his hard body.

“Ready?”

“I think so,” I answer, and he gives gas to the scooter causing it to lurch forward.

“Eeeeee!” I scream in terror as I tighten my grip around his waist.

“That’s more like it,” he says with an evil laugh.

“You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” I accuse.

“Just relax,” he calls over his shoulder.

I do more than just hold onto Dante’s waist. I hug him so close my lips are pressing against the back of his neck as the wind blows into my face.

“Where are you taking me?” I shout to be heard over the noise of the scooter and the wind.

“It’s a surprise,” he yells back.

God, the streets are so different when viewing them while zipping around on the back of a Vespa. All of a sudden I realize that it doesn’t matter where we’re going. I’m enjoying both the ride and hugging Dante to ward off the fear I have of us crashing.

“We’re here,” Dante says pulling into the paved carpark of a fairly unremarkable restaurant/bar. It has a green awning and its name, Lo Zodiaco lit up. He turns off the ignition.

“You brought me to a restaurant?” I ask in surprise.

“I’ve brought you to the best kept secret in Rome. Go on, get down.”

Pulling off my helmet, I get off the Vespa. He gets off too, and taking my hand leads me around the side of the restaurant.

“I give you Rome after dark,” he says and points down at the city, ablaze in lights.

“Wow! Where are we?” I ask. The view of the city lights below is magical. I start walking forward towards the railing.

He joins me. “Monte Mario. This is the highest point in Rome.”

“It’s beautiful, Dante.” I gaze spellbound at the majestic splendor of Rome spread out below me.

For a long while neither of us speaks then Dante puts his arm around me. “Lovers come here at night.”

I turn my head and look at him. “Part of the seduction technique, is it?”