MIA
“What do you think about this one?” Fabi asked, turning the laptop to show me another choice for her after-party dress.
I tapped my phone against my lips. “That could work.”
“But?”
“But…it’s a little safe.”
“Safe? Mia, it has a slit up to here.” She traced a line up her thigh. “You remember my entire extended family and then some will be at this thing, right?”
We were hanging out at my place, our half-eaten lunch sitting in takeout containers on the coffee table. After I’d nearly collapsed from exhaustion on stage last week, Jenny had finally deemed me worthy of a few days off. She wasn’t happy about it. The updated schedule she’d sent me came with clear instructions to let her know if I felt recovered sooner. She’d be glad to put me right back to work.
I opened a new tab on my computer and navigated to a website. “I don’t mean safe as in not revealing. It’s just stylistically boring. You’re the bride. You can bring a little drama, you know? How about this brand?”
Fabi hummed as I scrolled through their latest collection of cocktail dresses.
I’d ordered one of them for a client just last night. I’d spent all day yesterday catching up on my styling work, which wasn’t exactly rest, but it was close enough. It was a lot less stressful than giving speech, after speech, after speech.
My remaining roster of ten clients seemed stable for now. And to my surprise, after the dinner at The Golden Circle, I did actually get an email from Romolo’s cousin about the newsletter.
He’d kept his word.
Two weeks after the election, once my obligations had ended, I’d be sent out to their mailing list.
The timing couldn’t be more perfect.
I paused on the next dress. “What about this?” I pointed to a sculpted white gown. It was cinched tight at the waist before flowing into a dramatic floor-length skirt with a thigh-high slit. The neckline—an architectural masterpiece—featured a structured, asymmetrical cut. One shoulder was left bare, while the other was adorned with a folded satin detail.
“Whoa,” Fabi breathed.
“Exactly.”
“You always do this,” she whispered. “Make me rethink everything until I’m obsessed with your choice.”
“And I do it for free. Aren’t you so lucky to have me as a friend?”
She elbowed me. “Hey, I’m convinced one of the reasons why you’re so good at this is because I gave you free rein to edit my closet all through boarding school. That was valuable experience.”
“True. You, Zo, and Nina were always game to wear the crazy looks I’d pieced together,” I said with a laugh, setting my laptop down on the coffee table.
Fabi picked up her mug and sighed. “Are you sure you’re okay with this? I feel terrible that you’re helping me pick out my outfit and you won’t even be at the wedding.”
I shrugged. “It is what it is.”
Did it suck that I’d miss my best friend getting married? Yeah, it sure did. But there was a silver lining. I wouldn’t have to spend the evening trying to avoid Romolo.
I was making progress on the whole forgetting him thing, I supposed. Not nearly as much as I would have liked. I still found myself daydreaming about him, wondering where he was and what he was doing. Wondering if he still thought about me. Probably not. I was sure he’d moved on. There wasn’t even anything real to move on from. Just an unexpected, unwanted, and utterly inappropriate spark of wild attraction between two people who were definitely not meant to be.
I’d buried myself in work in the weeks that had followed our goodbye.
As easy as it would have been to blame Jenny for the certifiable insanity that was my schedule, it wasn’t all her fault.
I could have pushed back on some of the things she wanted me to do. But I didn’t. I said yes to it all with a smile, losing myself in a whirlwind of campaign events and client meetings where I bent over backward to meet everyone’s expectations.
Until it had caught up to me.
Fabi sipped on her tea, still looking crestfallen about the wedding.
“Hey.” I reached out and squeezed her knee. “You’ll have a great time. Nina and Zo will be there, and you know they’ve got your back. There’s no point in being upset about something we can’t change.”
She sighed. “I know. You’re right. I just wish…”
“That my dad wasn’t trying to put your future father-in-law in jail?” I asked.
She winced. “Yeah.”
My phone rang. It was a client.
“I’ve got to take this,” I said to Fabi, getting to my feet. Eliza wasn’t the type of client to call just to chat. She was one of the biggest influencers in fashion right now, with a brand that had skyrocketed in the past few years. If she was calling, something was up.
“Hey, Mia. You’re not going to believe what just happened.”
I leaned against the kitchen island, which was only a few steps away from the sofa in my tiny East Village apartment. “Is everything okay with the dress?”
This year, I was styling Eliza for one of the most important fashion events in the city—the Stark Patrons Ball. This year, the theme was “Notte A Venezia.” It was such a big deal that we’d finalized her highly intricate Venetian gown months in advance. It was currently tucked away in a breathable garment bag in her closet—where, per my strict instructions, she’d also placed a humidifier to keep the air just right. No moisture, no disasters.
“If the dress wasn’t okay, the first thing you would have heard when you picked up would have been my hysterical crying. It’s totally fine. Don’t worry.”
“Thank God,” I said with a relieved laugh. “So what’s up?”
“My plus-one can’t make it to the ball anymore, and I was wondering… Would you like to come with me?”
I blinked at one of the bedazzled canvases hanging on my wall. “You’re kidding.”
“I’m completely serious. I’d love for you to be there.”
“What happened to your cousin? You were going to take him, right?”
“He has to stay in LA for some work thing. An audition, I think.” She sighed. “He’s really trying to make it as an actor. So what do you say?”
I nibbled on my fingernail. “Are you sure? There isn’t anyone else you want to invite instead?”
“I can’t think of anyone who’ll appreciate the atmosphere more than you. It’ll be a smorgasbord of fashion. Plus, you worked so hard on that stunning gown. I want to do something special to thank you.”
This was…unexpected, to say the least. Eliza and I had a great professional relationship, but it had never quite crossed into friendship. There were people in the city who’d kill for an invite to this event, and she was extending it to me?
“Can I think about it?”
“What’s there to think about?”
“I have to check my schedule,” I said. “You know it’s been crazy with everything going on.”
“I’m sure your dad’s people will understand. It’s really a no-brainer.”
Was it just me, or was she being a little pushy?
“I really appreciate the invitation. Let me get back to you.”
She cleared her throat. “Right, of course. But don’t think for too long. It’s soon!”
Very soon. I’d have to scramble to find something to wear. I wouldn’t need to go overboard, but I couldn’t show up in a little black dress either. There was no bigger faux pas at these things than not taking the theme seriously.
“Who was it?” Fabi asked, tearing her attention from her laptop as I sat back down beside her.
I told her the gist of the conversation. “It seems crazy to say no, but is it really a good use of my time? Jenny’s eager to put me back to work, and here I am asking for another night off?”
“You deserve a night of fun after the year you’ve had,” Fabi urged. “You’ve definitely earned it. Just say yes.”
One night of fun. Could I give myself that?
Maybe this was exactly what I needed to finally forget about Romolo.
I took out my phone and sent Eliza a text.
Her response was immediate.
Wonderful!!! I can’t wait.
An hour later, I hurried to the studio. With less than a week until the ball, I needed to figure out what I was going to wear fast. There was a velvet dress I had tucked away that I might be able to use. It had a fitted bodice with long sleeves, a square neckline, and a lush, voluminous skirt. Alone, it was much too plain, but I could alter it and add some embellishments. Since my days off were numbered, there was no time to waste.
Leaves crunched under my boots as I made my way toward SoHo. I liked New York in the fall, though summer was my favorite season. This last summer, however, felt like it had come and gone without me truly experiencing any of it.
I hoped next year would be better, though I wasn’t as confident as I wanted to be.
The campaign buzzed with energy, and while we were all trying to stay levelheaded, everything pointed toward my dad’s victory. I was happy for him, but…I was also anxious.
If my dad won, he was preparing for an all-out war against the Ferraros. He was already working with the DA to build a bulletproof case. I didn’t know the details, but the thought of Romolo’s name potentially appearing in the case made my stomach twist.
In addition, Jenny had started hinting at what my obligations might look like once he was elected.
Obligations I wasn’t supposed to have.
When she’d spoken to me about it, Romolo’s words had played at the back of my head. “Tell me…who takes care of you?”
His delivery had been unnecessarily rude, but…it had made me think.
Was there ever going to be a time when my parents wholeheartedly supported my career? Or would it always feel like a negotiation—me trying to carve out time to follow my ambitions, while they told me my time was better spent somewhere else?
I wasn’t opposed to still attending an event here and there with my dad after he became mayor, but if it looked like it was snowballing into something more, I’d have to put my foot down. No matter how uncomfortable the thought of doing that made me feel.
Wrapping my arms around myself, I turned onto Broderick Lane. I was still a few blocks away from the studio when something made me stop in my tracks.
I stared at the storefront to my left.
It was Kassandra’s studio. Or at least, it had been.
It was empty. A For Lease sign dangled from the door, swaying in the late afternoon breeze.
What? Kassandra had been in that space for at least ten years, and now she was just…gone. The last time I’d walked by here was maybe a week ago. It hadn’t been empty then.
I stepped closer, peering through the glass, half expecting to see some kind of note or a sign announcing to a new location. But there was nothing. Just the empty space inside, stripped bare.
Strange.
When I reached my studio, I barely had my coat off before I was flipping open my laptop. There had to be something online. A post, an announcement—something.
But I didn’t even have to search.
The answer was sitting in my inbox.
A message from a former client—one who’d left me for Kassandra—asking if I’d consider taking her back.
Apparently, Kassandra had sent out a notice to her client list just this morning to say she was shutting down her business and moving to Vermont.
I pressed my fingers to my lips. Wow. That business was her baby.
What happened?
