A fresh-looking shirt, which only has me blinking in confusion. How did he manage to get new clothes while I was asleep?
“Morning, bella,” Marco says, smiling at me. “Are you ready for a day out?”
I blink sleepily. “How did you…?”
Marco laughs. “My assistant came by this morning. She’s very reliable.”
The word ‘she’ goes through me like a bolt of lightning. I don’t know why Marco shouldn’t have a female assistant, but it stirs terrible jealousy within me. I bite my lip a second, before slowly rolling out of the bed from under the covers and getting up.
“I was thinking about wearing this dress today,” I say, pointing to a blue denim shirt dress with embroidered flowers scattered across it.
“It will be fitting,” Marco nods, pursing his lips to hide what I think is an amused smile. Giving him a sideways look, still wondering about this assistant he mentioned, I take my things into the bathroom to get ready.
When I come out, Marco is fully dressed too in another sharp black suit. I notice that he never wears a tie, only leaving the first few buttons of his shirt undone for a more casual look, even though it still makes him look even fancier than anyone else I’ve ever met.
“I’m ready,” I tell him, still feeling a little awkward. I still don’t know what we’re going to do today, even if I know what we’re building up to. I picked out my nicest underwear to wear today, but I still don’t feel remotely like the kind of women you see in lingerie advertisements. I’m just me, a little awkward, big, inexperienced, and all the rest.
“Then let’s go.” Marco swipes my purse off the side table and hands it to me as he ushers me towards the door. Out in the hall, he takes my arm and leads me down to the lobby and out to the street, where a car is waiting for us, much to my surprise.
I’m even more surprised when Marco slides behind the wheel, putting the key into the ignition – a key I didn’t even notice he was carrying.
“Something else your assistant brought?” I ask, buckling my seatbelt as I look around the interior of the car with wide eyes. I don’t know much about cars, but I can see that this one is very nice – and, by extension, very expensive.
“Easier for us to get around today,” Marco grins, pulling out into the road.
We drive to a broad street with glass-fronted stores, many of them for big names that I recognize – legendary Italian designers and brands. Marco parks up along the road, in front of a yellow and black sports car that crouches almost like a panther with its over exaggerated lines, and hurries around to my side to offer his help as I get out of the car.
I feel stupid – after all, I can get out by myself – but it’s also so flattering to have his attention, and I realize I am starting to feel like this is a special day. The car, the flashy street we’ve stopped on, Marco’s gentlemanly manner – we’ve only just begun, but I’m sure there is more to come.
“So, where do you like to shop?” Marco says, flashing me a grin.
I look up dubiously at the names of the stores near us. “I’ve never been anywhere like this,” I say, thinking of the chain stores I shop at back home and how cheap they seem compared to this.
Marco laughs. “Then let me guide you,” he says, walking me towards one of the nearby stores. I follow him with a little fear, will these stuffy Italian brands even have something for someone like me? Surely they only cater to women who are size zero, six foot tall, and impossibly proportioned?
My doubts increase as we step inside, past a security guard in a dark suit with an earpiece who eyes us only lightly before letting us pass, and I see the other customers in the store. They are just how I had imagined, so thin they look like a stiff breeze might blow them over.
Marco must sense something, maybe I’m shaking because he squeezes my hand tightly where it lays on his arm and draws me over to an assistant, flashing me a smile as he does so. I should trust him. I know he will look after me.
He says something that I can’t follow in Italian, and I let my eyes drift off as they talk, looking over the racks of beautiful clothes. It’s not at all like the places where I normally shop, where every surface is heaped with different garments and you have to search through them for something you like, every item here has its own space and consideration, highlighted so that you can admire the craftsmanship and style of each piece.
I’m startled when the assistant addresses me, holding out her hand as she asks me to follow her. I look at Marco; he nods encouragingly, so I follow her to a changing room with a plush armchair inside and a heavy velvet curtain to block the view. As I watch in surprise, the assistant rapidly dashes around the store, piling six different items one by one in my stall on a peg, three dresses, a coat, and a blouse with a pair of pants, all of them in my size.
I didn’t even tell her my size or what I wanted, but – somehow, she has picked out things that I love the look of.
She ushers me behind the curtain then, and I quickly change into the first dress, marveling at the feel of the fabric and how it seems to mold perfectly to my body. When I step shyly outside to show them, the assistant
