A Fashion Felon in Rome by Anisa Claire West Page B

onto the bed and burying my face in a pillow.   Indignant tears stained the pillowcase as I wallowed in the painful reality that my relationship with Richard was over.  We hadn’t even made it to our one year anniversary.  Amidst my rage, though, a strange sense of relief flooded through me.  I had been falling out of love with Richard since…honestly, since the moment I met Massimo.  Or had I ever been in love with Richard at all?
    A knock on my hotel room door startled me out of my musings.  Tossing the pillow aside, I squared my shoulders and walked with dignity over to the door.  Peering through the peephole, I was shocked to see Massimo standing on the other side of the door.
    “What are you doing here?” I blurted out, instinctively pulling the ratty tee-shirt I had worn to bed down my knees to hide myself even though he couldn’t see me.
    “Good morning.  I wanted to take you to breakfast.  Is that okay?” He queried, sounding more than a tad nervous.
    “Breakfast?” I echoed, trying to remember the last time I had taken a shower.
    “Yes, but not a date,” he said hurried ly.  “Just a thank you meal for working so hard to solve the crime.”
    “I’d love to,” I breathed, glimpsing his smile through the peephole.  “Just give me a minute to get dressed.”
    “Take all the time you need,” he said chivalrously as I dashed to my suitcase and rummaged through my unworn outfits.
    Selecting a crepe dress with scalloped edges, I rushed to the bathroom for a makeshift “sink shower.”  Soaping myself up, I felt all thoughts of Richard and his betrayal evaporate like bubbles.  Feeling sufficiently clean, I stepped into the dress and a pair of sandals, pushing a hairbrush through my tresses and hurrying to meet Massimo at the door. 
    There was no time to apply even a drop of make-up.  I had no choice but to be my naked self that morning, unprotected by beauty products or designer threads.  I didn’t know in that moment whether I was meant to be a fashion maven or a homicide sleuth.  I didn’t know if I wanted my breakfast with Massimo to be just a “thank you meal” or the beginning of something far more intimate.  All I knew was that the old adage, one door closes and another one opens , was beautifully weaving its way into my life.  

     
    Epilogue
    1 Year Later
    Home Sweet Home
    Soothingly, the sewing machine stitched my shell camisole together at the seams.  I removed the needle and paused to admire the silk creation that was nearly complete.  All I needed to do was add a sweep of detail at the edges of the neckline.  Then I could slip into the camisole, pairing it with a sharp business jacket to wear to my meeting with a team of stylists later in the week.
    Since Sophia Pucci had flaunted my mermaid gown at the Cannes Film Festival, I had been inundated with requests from other European celebrities.  To date, I had designed and sewn more than 30 dresses and half a dozen custom tuxedoes.  My tailor shop was long gone, as was my cracked relationship with Richard.  New York was no longer home sweet home.
    “ Ciao, bella ,” Massimo swept into the dayroom, planting a kiss on my forehead.
    “Hello handsome,” I beamed.  “I have some linguine and clam sauce simmering on the stove downstairs.”
    “Sounds wonderful.” He smacked his lips.  “I need to talk to you about something over dinner.” His light tone became grave.
    “Another case?” I guessed.  Since helping to catch Tomaso’s murderer, I had joined forces with Massimo in several other high profile cases.
    “I know you’re busy with your design business, but I could really use your skills on this new case I’m working on.” Massimo massaged my shoulders as he spoke.
    I grinned and gave in.  “Sure, let’s go have dinner and you can tell me all about it.   And then you can go have your cigar.” I recalled that day in Massimo’s car when my father’s presence had felt so near. At the time, I