Ever since I was young, I killed time by sketching designs in sketchbooks that I would buy using money I earned from doing chores, sweeping hair up at the local hair salon, babysitting, or by helping the older lady across the street carry groceries in.

I had sketchbooks galore, with designs categorized by my creatively named collections.

I dreamed of being a fashion designer with top models fighting to pose in my clothes, featured in top fashion magazines like Marie Claire, Harpers Bazaar, InStyle, Cosmopolitan, and Vogue.

And then, when I was seventeen, I discovered a reality show—Project Runway—in which fashion contestants compete to design a collection for New York Fashion Week.

I was inspired by the rush they seemed to have, involved in all that encompassed Fashion Week. I was lucky enough to get a taste of this during my design school days.

But nothing of this magnitude.

It’s been a crazy stack of days since Antonio and I returned to Milan. We both have busied ourselves deep in the throes of making sure we have everything perfectly laid out for the show—including the song set for the runway.

1. Donna Summer—She Works Hard For The Money

2. Cyndi Lauper—Girls Just Wanna Have Fun

3. Eurythmics—Sweet Dreams

4. Janet Jackson—Control

5. Pat Benetar—Love is a Battlefield

6. Vanity 6—Nasty Girl

7. Salt-N-Pepa—Push It

8. Sheila E—Glamorous Life

9. Gloria Estefan—Conga

10. Madonna—Express Yourself

Each song represents the theme and I’ve been working hard, sketching what I believe will best accompany each lingerie piece inspired by the song.

Purses. Shoes. Hairstyles. Hats. Jewelry. Layers of Clothing—the tedious behind-the-scenes stuff that drives designers mad.

Antonio approved of the song choices, and he was highly impressed by the sketches, believing all will beautify each scene we present.

Now, I’ve gotta go hunt for many of these items, which should be a snap since I’m surrounded by every fashionable boutique I could dream of.

Only one problem. Antonio won’t allow me to venture out on my own—a battle we’ve been discussing now, for over an hour.

“I don’t get why you don’t approve of me going on my own. You’re busy with business stuff, so I should take this time to purchase all of the items on my list.” I slouch down onto the sofa in the fashion expo office, arms and legs crossed in protest.

“And I don’t get why you don’t understand that I don’t want you out on the streets of Milan on your own.”

“Antonio. It’s Milan. During Fashion Week. What could go wrong?”

He scoffs from behind the desk he’s sitting at, while working on business spreadsheets. “It’s not quite Fashion Week yet. And the fact that there are so many people out there right now—drawn here specifically for the event—just about anything could go wrong.”

I roll my eyes and throw my arms in the air.

“Look, Liza and Jonah will be here Friday. I’ll feel better if you go with one, or even both of them, okay?” He smiles and that, on its own, settles my grievance.

“That’s two days away. What do I busy myself with until then?”

“Well.” He stands away from his desk chair and walks over to sit next to me. “How about you attend some of these? I won’t be able to go, but I’d appreciate if my Sassy Assistant goes in my place.”

“Sassy Assistant?” I say, taking the pre-fashion-show guest pass from his hand.

“Since day one.” He winks. “This pass will get you into all of the events located in this expo center and should keep you busy until Friday. I’ll expect updates on all of the latest trends on fabrics and accessories.”

I gesture a hand salute. “Yes, Sir.”

He chuckles. “But first, how about an early dinner before the crowds take up all the restaurant space? I think we both can use a fashion-focused break.”

“Pizza?”

“You read my mind.”

Pizza AM is located in Downtown Milan, with festive décor and a small menu. At first, I’m put off by their small menu options, but Antonio swears a smaller menu translates into better, more thoughtfully prepared cuisine. He takes the liberty of ordering for us. I don’t want to take the chance of ordering pepperoni and get told pepperoni in Italy is actually sweet bell peppers.

“Trust me on this one.”

“You’re the boss,” I say in a brat-ish, unfazed tone.

“Says the Sassy Assistant.”

I shake my head.

I do trust him.

More than he knows.

“Thanks for the pass. I’m looking forward to attending all of the events.”

“Oh, not a problem. I hope you understand my concerns. You’re a beautiful woman. It’s bad enough guys gawk even when you’re with me.”

I feel my eyebrows snap together. “No, they don’t.”

He snarls, “Uh, yeah, they do.”

“Well, I probably haven’t noticed because I’ve sworn off men.”

His jaw drops. “You’ve sworn off men?”

“Yep. Ever since Jacob Ryan broke up with me via text. That day, I decided men are off limits.”

His expression softens. “Interesting. And for how long?”

“How long what?”

“Will you be men-less? A day, month, year—”

I raise my chin. “Forever.”

“That’s a mighty long time. You’ll break a lot of hearts.” He drums the tips of his fingers along the table.

“Which is so much better than anyone breaking mine.”