He’s thoughtful and mature, and I’ve never known him to make statements on a whim.
If he thinks I need to lighten up…God. Maybe I do.
Lena
“My tits are taped, my hoo-ha’s waxed, and if I take a full breath tonight, it’ll be a bloody miracle,” my friend Pippa lists off in her thick English accent. “I reckon I’m all set to get pissed tonight.”
I laugh, pull the last stroke of eyeshadow across my lid, and then toss down the brush on the bathroom vanity in front of me as Pippa repeatedly squishes her boobs together with the heels of her hands. I glance down at my own breasts and shake my head. Perky C cups that look fantastic braless is about the only thing my witch of a mother passed down to me.
I turn toward Pippa and lean a skirt-clad hip into the countertop. “Have you ever been pissed, as you put it? I’ve never even seen you pick up a drink in the nine months I’ve known you.”
Pippa Parker is the first friend I made in Milan when I showed up for my one-year course at the Milano Institute of Fashion at the beginning of the year. She had wide eyes, a nervous smile, and as it turns out, a big, welcoming heart. She’s a lot younger than me—twenty-one to my twenty-eight—but when it comes to knowing what she wants, she’s light-years ahead. She’s been planning her attendance at the Milano Institute of Fashion since she was a little girl.
Besides all that, I’ve never heard someone laugh the way she does, and she does it often. Her energy has been a much-needed reprieve from the self-deprecation I’ve been struggling with as I try to find my way in the world—as I try to prove to my vapid mother that I’m more than a flaky woman who has nothing to rely on but her looks.
I’m not sure how I’ll feel when we go our separate ways after spending all this time being two peas in an Italian-flavored pod. We’re roommates, study buddies…pretty much everything to each other over here.
“Well, no, but I figure tonight is as good a night as any,” she responds, and I quirk a questioning brow at her. “What? It is, Lena! We’re done with classes. All we have left are our internships. We’re on holiday, for bloody sakes, and for once in my life, I want to celebrate!”
“You have a point,” I agree. “I mean, we are supposed to be letting loose before internships start.”
“Exactly.” She winks. “Show me how it’s done. Show me how to be like Lena Hawkins, life of the party!”
“Pippa…”
“No, no. Now, I know you’ve been on your man ban or whatever the hell you like to call it, but we’re on the Amalfi Coast of Italy, for crike’s sake! Let your hair down, drink, dance your tight little arse off, and show me how it’s done. Grant me access to your witchcraft.”
I roll my eyes at her theatrics but do her the friendly courtesy of considering what she’s said. I am, in fact, on what I’ve been calling a man ban.
When I made the decision to go to fashion and design school in Milan, I promised myself to do it differently.
To stop flitting through life expecting the answers and focus to come to me, and instead, put my energy and hard work into making it happen. As much as my mother would like me to find a rich man to settle down with like she has, I can’t stand the thought of being a secondary character in my own life.
I want a career. A purpose. A life that has not one shred of a similarity to the life of my mother, Victoria Hawkins.
And men…well, they are my ultimate distraction.
I left New York with a trail of boyfriends and breakups littered and scattered behind me, and I didn’t want Milan to be like that—don’t want my future to be like that.
I’m done with the emo-feelers, the past-hardened tortured souls, and the free-thinking dreamers.
One day, when I’m ready to take my love life back by the horns, I need a guy who knows who he is. A guy who’s steady and reliable and doesn’t dance around decisions like I have in the past. Someone who keeps my heart in flight and my feet on the ground. Someone who’s invested in making me my own hero instead of a damsel they can save.
Up until now, I’ve stayed true to myself and the ban and the future I’m fighting to create. I haven’t flirted or flounced or fucked at all.
But Pippa’s right in a way, and tonight is definitely worthy of uninhibited celebration.
I need to let go and let loose, and in the process, maybe even teach myself that I can have a focused, attentive, purposeful life and have fun at the same time.
I shrug. “All right, Pip. For one night, and one night only, I’m prepared to lift the man ban just for you. But you should prepare yourself. I’m aces at negotiations.”
Pip snorts. “Negotiations?”
“Flirting,” I clarify with a little smirk. “I mean, flirting is one hell of a negotiating tool when it’s used right…”
“That sounds a little more like manipulation.”
“Meh.” I wave her off. “When women receive equal pay, aren’t penalized in their careers for having babies, and aren’t criticized as being unladylike when they speak their minds or express their sexuality, I’ll stop using my skills at flirtation for selfish gain. Until then, manipulative or not, I’ll keep doing what I do best and not feel the least bit guilty about it.”
I shimmy my braless breasts as an exclamation point to my words, and Pippa’s snort is loud enough to wake the dead.
“Bloody hell, are your tits loose?” Pippa grabs my shoulders and turns me to face her for further inspection. I shuck her hold and grab my purse so we can get this show on the road. The taxi was supposed to be downstairs almost ten minutes ago. Pippa follows my lead, but she doesn’t do it without comment. “If I went without a bra to a nightclub, people would have to sign waivers before I stepped onto the floor.”
I laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m serious.” She points down to her breasts. “These double D’s could cause some serious injuries if they’re let loose while I’m dancing around. Be thankful your tits are perky. All you’ll have to worry about is a line of wankers gagging to shag you.”
I’m still laughing as we make it downstairs to the taxi and climb inside with our two other friends from design school, Sophie and Frederick. They’re the most responsible of us and have been waiting downstairs with the cab since it arrived.
“Sorry, guys,” I say with a wince as we pull away from the hotel and onto the narrow, winding, coastal road.
Pippa laughs as Sophie and Frederick turn their eyes to her. “What? You got one blimey apology. That’s good enough.”
Luckily, Sophie and Frederick know Pippa enough not to let her comment bother them, and we all spend the fifteen-minute ride to the club chattering.
Lights dance out on the water from yachts and fishing boats alike, and a small breeze blows through the tiny opening the cab driver left in his window.
Our resort is outside of the main town of Positano, built into a cliff that gives one of the best views on the Amalfi Coast. It might have been slightly inconvenient if we’d been trying to spend our days wandering through the small streets and alleys of the Positano town center, but the resort’s had everything we’ve needed for a laid-back good time so far.