“Enough,” Fi said out loud, rinsing her cup and placing it in the drying rack. In the bathroom, she squeezed into the shower, lingering under the miniscule shower head and letting the warm water clear the rest of the cobwebs from her mind. Getting out, Fi studied her face in the mirror. Shadows ringed her large eyes, making her look like she’d had a wild night out instead of a listless night of sleep, and her tangle of hair was already beginning to dry.
A moody face, her mother always said. Her father had called her an indignant pixie.
Either way, Fi’s emotions always rang out across her face, and today she looked wounded. Sighing, she applied some concealer under her eyes, smudged a smoky liner along her lids, and patted a rosy hue on her lips with her fingers. Considering herself ready for the day, Fi pulled on a trim grey jumper and slim black pants, and slid her feet into the soft leather boots the Italians were such geniuses at creating. Tossing a checkered scarf around her neck, she hitched her leather tote over her shoulder and left her flat, clattering down the six flights of stairs to the busy street below. The stairs had put her off at first, but now, after routinely indulging in the delicious food Italy had to offer, Fi was grateful for the exercise she was forced to endure when returning to her home each day after work.
“Ciao, bella,” called Fernando, the man who ran the coffee shop just below her flat, as she breezed by. “You never come see me anymore.”
“I like to keep my men guessing.” Fi blew him a kiss as he laughed after her. Smiling, she swung past the tables lining the sidewalk and sauntered down the cobblestone street, endlessly charmed by the juxtaposition of old and new on the winding streets of this town. Today she just had to help finalize the last contract in a negotiation for a large tour company she was working with and then she was rewarding herself with a holiday. Which meant Fi could take the afternoon to shop and plan for Grace’s upcoming hen party.
She was happy for her friend, Fi mused as she turned and pushed open a door to a small building at the end of the street. In fact, she could pat herself on the back for bringing Dylan and Grace back together. If not for Fi, her stubborn cousin would have refused to see Dylan forever and ever, and they’d have missed out on something amazing.
They were good together. It was something that Fi craved – no, demanded; since she had yet to find it, she hadn’t made the plunge into love. Pushing such thoughts away as she walked into the reception area, Fi beamed at the trim woman who greeted her, and followed her through to the boardroom, which was done up in deep mahogany and emerald green tones. Fi appreciated the Italians’ flair for design; even in corporate workspaces, color was used to add panache. She moved to the stack of documents that waited for her at the end of the table and barely looked up for the rest of the morning, engrossing herself single-mindedly in the task at hand.
It was a trait that had both pleased and frustrated her mother – as a child, Fi had often become so focused on whatever task she was involved in that she missed hearing her mother call her. Her father always said that someone could set the room on fire around Fi and she wouldn’t notice until the book she was reading went up in flames. It was like that with her work as well, but now the trait was well-applauded as she always finished her translations on time, and usually earlier than the agreed-upon deadline.
Today was another such day. After she’d finished typing up her report on the slim laptop she’d brought with her in her tote, Fi let out a breath and leaned back in the chair, rolling her neck to ease the tension from her shoulders. Now for the fun stuff – she could plan Gracie’s hen party and pack for going home to see her family, who would undoubtedly welcome her like she was the long-lost child who’d forgotten about them.
It had only been six months since she’d last been home, but a lot had changed in that time. Grace had found love, something which still surprised Fi. Not because she didn’t think Grace was worthy of love; oh no – she deserved the best man in the world. But Fi had been convinced that hunkering down at her little cottage by the cove was a guaranteed ticket to spinsterhood for Grace. Nevertheless, love had coming knocking – well, bulldozing, if she were to be precise. Still, Dylan and Grace had found their way into love and now Fi wondered if there was something to be said after all for settling in one spot.
“I really must be tired,” she said out loud. She stood, packing her things and neatly stacking the folders of contracts. It wasn’t like her to crave normalcy – well, that which she termed normalcy: husband, house, a couple of kids.
Saying goodbye to the woman at reception, Fi wandered into the street and checked her phone for directions to the little secondhand shop she’d looked up earlier. It had promised vintage bridal dresses, and that was the theme Fi had decided on for Grace’s hen party. Turning the corner, she ignored the calls of various men as she walked past. She’d gotten used to the forward ways of Italian men, and when she was in the right mood she even indulged it, but today it only annoyed her.
The dark red arched door of the vintage shop beckoned her and Fi gratefully dipped inside, ready to enjoy some retail therapy.
“Ciao, benvenuta.” An older woman nodded in greeting, her dark hair threaded with grey. She wore a deep green dress and a gold necklace in the design of a snake.
“I’m here to look at your vintage bridal gowns,” Fi said, and the woman nodded her head once more, toward a door that led to a room in the back. Appreciating the unfussy nature of the woman, who didn’t seem interested in chattering, Fi breezed through the shop to the back room. Two long racks lined each wall, bursting with dresses.
“Oh, wow,” Fi crowed, and pulled out a notebook where she’d recorded everyone’s sizes. In less than an hour she’d amassed a pile of tulle and sequin that had even the clerk curious.
“Can’t decide which one is for you?” the clerk asked, glancing at where Fi had piled the dresses on a chair.
“Nope, those are for my friends. I’ll take all of them. I just have to pick mine out,” Fi said, strolling up and down the racks. Her eyes finally landed on a dress that looked like it was straight from a dominatrix store, not meant for a vintage bridal shop.
“I think this will do. But I’d like to try it on first.”
“That’s certainly a choice,” the clerk said.
Fi bit back a smile. She didn’t have the heart to admit that she was picking the ugliest dresses she could find in order to have a spoof-wedding hen party.
“I’ll just be right out,” Fi said and carried the dress into the fitting room. Pulling the mustard-yellow curtain closed behind her, she undressed quickly and slipped the dress over her head.
“May I see?”
“Sure,” Fi said, not seeing a mirror in the room. She stepped out to where the clerk stood by a long mirror on the wall next to the fitting room curtain.
“It works for you,” the clerk said.
Fi almost giggled when she realized the woman was absolutely serious. There was no way she’d ever be caught in… whatever this shiny material was. Then she turned, and her mouth dropped open when she saw herself in the mirror.
It should have been ridiculous. The latex dress, dripping in sequins with a pouf of ruffles at the hem, hugged her body like a second skin. For once in her life, she looked like she had actual curves instead of the boyish figure she always complained to Grace about. Her eyes looked huge in her face, and oddly alluring.