DEDICATION
For my Mom, who set an example of strength and independence.
For my husband, who didn’t care about any of that.
For my brother, Peter who left this world too soon. Your battles are over. You are now safe and forever in our hearts.
RIP
36°49.764 N
075°54.794 W
CHAPTER ONE
wendolyn Mallory Foley tapped the toe of her left shoe during her interview at Prada.
GDiscreetly, since those red sling backs weren’t Prada.
Enrico Petrillo, Director of Operations for the US Corporate Offices in New York City, with his wavy salt and pepper hair, scanned her resume. For several minutes, she bragged about her degree from the Fashion Institute of Technology, FIT for short, and highlighted her years of industry experience.
The director removed his tortoise-shell glasses and studied her with warm, brown eyes. “So, Gwendolyn, what could you do for Prada, that we have not already thought of?”
She sat up in his guest chair and smiled. “I want to make sure every girl has at least one Prada label in her arsenal. I see a campaign saying something like, ‘Think about the one thing in your closet you love the most. That one thing should be Prada.’” She flashed her hand like a banner in the air. “And considering many Manhattan closets are no bigger than pantries, valuable real estate shouldn’t be wasted on rayon and polyester, am I right?”
“We always hope to sell more than one thing to our customers,” Enrico said with good humor and handed her resume to Salvatore Corella, New York’s head designer. Whatever those two were wearing, all Gwen smelled was rich, tangy leather.
Salvatore barely glanced at her resume though, before he tossed it on Enrico’s polished desk.
“What is in your closet?” His thick accent would take some getting used to.
Gwen tugged the skirt of the Simply Vera coat dress she’d bought at Kohl’s. “Is my current wardrobe part of the interview? The average person cannot afford Prada, gentlemen.” She wanted to change that.
Waving off the misunderstanding, Enrico said, “No. No, of course not.”
“The one thing in my closet right now is a Michael Kors dress.” She wisely didn’t wear that to the interview.
Enrico gave a soft chuckle.
She hoped her hand-me-down little black dress, or her vintage colorful wrap number, or even one of her many pencil skirts from Target wouldn’t get her laughed out of the building. Gwen couldn’t afford much else at the moment.
Six months ago, she’d quit her job at Starlight Elegance—a small fashion house specializing in exotic lingerie. Despite being the promotions manager, a title she walked through fire for, the owner had started suggesting she attend events modeling the latest barely-there undies and push-up bras. It wasn’t her job to show off the clothes, in fact she’d held models in silent contempt.
Enrico stood. “Scusa please. Salvatore and I need a moment to...discuss. Can I get you anything while you wait? An espresso?”
Gwen unfolded herself from a burgundy suede wing chair she could fall asleep in. “No, thank you.”
The door clicked shut behind the men. She’d met Enrico last year during Fashion Week when Starlight had a brief time slot to feature its spring line. When a head-hunter friend emailed Gwen with Enrico’s cute, retro Must Love Fashion job post last week, she’d emailed him directly, explaining her dire out-of-work situation. He’d been eager to meet with her to discuss the Publicity and Marketing Executive position at Prada because he needed someone fast.
It often took months to complete the hiring process with such high-profile companies. Enrico had fast-tracked her through H.R. and explained he had an L.A. fashion show coming up in less than a month.
Wringing her fingers, Gwen focused on the magnificent view of the New York City skyline. She passed the time by checking her phone, praying her last active credit card wasn’t being canceled. The only bill she’d been paying was her mortgage. Any money left over went to electricity and then food.
Gwen didn’t want this interview to be about hiring a colleague who desperately needed a job.
She’d been swimming in a small, murky pond with big-fish ideas that wouldn’t have translated in the lingerie world. A prestigious fashion house like Prada would have been the next logical step for her career, anyway.
Five minutes later, Enrico returned. Alone. “Well, Gwendolyn, I hope you have a big enough closet for your new Prada clothing allowance.” He put his hand out to her. “The job is yours if you want it.”
The earth moved beneath her Payless shoes. Containing her emotions, she shook Enrico’s hand.
“Thank you. I... I won’t let you down.”
“I am sure our brand manager, Andrew, who you’ll be working closely with, will love your ideas,” Enrico said.
Andrew? Hmmm. She wondered why this Andrew had not been brought up until now. And how close will she have to work with him?
Musing about the mysterious Andrew, she gathered her portfolio and turned to leave.
Enrico, however, leaned in and said, “I will be sure to tell Michael I hired a woman who spent hard-earned money on one of his dresses.”
Gwen smiled, not mentioning it was a Michael, by Michael Kors and sold at Macy’s. A girl’s gotta do, what a girl’s gotta do.
She signed her contract and agreed to start the following Monday. A whole new life was waiting for her on the other side of the weekend.
On the train going home, it all hit her.
“I work at Prada! ” She pushed back in her seat and laughed.
“Congratulations,” the conductor said, standing over her. “That’ll be eighteen dollars.”
Frowning, she handed over the last of her cash.
As the train slogged its way to Darling Cove, a hamlet on the North Fork of Long Island, the view changed from cityscapes and tall apartment buildings, to small-town suburbia, quaint shops, and vast acres of farmland. The downside to her dream job was the long daily commute. Only a handful of people were stupid enough to live way out there and work in Manhattan.
Starlight Elegance had allowed Gwen to telecommute, but she knew it wasn’t normal to go days without leaving the house, putting on makeup, or washing her hair. Everything about this new opportunity would improve her life. She could feel it.
An hour and forty minutes later, Gwen hopped off the train. She breathed in and sighed happily.
Late harvesting grapes ready to burst off the branches in nearby vineyards perfumed the October air.
She adored the North Fork, a thin stretch of coast made up of unique glacial soil surrounded by the Long Island Sound and Atlantic Ocean. Darling Cove was one of the many small towns enriched by the wine industry, thanks to hot summer days and ocean breezes floating across the farms, keeping the grapes cool and moist at night.
That morning she’d walked to the train station, cursing the brisk weather, but now the warm October afternoon made the trek back to her house pleasant. She was halfway home when a police car
rolled up next to her.
“Jaywalking is illegal ma’am,” the officer said in a gruff voice.
“I’m on the sidewalk, Greg.” She turned to her brother, shielding her eyes from the sun’s sharp angles. She loved this time of year for long shadows and trees in their full red and gold glory. “And who are you calling ma’am? You’re five years older than me.”