smiled. Drowning in debt, she planned to use the money to pay off her bills and buy a plane ticket to New York so she could spend the holidays with her family. Milan was expensive, and it was impossible for her to save money when she had to network every night of the week. Not that Zoe was complaining. She attended red-carpet events, charity galas and award shows, and mingled with the most important people in the fashion industry. In two short years, she’d developed strong relationships with magazine editors, beauty bloggers and supermodels, and her boss was thrilled with the progress she’d made. Best of all, she loved the energy and environment at Casa Di Moda, and hoped to work at the up-and-coming fashion house for many years to come.
“Ms. Smith, would you like to add anything else to your statement?”
Surfacing from her thoughts, Zoe shook her head and faced the police officer with the heavy accent and wiry black hair. “What happens now?” she asked. “Are you going to charge Mr. Morretti with distracted driving?”
The officer closed his notebook and tucked it into his front pocket. “No.”
“Why not? He was yapping on his cell phone and driving recklessly when the accident occurred. If that isn’t the definition of distracted driving, I don’t know what is.”
“Witnesses said Mr. Morretti had the right of way when you slammed into his car.”
“Yeah, right. And I was an astronaut in a past life,” she quipped.
The officer frowned. “Why would the witnesses lie? Furthermore, I interviewed everyone in the café across the street and the staff said the same thing. You crossed illegally.”
Stumped, Zoe closed her mouth. Am I at fault? Did I cause the accident? She tried to remember what happened, to visualize the scene in her mind’s eye, but her brain was foggy. Last night, she’d stayed up late working on the December events calendar, and Zoe was so tired, she’d dozed off at the kitchen table while reading the morning newspaper.
Her gaze landed on her mountain bike, lying in pieces on the cobblestoned road, and her shoulders sagged. Milan was flat, with no hills or valleys, and biking around the city was not only fun and economical, it was a great way for her to learn her way around. It had been a gift from her colleague, Jiovanni Costa, and Zoe had fond memories of them cycling through the countryside, talking, laughing and cracking jokes. The associate designer was the brother she’d never had, and if not for his friendship she never would’ve survived her first month in Milan.
“Am I free to go?” Zoe asked, addressing the police officers.
“You should go to the hospital to get checked out,” the emergency room doctor advised, pushing his rimless eyeglasses up the bridge of his nose. “I think it’s for the best.”
The police officer with the crooked teeth nodded his head. “I agree.”
Zoe was annoyed, but she didn’t argue with the three men crowded around her on the wooden bench. It wasn’t their fault Romeo Morretti had ruined her morning commute, and although she was tired of the doctor pressuring her to go to the hospital, she hid her frustration. “Thanks, but no thanks,” Zoe said, rising to her feet. Pain coursed through her right ankle, but she ignored the discomfort. “I’m good.”
Worry lines wrinkled the doctor’s forehead. “But you’re favoring your right side.”
He was right; she was. Dodging his gaze, Zoe stared down at her wedge sandals. Her shin was sore and her legs ached, but since it was nothing a warm bath and a glass of Chianti couldn’t cure, Zoe dismissed his concerns with a wave of her hand. “I’m fine. I don’t need to go the hospital. I need to go to work, and if I don’t leave now, I’ll be late.”
The men shared a worried look, and Zoe wondered if the police had the authority to take her to the hospital against her will. Anxious to get to the office, she crouched down on the road, grabbed her broken handbag and stuffed her personal items back inside. Her cell phone and her tablet were both cracked, and her makeup case was caked in mud. Pausing to look at the family pictures that had fallen out of her journal, her vision blurred. As she’d collided with Romeo Morretti’s car, images of her parents and her younger sister had flashed before her eyes. If her cell phone weren’t broken, she’d call them right now just to hear their voices. It was hard being away from her close-knit Trinidadian family, but Zoe loved living and working in Milan and wanted to help make Casa Di Moda a household name.
Standing, Zoe glanced around for a taxi stand. Spotting one across the street in front of a bakery, she swung her purse over her shoulder and gingerly approached the intersection. If she hurried, she could make it to the staff meeting on time, and her boss would never know she’d been an hour late for work. Zoe still couldn’t wrap her mind around what had happened. Her bike was destroyed, but she was alive and well, and that was all that mattered.
“Hey! Wait! Where are you going?” the police officer said, raising his voice. “You can’t leave your bike on the road all day. Someone could get hurt.”
Zoe frowned. What did he expect her to do? Carry it on her back to work? His tone was sharp, implying that his patience was limited. To smooth things over, she apologized for the inconvenience and thanked the officers in Italian for their help.
Everyone on the sidewalk—including Romeo Morretti—gawked at her. No doubt, they were shocked she spoke Italian. Everyone was. Two years ago, while traveling through Europe, she’d fallen in love with Milan, and after a chance meeting with up-and-coming fashion designer Aurora Bordellio at a networking event, she’d landed the public relations director position at Casa Di Moda. Thrilled to be living and working in her favorite city in the world, she’d devoted herself to learning the language, culture and history. Taking night classes at the local university and attending community events were the wisest things she’d ever done. When locals heard her speaking Italian, they instantly warmed up to her and went out of their way to help her.
The light changed, and pedestrians flooded the street. Taking her time, despite all of the people rushing past her, Zoe slowly crossed the intersection. High-rise buildings crowded the skyline, but she could still make out the top of the golden-painted statue on the Duomo and admired its beauty. Described by locals as the Italian Manhattan, Milan was a fast-paced city packed with entrepreneurs, university students, attractive women in the latest designer fashions, and wide-eyed tourists toting cameras and backpacks.
Zoe was tired and her ankle ached, but the sounds and aromas around her were invigorating. Milan had it all—historical buildings and monuments, breathtaking architecture, outstanding restaurants, and a vibrant nightlife—and every day, Zoe found something new to love about the city. Her work visa expired in the new year, and although she missed her friends and family back home, she teared up at the thought of leaving Milan.
“Where are you going?”
Zoe glanced over her shoulder and saw Romeo Morretti standing directly behind her, and gulped. What does he want? Her eyes zeroed in on him, taking in every aspect of his six-foot-three frame. He had a full head of curly brown hair and skin that looked smooth to the touch, and his lips were so thick and juicy, thoughts of kissing him overwhelmed her mind. He smelled of shampoo and aftershave; the strong, masculine scent tickled her nose. His piercing gaze and his boyish smile were a lethal combination. Zoe feared if she didn’t move, her knees would buckle, and she’d fall headfirst into his arms. Desperate to put some distance between them, she increased her pace, speed walking toward the taxi stand even though her ankle was killing her.
“Zoe, please, wait. Don’t run off. I can drive you wherever you need to go.”
Her
