barely legal | max verstappen ✓

chapter 11 | milano got blurry

«But it's not real and you don't exist, and I can't recall the last time I was kissed.»

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Lorenzo held her face in his hands, calling her bellissima and squeezing her cheeks. Sloane giggled. She adored Lorenzo, he'd been one of her first introductions to editorial fashion — admittedly it had been thanks to her mother, so nepotism or whatever — and he'd always treated her with nothing but respect and appreciation. Which sometimes was hard to find in the fashion industry.

"Sloane." He pronounced her name intonating the A and the E. It reminded her of the way Aurora used to do it at the beginning of their friendship. She liked it. "Beautiful Sloane," Lorenzo said and held her hands in his. "I'm so happy to see you."

"You're like my favourite person to work with, Lore." She said and the designer beamed.

His hand reached to touch a strand of her hair. "Your mother was here a few weeks ago." She nodded, remembering her parents' little visit to Monaco after their trip to Italy. Lorenzo raised an eyebrow. "She mentioned you have been stressing her out and causing some headaches. What have you been doing to her?" His smile was complicit, the way someone who knew her mother and her temperament would smile.

Her mother and Lorenzo had known each other for a while. Early in Lorenzo's career, Marjo was one of his clients who later became a good friend. They were still good friends, as far as she was concerned. It wasn't just a business relationship.

Sloane huffed and rolled her eyes. "She just doesn't like my boyfriend."

The designer seemed surprised. He placed a hand on his chest and looked at her with wide eyes. "Il ragazzo who drives for la Ferrari? She doesn't like him?"

She shook her head and twisted her face into a grimace. "I'm not dating him anymore, Lore." Out of everybody, she couldn't blame him for not knowing. It had been a while and he was a bit allergic to social media.

"Then who is the unlucky guy who's earning your mother's bad eye this time?" His tone held a hint of tease.

"A guy who drives for one of the other teams. Red Bull."

Lorenzo stopped fiddling with his measurement tape and raised his eyebrows. His lips curved into a smile whatsoever. He chuckled, softly, in a way Sloane knew he was aware of what her mother thought about the situation. About her just dating guys who moved in the same circle. Guys who knew each other and were friends. From certain angles, and if she ignored the bad, the story was entertaining, really. Lorenzo placed the tape around his neck and stood in front of her, holding her by the arms.

He tilted his head and analysed her face. Sloane smiled, one of her sweet ones.

"What have all those drivers done to deserve a girl like you? I'll never understand." She scoffed and he grinned pleased. "Don't let Marjo get into your head, I know she can be quite...judgemental." Quite was an understatement. "But let me tell you, back in the day, when she was younger and before she met your dad, your nonno worked all those businesses in football, and she loved going with him to galas and meetings. I always dressed her for those, and she didn't go exactly because she enjoyed those events." Sloane pressed her lips to avoid laughing. The idea of her mother fooling around was funny. "If you're happy, that's what matters." Everybody would say the same. All Sloane could do was smile. 

Being happy about something that wasn't real leaned into complicated territory.

Lorenzo didn't ask any more questions, and the topic died with her just accepting the advice. Soon enough, the designer began taking her measures and they chatted about other things, mainly New York and her life there. Lorenzo ushered her to try one of the pieces for his new collection and clapped when she was back with him fully dressed. He reached to part the slit on the dress a bit more, revealing the thigh-high stockings he wanted to pair with the model. It was very new romantic meets victorian era meets runaway bride. She stood still as he adjusted it to her size with pins, or tried to move the fabric so it'd flow the way he wanted.