when in rome

v: heartbreak

It's been a few hours since the fountain incident, and the images never left my mind. It made me think about Dylan and my relationship with him. I tried to reflect back to the times he made me feel the way Lucas did. Even back to the beginning of our relationship, that tingly feeling was never there.

With my hands on my hips, I stared down at the floor, in deep thought.

"Luckily we're the same dress size." says Samantha, as she walks into the hotel room. She was carrying a few magazines and paintbrushes, walking over to the table. Since we got back to the hotel, she'd been tearing apart magazines and photos, putting them together for a collage. She focused on the colors yellow, aqua blue, and pearl white, the potential colors for her wedding. She was in this phase of love, and you can tell based on the look on her face. Despite her being a pain, she was giddily over the idea of love.

I looked up at her. "Ow!" I say. There was a fashion designer altering this beautiful navy blue gown, in which I had to wear. Because Samantha and I were the same dress size, she wanted me to wear it as it was getting altered, so she didn't have to. She claimed that standing and being poked at by a needle would drive her crazy.

"Yeah, it's no problem." I say.

She turns and continues her collage, altering back and forth from tearing apart pictures and painting them on. In the background was Troye Sivan's "WILD", as music was a way to pass the time. As much as I enjoyed the song, I wasn't in the mood for a happy, hipster love song. It just reminded me of Dylan and Lucas.

I heard Samantha singing along to the song, silently laughing to myself. She turned to me and smiled. "You laughing at me?"

"Only a little bit." I reply, with another giggle.

She shakes her head, and walks toward me with her arms crossed. I hoped she wouldn't yell at me or anything, although she had a slight smirk on her face.

"What do you think?" says the Italian male doing the alterations, with a strong Italian accent.

Waving her finger in a circle, she looks at me. "Turn around."

I do what she says and turn, the dark dress twirling along with me. The dress was a dark navy blue, with these weird branch-like lace near my boobs. It showed off the boobs I didn't have, which I kinda liked. It was also long sleeved, with a flowy long tulle skirt that had a slit on the side.

"It's perfect. It'll do." Samantha says with a straight face.

The Italian stylist clapped his hands together, happier than she was about the dress. Samantha went up to him and air kissed both of his cheeks, thanking him for him work. "Grazie, Dominico." She says, as he grabs his stuff. "It's beautiful."

"Anything for you, Ms. Samantha." he adds again, as he heads out the door.

The stylist finally leaves and Samantha walks toward me, staring at me again. It was like she was admiring me, or at least the beauty of the dress.

"What?" I asked, blushing slightly.

"You just look so good." she claims. Despite the amount of time I've spent with this woman and how insane she was, her words still shocked me. She actually thought I looked good, and that was a major compliment coming from her.

"Well, you'll look better in it." I say, shrugging.

"Of course I would." she adds. "But I already have a dress." she continues, walking back to her table. She sits on a chair and draws something with a pencil, as if what she said was nothing at all.

"What do you mean?" I ask her, walking toward her.

"Tomorrow night is the Italian Artists Ball, and as part of your internship, you are coming with me." she says, too focused on her artwork to pay attention to me. She looks up at me, "And you can't wear those god awful boots and jeans if you're gonna be with me."