Read Online A Fashion Felon in Rome by Anisa Claire West - Free Book Online

seemed to do.  I wondered if Leonard had ever had an affair with Sophia.  He wore no wedding band, so perhaps intimate romps were on the menu.  Waving to Sophia and Leonard, I returned to the task of setting up the “party.”
    “Where is everyone?” Sophia demanded.
    “It’s only 5:30.  The party starts at 7,” Massimo replied darkly.
    “But I thought there would at least be a pre-party!” Sophia exclaimed.
    “This isn’t the Oscars.  There’s no pre-party.  And there will be no after-party.  Unless of course Tomaso’s murderer reveals himself tonight.  Then I’ll be celebrating like it’s New Year’s Eve,” Massimo said, but he didn’t sound very optimistic.
    Rebuffed, Sophia declared, “Then I’ll go for a spin in one of the speed boats until the party gets started.  Or perhaps I could rent a yacht.  Leonard, could you see about renting me a yacht for an hour or so?”
    “I think yacht rentals are by the day, Sophia.  I don’t think you can rent one for just an hour.”
    Sophia regarded her assistant defiantly as if to say, ‘I’m Sophia Pucci and I can do anything I want!’ “Leonard, don’t be a fool.  Go get me a yacht.  The paparazzi will have a ball filming me and publishing the pictures in the tabloids.”
    “The paparazzi?” I questioned.  “That’s funny.  I haven’t noticed any photographers around.”
    “That’s because they hide in the bushes!” Sophia hissed.  “They only come out from hibernation when there’s a good photo op that they can sink their claws into.”
    Or maybe the paparazzi aren’t here at all except in your imagination. Maybe you’re such a washed up, delusional fool that you think the world is watching you when really everyone is looking away.
    “Oh, okay,” I shrugged.  “Well enjoy your yacht ride.  It’s a beautiful evening to be on the water.” I had to be civil towards the shrew if I wanted her to follow through and wear my design to Cannes.  But I wasn’t going to grovel to her.  Not on her fancy schmancy life.
    None too discreetly, Massimo rolled his eyes as Sophia and her loyal dog walked off the pier.  “I’ll be really happy when this case is over.” He massaged his temples in a circular motion.
    “She seems to be getting worse and worse,” I pointed out.
    “That’s because the attention has shifted away from her.  She can’t stand it.  Attention and approbation are like food and water to her .” Massimo rolled his eyes again as I grinned.
    “That’s sad but true,” I sighed. 
    An hour later, the guests started to filter in as Sophia waved theatrically to everyone from her yacht. Tomaso’s parents seemed disgusted as they watched her attention-begging sail.  With drooping shoulders, they walked over to my station near the buffet, looking at the tempting array of appetizers and grimacing.  Compassion pulsed through me as I knew they were too distraught to eat even one bite.  I poured each of them a glass of sparkling mineral water, which they accepted with a simultaneous “ gracias .”
    Massimo didn’t stay in one place for more than a minute, sleekly combing through the growing crowd and presumably eavesdropping on every nugget of conversation.  Leaving my station at the buffet, I drifted over to the bar, sensing that more details would emerge over alcoholic beverages than over plates of olives and cheese. 
    “Are you playing bartender tonight?” Denise asked pertly, pointing to a bottle of Pinot Grigio and gesturing for me to pour her a glass.
    “I guess you could say that,” I replied neutrally, handing her a glass of the chilled white wine.
    “This is the weirdest memorial service I’ve ever been to,” she said scornfully, touching her lips to the rim of the glass.
    “Well, this is how Tomaso’s parents wanted it.  They didn’t want it to be all gloomy and depressing. They wanted it to be a celebration of his life.” The lie poured out of my lips as smoothly as the Pinot Grigio had