Marzia drummed her fingers across the steering wheel of her car anxiously, having been sitting restlessly in the parking lot of her own brand’s workshop for about 5 minutes now. She knows she’s bound to walk into the said building soon, but she can’t help to feel a tad bit on edge for whatever’s about to come the moment she lands a step inside.
Only after exhaling for the fifth time did she finally mustered up the courage to exit her car — the original character’s car. It baffles her to the core when she drove here smoothly when she couldn’t even differentiate the difference between the brake and the gas pedal back in her previous world.
Heck she even thought she could rival Lewis Hamilton the moment she arrived safely in one piece, but we all know that’s just Marzia’s little imagination going slightly too excited over the fact that she had successfully driven herself safely to destination without a scratch — on her and on the car itself.
“Good morning,” A man clad in fine light grey dress shirt with rolled up sleeves that hugged his figure perfectly greeted her with a warm smile at the front door, walking her up to the lift. “Here’s the details of the suit that Mr. Peterson wanted.” He continued, handing over a tablet device and a nice cold cup of iced americano to Marzia.
“I could take it, if you want. Lo masih ada dua dress lagi yang belum siap, satunya tinggal adjustments, meanwhile the other one still needs its sequins sewn on the skirt and sleeves.” The man, none other than Dante Lombardi himself offered to take over in handling Robert Peterson’s rather demanding requests regarding his suit.
Dante is a renowned designer too, making a name for himself in the fashion industry alongside working with ‘Marzia’. His skills is on par with the latter to the point he could create an empire of his own. Despite of that fact, Dante still chose to work under ‘Marzia’ — his dear colleague who he’d known for a little over seven years.
He said that it was far more comfortable working under someone he’d known and trusted for years rather than building an empire from scratch with people he barely knew. How could he possibly pull it off? Trust and familiarity are important, is what Dante would say to ‘Marzia’ every time the subject would come up in a conversation between the two.
“Oh um,” The woman was too stunned to speak. How could she not when the one and only Dante Lombardi is standing so finely in front of her? It’s true that the Dante she knew from REVERIE in her previous world and the current Dante she’s with are two different person, the only resemblance they share was their face. Though it won’t hurt to let her eyes enjoy the magnificent view of Dante’s breathtaking face, right?
“Are you okay? You’re not sick are you? You’ve been behaving weird since this morning,” Dante’s eyebrows furrowed in concern, his dark brown eyes scanning over the woman’s features to make sure that she’s okay after staying quiet for a little too long. “Gua kaget bukan main pas lo bilang ganti menu kopi tadi. Not gonna lie I choked on my own coffee because of that. How could you, Marzia Bonetti, who has never changed her coffee order for five years suddenly change it? To an Americano, at that.” Dante chuckled at the end of his sentence, his eyes turning into crescents.
“Hahaha, I’m okay. I just thought that maybe it’s fun to finally change my coffee. I’m getting old, after all. I need to control my sugar intake.” Marzia mustered up the smartest excuse she could think of on the spot, praying in hope that her assistant will buy it.
“Who says you’re old?” The former raised an eyebrow, his face now painted in amusement. “But you’re right about the sugar part though, I can’t deny that you have an overly sweet tooth.”
“Right?”
The doors to the lift slid open, stopping on the sixth floor where Marzia’s personal atelier is located on, the place where she exclusively work on pieces she personally designs herself. Not much people are granted access to this level of the building, only Dante and a handful of other trusted designers are allowed in.
“Well that’s enough chit-chatting, the dresses don’t sew on their own.”
A soft knock on her door made its way to Marzia’s ears. “Come in,” she muttered loud enough for the person on the other side of the door to hear. Then a click of the door opening could be heard, along with heavy footsteps that approached Marzia’s figure behind the mannequin.
She was sitting down on a black stool, hands gliding across the lace fabric; her right hand holding a needle and her left holding sequins. Her expression morphed into one of concentration — focused eyes, eyebrows contracted, and lips shaped into a small pout. It’s been three hours since she set foot inside the workshop and it finally reached the time for lunch break.
“Brought some refreshments for you, figured out you didn’t want something heavy to eat for lunch.” It was Dante.
The man placed the plate that he was holding onto the small coffee table just a few feet away from where Marzia was sitting from. It’s filled with all sorts of cookies, but only one caught Marzia’s eyes. Brownies. It’s obviously not a cookie, and the fact that it’s placed in the middle of the plate with dry cookies around it made the brownies stood out even more.
Why did Dante plate it that way? Is there some sort of hidden meaning behind it? Marzia thought to herself.
“Thank you, I had a heavy breakfast this morning. Perut gue kayaknya belum sanggup kalau disuruh makan berat lagi,” The woman thanked him with a smile, pausing her administrations on the dress. Standing up from her spot, Marzia walked over to where Dante was sitting down. “Oh wow this is amazing.” Marzia then exclaimed after taking a bite from the brownie.
Dante said nothing, only returning a small grin as a reply. He proceeded to watch Marzia gobble down the rest of the cookies, only leaving a few pieces left when her stomach is finally full.
“I’ve served you the same thing for years but you’ve never touched the cookies before, not even once. I guess you’ve changed your whole palate now, huh?”
Marzia swallowed hard in response.
Fuck. It’s been hours, why can’t I recall anything from the OC’s consciousness?
