Blossom in Winter (Blossom in Winter #1)(48)

I check my WhatsApp out of curiosity. He’s online, but sadly, not for me. And why would he, huh? We never engage in trivial chats anyway. Maybe I should text him and let him know I’ve arrived safely… No, he didn’t even bother to ask. Dad at least texted me twice.

Okay, enough. I have to focus, get some sleep, and be at my best for tomorrow. After all, Andrew was quite clear: this is still part of our internship and a social attitude is expected—exactly what I hate the most.

Since there’s no Janine to wake me up at six a.m., I call reception and book a wake-up call. Then I plunge into my bed, close my eyes, and force myself to sleep.

I start having dreams I shouldn’t. Mostly dreams about a man I shouldn’t even think of. But those dreams are rather sweet; they taste like candy. Or, from the heat rising between my legs, like that warm brownie…

You are right, Petra. The best thing in the world.





When I arrive for breakfast, I realize all the interns are already here indulging in the buffet. Inseparable Jess and Rach are alone at a table by themselves. I manage to make it down at 7:10, the last one. Fortunately, I don’t see Andrew around. Everyone has made quite an effort with their appearances, looking so sharp and expensive, straight from a fashion magazine. Jess opted for a light-blue pantsuit with a white silk top and beige pumps, impeccable hair and makeup combined with a Bulgari purse, while Rach wears wide-leg beige pants and a white shirt.

“Hey, Williams. Come and join us,” greets Jess, the first to notice me.

“Hi, Jess. Hi, Rach. Good morning. Wow. You girls look as wonderful as ever.”

They smile back at me.

“Well, hopefully we will meet some interesting people today,” starts Jess. “I’ve looked at the names of the fund managers coming—they’re mostly from Milan, London, Frankfurt, and Paris. I’ve always wanted to come to Europe after my MBA and gain some experience here.”

“Gatt-Dieren has an office in Amsterdam, I think,” adds Rach.

“Yep, they do. I heard they’re also looking to expand into Asia.”

“How do you know that?” I ask, surprised at not knowing that myself.

“Well, I have my sources,” Jess replies with a sly smile before looking strangely at me. “You know, Williams, don’t take this the wrong way, but why don’t you wear a suit and heels like everyone else? You’ll look more mature and far more confident. We’re in such elegant surroundings and we are representing the company. Look around, everyone is at their best.”

I raise an eyebrow. I knew sooner or later Ms. Jess would unleash some sort of comment about my looks. After all, I’ve always worn skinny jeans and simple flats combined with a smart blazer that I’d leave hanging on my chair. But I like my style—today I’ve decided to wear white skinny jeans paired with elegant camel flats and a striped white-and-light-blue shirt, sleeves already up to the elbows. No jacket—it’s way too hot. My long black hair is wild and wavy like usual, with a barrette in the back. I’ve applied just some mascara and a natural gloss on my lips. “I don’t like heels,” I reply with a friendly smile. “Either flats or sneakers.”

“I know, but you are in Italy. People are dressing up for the conference. Europeans love to dress up.” What does she have anything to say about my looks?

“Don’t worry, Williams. Jess is just trying to help,” intervenes Rach. “So you can be the best version of yourself.”

“I see,” I nod politely. “Thanks for the advice.”





The Ritz ballroom takes everyone’s breath away. Some two hundred people are sitting in the majestic room featuring crystal chandeliers and a hand-painted high ceiling. Not quite as resplendent as the Sistine Chapel, but truly remarkable.

Jess is right—everyone’s looking radiant and at their very best in elegant and formal suits, some with ties, others without. Italians are upholding their country’s reputation and are by far the most stylish. The event moderator welcomes everyone, and the first session begins.

After a ninety-minute panel on the changing financial landscape, it’s finally time for a coffee break. The audience quickly moves to the buffet, gathering outside.

“Time for networking,” adds Jess.

I grab a tea and stand alone on the edge of the group, already missing my book and earbuds. I glance around and see Jess and Rach talking to two, what seem to be, Italian fund managers—they are probably in their fifties, Dad’s age—laughing hard at their jokes and exchanging business cards. I roll my eyes.

I decide to leave and head back to my seat in the conference room. Since everyone’s still outside, I’m finally alone, enjoying the wonderful silence.

I grab my iPhone and text, I miss you so much. Currently in Rome, such a boring kiss-ass conference. Save me! Xx. While this would’ve been the perfect message to send to Alexander, I send it to Emma instead. I would’ve never expected, but I’m missing so much Emma’s careless attitude, her rock ’n’ roll style, her overpriced big dark T-shirts, her slang, her nostril piercing, her bad manners, her insolence… Emma is the opposite of everything here. And right now, I feel just like Emma, but with the good manners, the good looks, and polished language.

To my surprise, she immediately texts back. Hey, babygirl! In Mykonos now. What’s up in Rome? Where are the hotties?