Backlight by Christina Dennison

Author:Christina Dennison
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Christina Dennison
Published: 2021-09-30T00:00:00+00:00

IT WAS THREE WEEKS before she heard from Bruno again. He called her when she was squinting at her big computer screen, playing with shadows on a shot of shoes.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm working, of course. What are you doing?"

"Also working. In your city. Can I take you out to a business dinner tonight?"

"A business dinner? With work people, you mean?"

"I hadn't thought about that. No, I meant a business dinner with the two of us. Since we're in business together." He laughed—or coughed, she couldn't tell.

"Okay," she said, stretching the word out like a yoga pose. "I've been trying to get this website together to go live."

In truth, the high-school interns had been doing the heavy lifting on the website; she had to review their draft before publishing, and she wanted it to be perfect.

"What website?"

She sighed. "You didn't read the business plan, did you? My website. I'm going to incorporate a behind-the-scenes video series."

"A video series," he repeated.

"Timo thinks it's a great idea. I can cross-post on social, and people love to see what goes on at shoots. It could really take off."

"I see. You can or you can't have dinner tonight?"

"I can. I can. Sorry, I got distracted. I've been staring at this one shot for like half an hour, it's making me crazy. What time?"

"Eight. I've a reservation at Cracco. I'll see you there."

"See you there," she said, but he'd already ended the call. Cracco was a Michelin two-star restaurant, one of the finest in Milan. People made reservations weeks in advance; even her uncle couldn’t get a same-day reservation at Cracco. Bruno was a planner. Why did he only call her now, four hours ahead of time?

She finished work and showered, perused her wardrobe in a towel and bare feet. The upside to selling her clothes: she could see everything in her closet. She didn't have to rifle through fifteen blouses to find the one that she wanted to wear. But tonight, she wasn't sure what the right outfit would be. She'd been working so much, wearing jeans and sweaters and boots every day, she welcomed the opportunity to wear some of the clothes that felt like costumes from her former life.

She had a red dress, sueded silk, long sleeves with a deep v-neck and an uneven hem, like the wings of an insect. She could wear a red dress; she wasn’t damaged, it wasn’t her fault. She was more than her trauma. It was a beautiful dress, and as she tried it in front of the mirror, she marveled at how perfectly it fit. The dress could mean whatever she wanted it to mean. It was hers to wear and hers to decide. Hers to reclaim.

The winter cold wore away at her, flaking her skin, cracking her lips. It reminded her she was usually on an island somewhere this time of year, not shivering in chilly Milan. She wasn't used to wearing winter clothes and winter shoes, day after day.

At Cracco, she relinquished her coat to a hostess and gave Bruno's name.

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