Page 46 of Us in Ruins
Margot softened. “Mine, too. This was always her favorite. But no, I’m—well, I’m trying to find this museum gallery, but Google apparently doesn’t think it exists.”
Suki’s eyebrows perked up. “A secret museum? Let me see, let me see.”
Margot smoothed the torn page over the glass and pointed to the last name on the list, La Galleria Bianchi. Her search finally loaded, but it was populated with spam sites and a boutique in Tokyo. Absolutely zero Italian museums.
“I’ve been to this place,” Suki said.
“You have?”
Suki threw her head back. “Yes, it’s unreal. You won’t find it online. It’s this underground antique market, basically. My mom and I came to Rome last summer for this big trade show, and I met this girl, Fernanda. She got me in.”
“Can I meet her?” Margot asked. Then, “Not to date. Although I’m sure she’s lovely. I need to go to that museum.”
“Well, it’s not exactly—”
“Please, please please.” Margot was not above begging. Not now. She’d do whatever it took. “I’d seriously owe you.”
Suki nodded, a devious smile glazing her lips. “Okay. So, here’s what you’re going to do.”
While the rest of the class finished up their worksheets, Margot and Van stood inside the world’s pinkest lingerie store. Van’s face matched the fuchsia bra the mannequin wore. Everything was lace and satin, thongs and bustiers.
“Are you sure we’re in the right place?” Van’s voice was pinched. He scratched uncomfortably at his shirt’s neckline, leaving a red patch against his collarbone.
“This is it.”
Suki’s instructions had been clear. Once they made it to the striped pink-and-red awnings at Mia Bella’s, they’d go to the front desk and ask for Fernanda. What Margot hadn’t expected was Van’s instant mortification by a few frills and ribbons. He fidgeted with the gold-chained compass he kept perpetually around his neck, clicking it open, checking their orientation, tucking it back under his shirt. A nervous habit.
Behind his back, Van held a bouquet of fresh violets and calla lilies. Suki swore they were Fernanda’s favorites, and a little buttering up couldn’t hurt since apparently Suki never called her back. (“Long distance,” she’d said, “you know how it is.” Even though Margot definitely did not.)
“Let me do the talking,” Margot said, weaving her arm through Van’s and dragging him through the store. Van kept his head trained toward his feet like glimpsing an undergarment would result in instant incineration.
A man stood at the desk, nearly buried behind three dozen black glass perfume bottles. He cradled a corded phone shaped like a pair of pursed hot-pink lips between his bearded chin and a bedazzled shoulder pad. Acknowledging them, he offered a knowing nod and pointed across the showroom. Margot pivoted, following the line of his arm to a display of matching his-and-hers sets.
“Not that,” Margot said, pointedly ignoring the heady blush creeping up her own cheeks. Van tensed beside her in complete and utter mortification. Margot was half certain that if it weren’t for her brace on his arm, he’d have fainted on the spot. “We’re looking for Fernanda.”
The clerk pushed his palm against the receiver and shouted her name toward the back.
Fernanda appeared around the corner. Her bright blue hair had been braided around her head and patterned with clip-in butterflies. With her wide-set brown eyes, deeply tanned skin, and upturned nose, she could have been plucked right out of the Nymphaeum. “Ciao, come va?”
“Hi,” Margot said, “We’re looking for La Galleria Bianchi—”
Fernanda nearly shoved a pair of thigh-high socks into Margot’s mouth just to smother her words. She leaned over the countertop, eyes slicing toward her colleague, who was now in a heated argument regarding biancheria intima. With a harsh whisper, she said, “Do not say it out loud.”
Margot spat out the socks and lowered her voice. “Suki Takeda sent us.”
“Ah, Suki.” Fernanda dragged out the last syllable.
In response, Margot dug her elbow into the soft spot beneath Van’s ribs.
He thrust the bouquet between them. “And these.”
For a moment, Fernanda did nothing. Just stared at the bouquet clutched too hard in Van’s fist. Finally, she took the flowers and lifted them under her nose. Then, her features hardened. “Tell her I say thank you.”
“That’s it?” Margot gasped. “What about the”—Fernanda glared, dagger sharp—“The other thing?”
“I don’t know who you are or why you’re here.” Fernanda sniffed the bouquet again. “What exactly are you looking for?”
Oh, right. Okay, Suki had prepared her for this.