Page 7 of Wicked

I am toying with the brand nameSoul.My second option isCloak. As in wear it over yourself. Over your spirit. Your soul. Your own character. Option three isSpirit.

As I lay out our current designs, my eyes scan fast. Our pilot walks down the aisle.

“Twenty minutes before we reach Rome, sir.”

I nod and consider informing Thomas of what I need. Screw it, why not pull the trigger early on this one?

“One last thing,” I say. “Double the budget they need. Give them the green light but watch them closely.”

Thomas makes a note on his legal pad and peers up. “And three Zooms a day while you’re in Italy?”

I think ahead. “For now. At least until I know how long I’m forced to stay.”

“What if you like being with your Italian family?”

“What if I throw you out the door?”

Thomas laughs. I do not. I’ve spent the last ten years working between NYC, LA, London, and Miami. I adore the US which is why I reside there.

I grew up in Italy, and I disliked much of it. I adore the Italian culture, the people, and the history. So much about Italy I trulylove, but I left the old nation as soon as I could. I only return when needed.

Overly authoritarian parents will do that. Formal, military-like private boarding schools do not help.

An old class system, in some areas of society, does not help either. The kicker, however, is

there is way too much governmental red tape to get things done, unlike in the US. It is too hard to do business in much of Europe now.

I do not deny I was brought up on old money in Tuscany and it is a stunning Italian region. I, however, ran from it, and I made my own fortune. A fortune supposedly worth fifteen billion dollars.

It’s closer to twenty, but it’s best few know the actual details. It’s hard enough avoiding the media and gold diggers as it is.

Dating became a nightmare years back, and I’ve had too many heiresses, catwalk models and half the actresses in Hollywood chase my single bachelor billionaire ass.

Last year, I shut all dating down. Also, all screwing. It’s hard, and I’m now a ticking time bomb. I am frustrated and even angry at times, and I know I am short tempered. I’m like a lion on edge.

Considering I used to bed a woman a night, I’m likely doing okay.

As long as I avoid stunning women and I control my environments, I can keep my fierce urges under control.

Suddenly, a vision comes to me. It is primal, wet, and hot.

My hands twist around a woman’s hair. I feel myself stretch a woman from behind, then I see her eyes flash as she turns and shatters. I shake my head and fight to find control and calm.

As we streak over the Mediterranean Sea, I look down. We skim fishing villages, vineyards, Italian villas, and castles.

We then shoot over the top of a red sports car winding along the coast.

Thomas and I continue discussing our fashion plans, and I have mixed feelings about being back. I feel love and hate.

The love of my country, but the hatred of systems that could be better. And fairer, for all.

As I brief Thomas on what I need executed over the coming weeks, my chest tightens. I do not want to be here. I want to be home in New York City, where my apartment overlooks Central Park. Or my beach home in Miami with my yacht tied to my pier.

America is full of dynamic vibrant people, with dreams and drive. It feels like a place where dreams really do come true. Much of old Europe is stuck in the past.

Red tape. Bureaucracy. Outdated class systems.

I’m proud of Italian designs, and Italians have created many of the world-class clothing brands. World-class sports cars, too.

---