Delicate

Chapter 6

HAVEN MCQUEEN

With Milan being one of the fashion capitals of the world, I've been to Italy a few times for work and twice on vacation with my family. However, I've never been here with Harry Styles or anyone like Harry Styles. I usually come alone to attend Fashion Week or pick up items for clients, so it's never been quite this...hectic.

My black baseball cap is somewhat helping to shield my eyes from the flashing cameras in the airport, and the fact that it's daytime helps a bit. I've dealt with paparazzi when traveling with celebrities before, but these people are fucking relentless. Jeff warned me on the plane, but I thought he was being dramatic until one of the fans following our small group straight up asked me who I was. I didn't know what I should or shouldn't say, so I said nothing. Maybe that was worse.

"We love your album, Harry!" One paparazzi yells as we exit the airport to see a black SUV waiting right there on the curb.

Harry hands his bag off to security first, letting them put it in the trunk so he can quickly jump into the backseat. In his absence, just a few of the paparazzi turned their attention to Jeff and me as we took a little longer getting our luggage in the car before he had me get inside first, leaving the sobbing fans behind.

"Jesus," I huff as I sit in the back row of seats while Jeff takes the front with Harry.

"I told you," Jeff says as Harry chuckles and apologizes.

"No, no, it's fine," I adjust the hat on my head. "I'm just out of practice, I guess."

"Well, the rest of this trip shouldn't be too bad," Jeff promises. "We'll be at the Gucci headquarters pretty much all day today, they'll make any changes this afternoon, we'll come back for the final fitting tomorrow, and then we have one day just to be here."

"Sounds good to me," I send a quick text to my dad letting him know that we arrived safely and I'm still alive for the time being. Even though I know he's working, he read it immediately and sent me a red heart emoji in return.

The paparazzi did, unfortunately, follow us from the airport to Gucci, but I'm almost relieved that they did. Now there's digital proof that I'm there for styling purposes only. Why else would I be with Harry and his well-known manager, walking into the Gucci headquarters? A new fling wouldn't do that with him if that's what I was, would she?

The air conditioning in the building is so welcoming on my skin as it starts to cool the tackiness on the back of my neck, and thankfully I withhold from wiping the sweat there when Gucci's creative director's assistant reaches her hand out to shake mine in the front reception area.

"How was the flight?" She asks Harry.

"It wasn't too bad," he nods at her with a charming smile, and I don't fail to notice the way her olive skin flushes pink over her cheeks. I wonder if Harry notices or if he's immune to that by now.

"Well, I think you'll be very pleased with your wardrobe," she assures him as we take the elevator up to the fifth floor where the atelier is.

"I'm really excited to see it," he speaks quietly in the small cubicle, and I wonder when would be an appropriate time to eat the chocolate chip granola bar I have in my tote bag. I'm fucking starving.

The elevator makes a pleasant chiming sound as the gold doors slide open for us to be let out into another waiting area of sorts, but Iliana takes us down the hall to Alessandro's office. On the way, we pass glass cases full of mannequins wearing various Gucci outfits. It's quiet like a museum would be, and I can't help but think about how different my life was the last time I was here.