"It’s flammable," I note, pinching the fabric with two fingers. "If you stand too close to a candle at dinner, you will melt."
"I wore this to my cousin’s wedding," Jax argues. "People said I looked nice."
"Did those people have cataracts?"
Jax sighs and tosses the suit onto his unmade bed. "Fine.You made your point, Vera Wang. So what do we do? Go to the mall?"
"The mall?" I shudder. "No. We are going to see Giovanni."
"Giovanni? Is that a tailor or a mob boss?"
"A bit of both," I say, checking my watch. "Grab your coat. We have an appointment."
Giovanni’s is not a store. It is a sanctuary of wool, silk, and silence located in the financial district.
When we walk in, the smell of leather and espresso greets us. It is a smell I associate with safety. Jax, however, looks like a cat that has been dragged into a vet’s office. He is eyeing the velvet armchairs with suspicion.
"Dr. York!" Giovanni, a small man with a tape measure permanently draped around his neck, rushes forward. "It has been too long. Your mother called. She said you might be bringing a... project."
I wince. "Thank you, Giovanni. This is Dr. O'Connell."
Giovanni stops. He looks Jax up and down. He circles him slowly, like a predator assessing a particularly difficult meal. He reaches out and pokes Jax’s bicep with a gloved finger.
"My god," Giovanni whispers, looking horrified.
"What?" Jax asks, self-consciously crossing his arms.
"It is like trying to drape a suit over a vending machine," Giovanni announces. "You are too... square. You are a cube made of meat."
"I lift things," Jax defends.
"You lift toomanythings," Giovanni scolds, unraveling his tape measure. "Stop lifting things immediately. It ruins the silhouette. Look at Dr. York."
Giovanni gestures to me with a flourish.
"He is aerodynamic," Giovanni coos. "He glides. He has the proportions of a greyhound. You? You take up space aggressively. Your trapezius is offending my tape measure."
"Are you fat-shaming my muscles?" Jax asks, bewildered.
"I am aesthetic-shaming your geometry," Giovanni corrects, stepping onto a stool to measure Jax’s neck. "You have no neck. It is just shoulders all the way up. How am I supposed to fit a collar around this? It will look like a napkin ring on a tree trunk."
I permit myself a small smile. "Do what you can, Giovanni. We need a miracle."
"I am a tailor, not a magician," Giovanni mutters. He steps down. "Charcoal. Navy is too safe. Black is for waiters. Charcoal with a subtle texture to break up the... mass."
He points a finger at Jax.
"Fitting Room One. Do not flex. If you rip a seam, I will charge you double."
Giovanni vanishes into the back room.
Jax turns to me. "I feel like I just got roasted by a garden gnome."
"You are a tactical asset," I remind him, steering him toward the dressing rooms. "And assets need proper armor. Even if they are shaped like vending machines."
Ten minutes later, I am sitting on a leather ottoman in the fitting area, sipping an espresso Giovanni provided.
The curtain to Room One whips open.
