He was fascinated to watch her cheeks darken with a flush. “He’s— It’s for my favorite customer. I’ve been making things for him for ten years now.”
“You started to say something else there,” he pointed out. “Was it his name?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know his name.”
He’d put that much together, but it still pissed him off to hear it confirmed. “Why not?”
“Because I work for a shop,” she explained, taking up her needle. “They handle the clients and send the commissions my way. I don’t need to know anyone’s name.”
Trying not to speak through clenched teeth, Taevas pressed, “And what do you call him, if you don’t know his name?”
“I call him Adon,”she murmured.
He wanted to focus on the skill with which she worked, the graceful tug and twist of her wrist as she threaded designs into the garment, but he couldn’t. Taevas had to flatten his hands in his lap to thwart the urge to touch it.
Mentally adding up all he’d paid in the last decade against herpatched clothing and tumble-down house, Taevas asked, “And does thisAdonpay you well for your hard work?”
Alashiya shrugged again. “The atelier pays me, not him. I get by.”
I get by.
Throat tightening with righteous anger, he forced himself to take a deep breath. It didn’t help. “What about gifts? Surely someone as skilled as you receives gifts of thanks for your work. Your Adon must have sent you something to show his appreciation.”
Where are my gifts, Shiya?
She gave him a funny look. “I’ve never gotten any gifts. Why would I?”
“Because Adon is grateful. And he understands how difficult your work is, how much time it must take, how your body must ache after so many hours. It’s the least he could do, sending you something to show his appreciation.”
Alashiya blinked several times, as if she struggled to imagine her favorite customer caring so much. Taevas ground his teeth together with such force, his molars squeaked.
“I doubt he thinks of me,” she replied, shaking her head. “Why would he? For all I know, he probably doesn’t even commission his own clothes. Maybe he has a stylist who does it, or a partner.” She swallowed thickly. Her needle flashed in the light, the movements of her right hand turning a tad less graceful than before. “He doesn’t know I exist.”
His anger was momentarily knocked off-kilter. Watching her closely, Taevas asked, “Do you want him to?”
Alashiya’s needle stilled. She didn’t look up when she replied, “Like I said, he probably has no idea who I am and almost certainly has a partner.”
“Why would it matter if he had a partner or not?”
Her needle began to flash again, its flicker picking up speed as her hand moved more quickly. “I never said it did.”
“But you brought it up twice.”
“So?” Her jaw jutted out at a stubborn angle.
“So what if he did want to know who you were — and he wasverysingle?”
Alashiya sucked in a deep breath and held it for a second. After a measured exhale, she answered, “Then I would still just be the woman who embroiders his clothes and makes up silly stories about him being her husband so she doesn’t feel as pathetic as she normally does. It wouldn’t matter.”
Silly stories about him being her husband?Taevas’s stomach somersaulted. He had plans to hear those silly stories, her shyness be damned.
Husband. She makes up stories about me being her husband!Taevas wanted to crow with victory. The giddiness of it made him feel nearly drunk. And aroused. Very, very aroused.
“What’s the difference between doing this for work and sewing for yourhusband?”
Alashiya looked like she’d rather he asked her to pull one of her teeth out and show it to him, but she still answered. “I take my time. I make it perfect.”
She was holding something back. He could see it in the stiff set of her mouth and the way she stalwartly refused to look at him. “Is that all?”
