Page 48 of Tailored for You

I was so focused on my drawing and Enzo that I almost missed the group of men who were undoubtedly part of Enzo’s crew, carrying multiple bags of fabric a few feet in front of us.

“What is in those?” I asked, pointing to the bags. There were nearly twice as many filled bags as I bought.

“We need to fill your studio with the fabrics you want, not the ones you think you need. I got them for you.” I stopped short, turning to him. I wasn’t mad, but there was an emotion brewing in me that resembled anger.

“You got all the fabric I looked at but didn’t get?” I asked, and he nodded. “That was a waste of money. I might like the fabric, but I have no use for it. There is too much work as is, even to use them.”

“Don’t you have downtime?” Enzo asked. “We aren’t arguing about this. You need more fabric, ones that allow you to try what you want, not what they’re paying you for.”

“We aren’t arguing; we’re having a passionate discussion about you spending way too much money on me. Especially on my business.” That was my real sticking point. It wasn’t up to me how he spent his money, but I had limits when it came to my business.

“You’re right; we aren’t arguing. You also aren’t going to dictate how I spend my money or where I invest it. You were never going to buy those pieces.” He was right, but I didn’t get a chance to tell him because he kept going. “You were going to find every reason not to get them when you could create one-of-a-kind pieces and continue with what you’re doing.”

“You already invested when you created that studio. I’m not saying what you should do with you money, but if you continue to spend it on me, can you at least talk to me about it first?” I had built my business from the ground up. While I wasn’t going to turn down the investment, I wanted to make sure I knew how much was being spent so that I could work out the numbers.

“Fine. But only if you won’t fight with me over every penny.” He sighed.

“Fine.” I turned and flounced away, feeling like I finally won an argument.

Enzo muttered under his breath, but he was too far away for me to hear, and I would bet a hundred dollars it was in Italian.

Once we were both in the car, we rode silently to our next destination.

CHAPTER 15

Serena

I tried to go with the flow, never making concrete plans or setting expectations unless it had to do with work. Life was easier that way, at least that was what I told myself.

So, when we pulled up to La Luna, Martina Vinci’s highest-rated restaurant out of the four she ran, which was booked out months in advance and a place I had never been, I went with it.

La Luna was a place you went with someone else, maybe someone special to you. There had never been a reason for me to eat there.

The morning was amazing. I was on cloud nine. Eating at La Luna, if we managed to get lucky, would be the cherry on top of an unexpected, yet best morning of my life.

I crossed and uncrossed my legs, checking my reflection in the mirror. I wasn’t dressed appropriately for a fine dining meal. My lunches consisted of low-key, easy-to-grab meals on the go, when I remembered to eat at all.

Even when I was married to Charles, he never took the time out of his day to take me to lunch.

Except, I glanced to my left at Enzo, maybe there was now.

He walked in like he owned the place. The hostess gathered two menus, put on what I knew was a customer service smile, and said, “Mr. Lombardi, welcome back. If you’ll follow me.”

She turned and headed to a table off to the side that had a view of all the entrances. Walking through the tables, I noted how underdressed I was in jeans and a tank top, my hair thrown up in a ponytail, and black high-top Converse on my feet, while everyone else was in summer dresses and linen, and overall much better prepared to be at a Michelin-star restaurant.

“Have you been here before?” Enzo asked, pushing the menu aside.

“No.” There were no prices next to the meals. It was standard practice for me to pick the least expensive thing on the menu.

The server came over, prattling on about water and specials, none of which I caught because I had decision anxiety.

“We’ll have a bottle of Pinot Noir,” he said, and then ordered the rest of the food for the table.

Once the server took our order, they bowed and ran as fast as possible from our table.

“Oh my gosh, Serena!” Minnie’s voice rang out.

I searched the room and found her in the middle, waving her hand at me with too much excitement.