Page 88 of Tailored for You

And I did.

I wasn’t sure how long we spent in the greenhouse, but when Enzo decided he was finished, the sun was lowering, the heat of the day easing.

Enzo hoisted a bag of pistachios he’d harvested over his shoulder and held my hand as we made our way back to the house.

“I didn’t know you were into gardening,” I said offhandedly. There was so much more to him, and I felt like I was barely scratching the surface.

“My mother was. She had a pistachio farm in Bronte that her family tended. It was how they made their money. She demanded to keep working there after she married my father, and taught me how to tend to them.” Enzo opened the door to the house. Cool air slammed into me, and goosebumps rose on my arms. I went to the kitchen sink and washed my glass.

“Really? I didn’t think women were allowed to do that kind of thing” I said, cautiously. Besides Martina, who I knew was the outlier, I’d worked with other women who were a part of the mafia world, tailoring their clothes. None of them worked, perfectly upholding the Mafia wife stereotype.

“My father would’ve done anything to keep her happy. He planted trees at his home and begged for her help to keep them alive when he was first courting her,” Enzo said. He placed the bag on the table and took out a bowl. I went and sat next to him.

“She wanted nothing to do with this world and told him she wouldn’t go on a date with him before he got a chance to ask. But she pitied him when he told her the trees were dying and came to help. She came every other day, showing him how to care for the trees to make them thrive, while he did everything he could to show her how great they could be together.”

“Really? And she didn’t see right through him?” I asked.

“Oh, she did. But by then she’d gotten to know him and they’d fallen in love,” Enzo said, cleaning the dirt off a nut.

“Here,” he said. Holding my hands, he showed me how to clean the pistachios, removing the dirt and loosening the shells that were ready to be peeled.

It was easy, once I knew how to crack them. We worked, quiet contentment falling over us.

“Is that why you have the greenhouse?” I asked after a while.

“Yes, and no,” Enzo said, tossing a nut in his mouth. “I have a lot of good memories of my mother and me in the groves, harvesting and laughing. She taught me how to have patience, that everything good in life comes when we nurture and grow it. But I also like it. It gives me time to think through issues and plan when I need to.”

“I like that,” I said. I swallowed, nervous to talk to someone about what was plaguing my mind. “I’m worried about Charles. I know we talked about it before, but he is really vindictive. Our custody agreement outlines everything we’re supposed to do. I broke it when I didn’t notify him that I was dating you and that you’d be around Harper. And there is a timing thing that we have to have been together for more than ninety days, which we haven’t.”

“And you’re afraid he’s going to be a weasel and punish you because he’s a poor father and an even worse partner by using those to his advantage?” Enzo guessed. I nodded.

“Yes. And despite his trust fund being potentially revoked, he does have his own money. Not as much, but he’d spend every penny he had to hurt me the way he thinks I hurt him.”

“Do you want to know what I would do?” Enzo asked.

I thought about it. “Yes. I do.” I’d never been able to have someone to volley ideas or thoughts—not with my limited circle of friends and family.

“When I deal with men like this, I go to them, on their turf, and throw them off balance. I come prepared to fight,” he said. I was tempted to ask for an example, but knew it was better if I didn’t know any details.

“When do you think I should do this?”

“We,” Enzo gave me a long look that said I was insane to think I was going to do anything alone, “should plan. I’ll look into a few things, and we’ll get to work.”

CHAPTER 27

Enzo

I sighed, closing my eyes as Donovan pulled the car to the curb.

“I’ll be late,” I said. “Don’t stay up and wait. You need to sleep.”

Serena sighed on the other side of the phone. I hated being away from her and Harper. We’d fallen into a rhythm over the last few weeks.

I made a conscious effort to be home for dinner, where we all ate. Sometimes, some of my men stopped by; some days, it was just us.

Then both Serena and I got Harper ready for bed. Over the last few days, Harper had declared that I was a better storyteller because I changed voices for each character, so I had the honor of reading her as many stories as she wanted before she fell asleep.

It was perfect. Every night was better than the last.