Page 96 of Tailored for You

Apple was mean and manipulative, but she was never violent. She used words, whispering in people’s ears, to get what she wanted without getting her hands dirty.

But there was no one else I could think of who would want to hurt me.

I wanted to call Minnie, but I hated that she was already in the middle of the never-ending war between Charles and me.

The fresh air filtered into the room, blowing the sheer curtains around. Picking up my drawing pad, I went over to the slightly oversized wicker chair that appeared in the corner a week ago and flipped open an empty page.

I shut my brain off and drew what instinct demanded.

The picture slowly took shape, and I realized I was creating a grove of pistachio trees, reimagining what I thought it looked like where Enzo grew up with his family.

He looked like an even blend of his parents. There were pictures of them scattered throughout the house. Like the ones of Harper that were slowly being added to his walls, and her drawings hanging on his fridge.

Enzo gave us so much that it was hard to keep track. A home, safety, happiness, support. A princess bedroom for Harper. Those were the first things that came to mind. If I sat longer and thought harder, I could fill pages with everything he was providing for us.

What was I giving in return? Headaches? Ruined plans? Killing? Sleepless nights when Harper had a nightmare?

When I added it all up, it seemed so unbalanced.

Stop. You can’t keep a tally sheet.

“Am I interrupting?”

I jumped in my chair, narrowly missing falling off.

“I’m putting a bell on you, so you don’t sneak up on me anymore,” I muttered as I righted myself on the chair.

“What do we have here?” Enzo said. I froze, realizing too late what had happened. Somehow, in my surprise, I threw my sketch pad across the room. The one that had my drawings of Enzo.

Please talk about one of the mannequins. I prayed.

I turned to face Enzo, who was flipping through my book, a smile on his face.

“A lot of these pictures of me aren’t finished. Why?” He flipped the sketchbook around, showing me one of the many half-finished drawings. This one was a full-body mapping of the tattoo on his throat, but stopped there.

I shrugged, standing with my hand out, making a give-me motion. God, I couldn’t even look at him. I was so embarrassed. It wasn’t a few pages in that book. At some point, I had dedicated an entire notebook to drawing different parts of Enzo.

From him in a suit, to what I’d imagine was underneath before I knew. I hadn’t opened it up until now to draw the pistachio grove.

“This one is nice, but the body is blank when you know I have tattoos here.” Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as he set the notebook on the table and undid the buttons to his shirt. I turned to him, unable to look away, embarrassment washing over me. We were together, but I wasn’t sure I was ready to admit how long I had been crushing on him.

“You see, I saw you start with the tattoos here.” He pulled off his shirt and dragged his hands down this body, stopping at his ripped abs. “It seems you forgot that I have more.”

Enzo pulled off his belt, the buckle clinking as it hit the floor.

Michelangelo would have salivated over him, a body made to be drawn and immortalized.

“I think this is something I need to rectify,” he said, walking to the table in the middle. He lifted it with ease and set it aside. Next, he grabbed one of the big chairs near the three-way mirror and put it down where the table had been.

Directly in front of me.

“I'm sorry it took this long to give you what you need.” Enzo pushed his pants down, taking his briefs with them as they hit the ground. He kicked off his shoes and socks, leaving him stark naked in my studio.

He walked over, grabbed the notebook and a few pencils, and handed them to me.

In a daze, I took the notebook and pencils.

“This could take a while,” I said, flipping to a fresh page.