26. Samara
Chapter twenty-six
Samara
Saturday, July 18, 2026
A small smile spreads across my lips as my foot halts on the pedal, taking in the green onesie with rainbow dinosaurs. “Just a couple more stitches and I’ll be all done,” I say to myself with a little nod.
I really should get a new sewing machine because this one is, frankly, ancient, but I can’t bring myself to part with it yet.
It’s the first my dad was ever able to buy my mom after he worked tirelessly to open the restaurant of his dreams, all while somehow managing to keep food on the table for us.
This old-ass machine is the same one my mom taught me how to sew on when I was five years old, and it still works. It doesn’t have all the fancy attachments that the new ones do, and if I’m being honest, it would probably take me a quarter of the time to finish a piece of clothing with any other machine.
Maybe I’ll keep this one as a sort of art piece and upgrade to something more practical soon.
My foot lifts off the pedal as soon as I get to the end of the garment, and I snip the last bit of thread off.
I fold the onesie and place it in the bag at my feet with the rest of them before scooching out of my chair to get ready to go.
***
As I enter the shelter, I see Brandi standing at the counter, speaking with one of my clients. “Hey ladies,” I greet them.
“What are you doing here on a Saturday at this time? Shouldn’t you have a hot date or something?” Brandi jokes, knowing damn well I never have a hot date.
“Ha ha ha, very funny.” I roll my eyes playfully at her. “Hey, Charice, you’re just the woman I was looking for.” I wink at her from behind the counter.
Brandi buzzes me in, so I head on back. “Is now an okay time to go over the details for next week?”
“Of course it is,” she tells me, making her way around the counter to follow me back to one of the private meeting rooms reserved for counselors and lawyers like me working pro bono cases.
I hold the door to an empty room open for her and close it once she’s passed me. We take a seat on opposite sides of the plastic folding table.
I set the bag of clothing on the floor beside me and lay the file containing all of her court documents in the center of the table. I slide my hands palms up across the table for her to take. She squeezes them gently and gives me a hopeful smile that wreaks havoc on my emotions.
I feel a lump forming in my throat and hot tears threatening to well behind my eyes but push them away before they can make an appearance. This isn’t about me. It’s about Charice and her gorgeous children getting the opportunity they should’ve been afforded so long ago.
“We’re going to get those babies back to you. Do you understand me, Char?” I ask, pushing every ounce of confidence I can muster into my voice.
She nods her head, but I don’t miss the way her lips purse together in a slight grimace. “We are,” she says, her voice cracking.
We spend the next half hour sorting out the final details of her case. It’s been months of compiling this information, all while ensuring the safety of my client remains intact as she fights for her future inside the walls of this shelter.
Offering pro bono services at a place like this comes with its unique challenges. I have to be extremely strategic as to what I’m willing to divulge about my clients and their circumstances during court hearings, even if giving more detail would increase their chances of actually winning.
The thing is, these people have been dealt an unfair hand in life, and while I know I’m playing the absolute smallest role in helping them get their lives back on track, it’s something I take very seriously. It’s easily the most important thing I’ll ever do in this lifetime.
Sure, I help a lot of people settle custody cases, but the truth is, I only take the paid cases in order to fund the ones like these.
“Alright,” she says with a small smile. “I guess we’re all set then.”
She moves to stand, but I stop her. “Wait, one more thing.” I grab the bag from beside me and set it on the table. I push it toward her, and her brows climb her smooth, tan forehead as she eyes it in shock.
“For me?” she asks, hesitantly pulling it toward her when I dip my chin.
She takes out the items, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, and as she makes her way to the bottom of the bag, pulling out the cross-stitched blanket, they fall down her cheeks.
“Let’s get those babies back to their momma, okay?” I ask, and she nods, squeezing her eyes tightly shut to stop the tears from falling.
***
I pull out of the shelter parking lot and follow the GPS to Gloria’s house.
My heart feels heavy as I make the drive, my mind wandering.
I’m at the shelter most weekends and on the rare occasion that I don’t have a client during the week. It always manages to make me think of Cora.
God, I miss her.
My best friend was the strongest, most outgoing, and hilarious person I’ve ever known. She was an incredible mother, and then he used that against her.
My eyes brim with tears as I imagine the future she could’ve had before it was all stolen from her.
***
I can’t believe I actually showed up to this.
I never even asked what the name of the book was, so chances are, I haven’t read it.
Why am I here?
I seem to be asking myself that question a whole lot since having met Luca De Laurentiis, though I find solace in knowing that this night isn’t about him. It’s about hopefully making some new girlfriends. I haven’t really done much socializing since moving back to Philly after law school, and it would be nice to get to know some new people.
Upon entering the huge one-story home, I’m ushered to the living room by one of Luca’s family members. She introduced herself as Charlie, and from my internet stalking, I believe that means she’s Luca’s only sister.
Apprehension fills my gut, and my chest feels tight as I make my way into the room, which is filled with a cacophony of women. This isn’t some small book club like I’d hoped.
While none of these women look even remotely similar to one another, they all have one thing in common. They’re all wearing T-shirts and crop tops that look like band tees which read, “Always Smutty In Philadelphia.”
I hate to admit it, but they’re adorable.
“Samara! I’m so glad you could make it,” Gloria tells me, wheeling over to take my hand in hers. “Follow me. You can pick out your own shirt.”
I like a woman who knows what she wants and has no qualms about getting it. And for some reason, Gloria De Laurentiis has her sights set on me. In what capacity? I have no idea.
Before following her, I look over my shoulder to see that all the women are no longer paying attention to me. It calms some of my earlier worries.
I hate being stared at.
She leads me into a small room with shelves lining the walls and organizers filled with all sorts of stickers, bookmarks, keychains, and stacks of T-shirts.
“Pick whatever color you want. You can change in here or use the bathroom down the hall.” She smiles brightly up at me before leaving the room.
Dread fills me as I approach the stacks of shirts. I’m going to be humiliated if none of these fit. If they don’t, what will I even do? Leave the room and tell them I’m allergic to jersey knit?
My lungs seize with relief so potent I almost want to cry as I scan the shelves, which are labeled with sizes ranging from extra-extra-small to a five-XL.
I grab a black full-length XXL T-shirt off the shelf and hold it up, ensuring it’ll be roomy enough to be comfortable. The material is soft and stretchy, so I shouldn’t have any problems.
Tugging my top off over my head, I set it down beside me before putting the new one on.
It’s baggy enough to give me room for the inevitable bloat I’ll be experiencing after a glass of wine or two.
After folding my other shirt, I slip out of the room and make my way back down the hall, tossing it in my purse and rejoining the women in the living room.
A petite woman with long, dark hair scooches over on one of the couches and pats the seat beside her. “You can sit next to me. I promise I only bite if you ask me to,” she says with a wink.
I can’t help but laugh at that and take a seat beside her. She gives me a reassuring smile. “I’m Aiyana,” she says, introducing herself.
“Samara,” I tell her. “Nice to meet you.”
She smirks, her dark brows rising. “Oh, I know who you are. Gloria couldn’t wait to tell us all about the gorgeous lawyer who saved our little Luca’s ass and even came over for a house call.”
My eyes widen an iota, but I suppress my initial reaction to that. Of course Gloria would tell everyone about the lapse in judgment that ended me up here in the first place.
“Aiyana,” another woman whines. “Stop picking on her.”
She rolls her eyes, leaning farther into the couch cushions. “I’m not picking on her; I’m making conversation,” she says with a pout.
“You’re an asshole, and you’re patronizing her,” another woman with bubblegum-pink hair calls from across the room, but her tone holds no bite, and it makes me smile. The way these women banter reminds me a lot of how things used to be between my sister, Cora, and me.
“Okay, ladies, I think it’s time we play a little introductory game, don’t ya think?” Gloria asks with a wide grin that sends a chill down my spine. I’ve already caught onto the fact that everything she does is with purpose and sheer mischief.
Everyone around me groans.
“Nothing good ever comes of this game,” I hear someone whisper quietly.
She waves a hand in the air, dismissing the loud groans and protests as if they never happened at all. “Let’s play truth or dare, but with a twist,” Gloria says, her face beaming. I’m beginning to realize this woman is a menace to society, and I think I may be her next victim.
“Oh, here we go,” Aiyana says, chuckling under her breath. “What the hell could be the twist this time? Don’t you think you’ve run out of those by now?”
“Not a chance. The woman has the brain of a genius, but she uses it for evil,” one of the women says with a groan.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Stop complaining,” Gloria says cheerily, slapping her hands to her thighs. “This is how the game will go. We’ll each go around the room and introduce ourselves. You’ll say your name and one fun fact about you. The twist is that you get to choose whether or not this ‘fact’”—she says the word with air quotes—“is actually true or not. If someone calls you out on your lie and it actually is a lie, you have to play truth or dare.”
“Okay, so to clarify, we’re basically just saying our name and something about us, and we can choose to fuck with each other?” Aiyana asks.
“Yep,” Gloria confirms.
“Alright, I’ll start,” the curly-haired brunette who greeted me at the front door says. “I’m Charlie, Gloria’s youngest daughter, and one fun fact about me is that my mother has been tormenting me since the day I arrived as a wee lil’ babe.”
“I won’t deny any part of that statement,” Gloria says proudly.
Charlie rolls her eyes and nods her head toward the pink-haired woman beside her. “Okay, I’m Rose, and Charlie’s my wife.”
“Well, that’s not a fun fact, but it’s true,” Gloria grumbles, clearly disappointed by Rose’s mundane response, though I sort of love how cut-and-dry she is.
Charlie laughs, planting a kiss on top of her wife’s head as she says softly, “I think it’s the most fun fact there is.” It damn near makes me swoon. If I were reading that line in a book, I’d be giggling and kicking my feet.
“Alright, lovebirds, onto our little bird, Lark.” Gloria tips her chin toward one of the two redheads in the room.
We continue like this for the next hour. Some of the women finally decide to tell a lie, each of which is easily caught because they know each other so well.
And much to my surprise, I’m actually having fun.
When they get to me, my stomach starts to twist. I was enjoying myself to the point that I forgot to formulate a response, and now I feel stuck. What should I say?
“Hi, I’m Samara.” I try to think quickly on my feet. “And I graduated from Harvard Law before moving back to Philadelphia to practice family law.”
“Hah.” Aiyana snorts, pointing a finger at me. “That’s a fucking lie; you went to Columbia with Rome.”
My eyes widen. “How do you know Rome too?” Good lord. For a homebody, that man certainly gets around.
“Audrey was my wedding planner, thanks to Luca’s suggestion,” she says, smiling brightly.
Before I’m even able to form a response, Gloria’s already back on her bullshit.
“Truth or dare, Samara?”
I repress the groan building in my throat as I consider the possible consequences of either option. Truth is probably safer because, from what I’ve seen of Gloria so far, she’s likely to dare me to streak down the road, and I have zero interest in getting arrested.
“Truth,” I grumble halfheartedly.
Her eyes light up, and a wide smile spreads across her face. “Why did you really come to see Luca the other day?”
I roll my eyes, doing my best not to come across as flustered as I am. Considering that’s literally half of what makes me so good at my job, it shouldn’t be as difficult to pull off as it feels at this moment. Namely, because I’m not even sure why I went over there. “As I said, I was only checking on my client. Nothing unusual. That was such a waste of a question,” I say, keeping my tone even.
“I don’t buy it,” Charlie says.
“Me neither,” a few others respond, and I know they aren’t going to let this go.
“Majority rules. If your ‘truth’ is deemed a lie by most of us, you have to do a dare.”
“You know, this feels a lot like hazing,” I joke, a lighthearted laugh slipping past my lips. I don’t actually feel threatened in any way, but I am a little miffed that they’re not letting this go.
Gloria’s eyes widen before her whole face softens. She places her hand on my thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze before quietly saying, “I never want you to feel that way, Samara. I’m truly sorry if we’ve pushed you too far. I’m a bit of a jokester, but everyone has their limits, and I sincerely apologize if I’ve overstepped.”
I’m taken aback by this. She seems like someone who’s usually unapologetic for her actions, but evidently, that’s a poor assessment too.
“I won’t lie and say I’m used to this kind of banter because I’m not.” At least, I haven’t been in a few years. I haven’t really had many friends since Cora, and I’ve poured myself into my work as a result. “But I don’t really feel like I’m being hazed. Don’t worry. I’ll do your dare; just make sure it isn’t anything too wild.”
“I have a dare,” Kat says excitedly. Something about her soothes me. She’s the type of person you can tell doesn’t have a single malicious bone in her body. My shoulders relax at the thought of her being the one to make a suggestion.
“Okay, go for it,” I urge.
“I dare you to come to my wedding,” she says.
The thought makes me smile. I love weddings. “That’s really sweet, but I’m not sure that’s much of a dare.” I chuckle.
Her eyes crinkle at the sides. “You see, the thing is…” She trails off, and my stomach twists before she finally continues, wringing her hands nervously. “The wedding is only a few months away, and we don’t have any extra space. We’ve been trying to keep it relatively small so the venue doesn’t accommodate any extra people.”
My brows pull together in confusion. Where the hell is this going?
“There’s one seat available…” She looks down at her feet, cheeks glowing pink. “As Luca’s plus one.”
I have to fight the urge to smack a hand over my face. Even she’s a little deviant. “This whole family is full of troublemakers.” I groan, but there’s a part of me that enjoys it. I like that they’ve taken me in as one of their own immediately, not knowing me at all, and yet they feel comfortable enough to treat me the same as they would anyone else in this room.
“I’m not setting you up!” she exclaims. “I’m simply looking out for my wedding party. Luca’s one of our groomsmen, obviously, and he needs someone to walk down the aisle with him. Otherwise, our photos will be ruined, and frankly, he probably won’t have a lot of time for dating now that he’s got Gia.” She flutters her lashes at me. “Please, help me out?”
“Trouble, every single one of you,” I say, shaking my head. “Fine, but only for the sake of your pictures. And I won’t wear pastels,” I say with a pointed glare.
“You can wear a tutu for all I care, but the bridesmaids’ dresses are cabernet satin, so I’d suggest one of those,” she says with a chuckle.
“Alright, send me the details, and I’ll do my best to be there.”
“Ah, really? Oh my gosh, this is so exciting!” she says before snatching a handful of salt-and-vinegar chips from the coffee table and settling back into her seat. As I peer around the room, everyone looks incredibly pleased with this turn of events, and the idea that I sort of am, too, has my ears burning.
It’s just one night. One single night with Luca De Laurentiis.