Serena #2
“Here,” he said, pushing the plate and a fork my way. “Drink this.” He placed a sports drink and an aspirin in front of me. “Take this when you’re done eating. I read that this will help.”
I dug into my food, not hungry but knowing if I didn’t eat, the migraine would come back with a vengeance.
“There is a mini fridge in the studio filled with drinks and snacks.” He shook the bottle. “Since you can’t be trusted to take care of yourself and eat, I’ll be forced to do it myself.”
“I can take care of myself,” I said. “I’ve been doing it for a long time.”
“Yes, I can tell from the migraine that took you out for hours because you forgot to eat or drink,” he shot back.
He had a point, but I wasn’t going to agree.
“I was in the zone,” I said, shoving food in my mouth so I couldn’t say anything else.
“Every two hours, one of my men will stop in to make sure you’ve had something to eat and drink.” He propped his chin up in his hand, with an elbow on the counter. “If you give them grief, then I’ll be the one doing the check-ins.”
I know it was supposed to be a threat, but after that kiss, I didn’t take it as such. Instead, it was the more appealing option.
“There is something else we need to talk about.” He pulled a notebook out and pushed it to me. “This system you have is terrible. I lost my place twice while taking names and potential orders.”
“It isn’t rocket science.” I pointed to the first name on the list. “This one. I’m unsure if I want to work with her.”
“The way you organize yourself, I’m not sure how you know who gets what and when.”
I rolled my eyes at his dramatics. To him, it was disorganized, but I wrote everything down and had yet to miss a delivery.
“That one,” he nodded, “is the mom of one of the kids Harper goes to school with.”
“She is and doesn’t like me, thanks to Apple. I’m not sure I want to work with someone who already thinks they’re above me before we’ve ever so much as said hi to one another.” I snapped my head up. “How did you know she’s a mom?”
“I know every family that goes to school with Harper.”
“Did you run background checks on her class?” I asked. Enzo smiled and nodded. He could get away with a lot with a smile like that. I ignored the dazzling smile and focused. “That’s invasive. Everyone there comes from New York society. Where is my little rugrat?”
“Asleep. She had a long day. After she inhaled her mac and cheese, she washed her face, changed into her pajamas, and fell asleep.”
I blinked because, yes, Harper could do all that by herself, but she never did without prompting and never this early.
“Are you a miracle worker?” I asked. Getting Harper into bed before nine was a trial on the best days.
“No.” He shook his head. “Back to the families: they might be high society people but that doesn’t mean they don’t have demons or something to hide. I’m not going to fall down on the job because I didn’t do my due diligence on potential threats.” He shrugged like it was that simple.
Maybe to him it was. To me, it was hard to wrap my head around how thorough he was being.
“Back to your order requests. The T next to the names means they need a tailor. The C means it’s a custom project. I told them all you’d call them back to get more information, mostly so that I didn’t have to write down what they said since I'd mess it up anyway.
“Personally, I think you should take the custom jobs first, if they’re interesting, and fill the spaces in with the tailoring. They cost more, and you expand your creativity with them,” he said.
I always took tailoring jobs. It was fast work that brought in money. It was the cornerstone of my business.
Custom jobs were more money, but also riskier and time-consuming. People were finicky and changed their minds. One day they’d love the fabric; the next, they’d hate it.
“It’s a thought, was all.” Enzo came around the counter and stood next to me.
He twirled a lock of hair that had fallen out of my ponytail around his finger.
“You don’t have to give up tailoring, but you have a gift.
You should let your creativity flow. There are three custom requests.
Talk to them. If it interests you, go for it. ”
I bit my lip, wondering what they wanted me to make. Long ball gowns? A suit that was cut in all the right ways to fit a woman’s body? Something soft and silky?
“The other thing: you need to update your website.” I sighed, knowing that was for damn sure. It was another thing that fell to the wayside because I had to prioritize, and fixing a website didn’t even make the top ten.
Enzo continued, “I’ll have a guy at work look at it. There’s a contact number, but you should have a form for people to fill out so you don’t have to field calls. That’s insane. Look at how many people called today while you were sleeping.”
“Are you always this dramatic? Is it the Sicilian blood in you that’s prone to theatrics?” I asked him, flashing him big innocent eyes.
“I am not dramatic. This is no way to work.” He raised his eyebrows. “Your mother called. I answered, but she asked that you call her back.”
She needed more money. It was the only reason why she would call.
“I’m going to look at her finances.” I snapped my head up from the notebook to glare at Enzo.
“Lorenzo, don’t you dare,” I retorted hotly.
“When was the last time you sent her money? Is it the same amount every month or different?” His matter-of-fact tone told me I could argue until my voice cracked; he was still going to do it.
“Maybe she had some unexpected issues, or her electricity bill was higher than normal,” I countered because that was always what I told myself.
“Maybe, maybe not. I’ll let you know when I find out.” He turned my face to him with a finger under my chin. “You have a kind heart with a steel backbone. But even steel bends when it's under too much weight.”
I didn’t have it in me to fight him. Even if I did, I wasn’t sure I wanted to. He was right to question what Mom was spending money on. She told me she needed it because they were struggling with bills. If she was being reckless with it, then I needed to put an end to the Bank of Serena.
“She’s bad with money, and my stepdad was struggling to find a job until recently.
I’ve been helping her pay the bills since I could work at seventeen.
” I let him know because I did have a backbone and had boundaries with money and my mom.
I had to. “Opened my own account the day I turned eighteen at a different bank so she couldn’t get to the money I made while I was at school.
She wasn’t happy, but when I started sending checks, she stopped yelling about it. ”
Enzo’s face darkened as I told him more about my relationship with my mother. Was I embarrassed that my mom used me like an ATM? A little. It was the way she was talking, like I owed her for giving me the basics.
Was it toxic? Yeah. It was also the reason why Harper had no relationship with her and why I barely did. She was on the periphery of our life. We both knew it was better this way.
I didn’t want to get into how Mom cleaned out the money I saved for college. How that broke me and was the nail in the coffin that forced me to create boundaries with her. It would devolve into my compulsion to work, and how I knew how quickly money could disappear
“Is there anything else you want to commandeer while we’re at it?” I asked, exhaustion seeping into me again.
I did everything for myself, by myself. Getting a car, college, or apartment hunting—every decision had my name alone on it. There was never anyone to share a decision with or ask for their opinion.
There was a not-so-insignificant weight that lifted off my shoulders at the idea of having someone there, in the trenches with me every day. For someone else to worry with me.
Could I let the reins loose? Not fight him at every turn?
I wasn’t sure, but I wanted to try.
“Not at the moment. I’m sure I’ll find something else.” He took my empty plate, washed it, and put it in the dishwasher. “Come on. You look ready to drop where you stand.”
I couldn’t even argue. It was a struggle to keep my eyes open.
He could have this one. When he found something, it would be hard not to take over, but I would try.
I headed back to my room. Each step felt like I was being dragged underwater. Exhaustion weighed me down, like it did every night at this time, reminding me that no matter what eight hours of sleep was a pipedream.
When the bed magically appeared in front of me, I face-planted.
Enzo muttered words under his breath, none of which I understood because he did it in Italian, and pulled the covers over me, tucking me into bed.
“Sleep, amuri miu.” He walked to the door, stopping with his hand on the frame. “You’re a good mom, Serena. Harper is a smart, caring girl. You should be proud of how much you two love each other.”
I fell asleep with those words ringing in my head.