Chapter Two
The house was eerily quiet.
Clarissa hated when the house was like this. She preferred to hear the echo of the guards’ steps, or to hear them talking. She didn’t always know what they were saying as they spoke in muffled tones. At least, there was noise.
She opened the curtains in her bedroom, stepping onto the small veranda that overlooked the garden. Lorenzo had an absolutely beautiful estate that stole her breath away. She loved it.
She couldn’t help but smile as she looked at the amazing garden.
A light frost had fallen, and she wrapped her arms around herself and tried not to get too cold.
That was going to be nearly impossible. Stepping back inside her bedroom, she closed the door, flicking the locks into place, even though she had learned that no matter how safe a home was, if someone wanted you dead, they would find a way to get inside.
She left her bedroom and made her way across the small hall to where her sewing studio was, and she did the same, allowing some fresh air into the room.
The last thing she wanted was to have it stuffy with dust. After a few seconds, she closed everything and glanced around the room. The suit, once again, caught her eye.
She was not going to destroy all that time and effort. Maybe she would befriend one of the guards, who was similar in stature to Lorenzo, and gift it to him for Christmas.
Leaving her sewing space, although it was the last thing she wanted to do, she made her way downstairs in the empty house—the silent, almost haunted house. She went toward the kitchen, only to stop when she caught sight of Lorenzo behind the stove.
“Good morning,” he said.
She had never seen him in the kitchen. She rarely ever saw him before ten o’clock. It was a little before eight. She’d been up a couple of hours, but hadn’t ventured downstairs until hunger was starting to get the better of her.
“Morning,” she said, a little stunned to see him.
Something was different. She’d never been a rude person. It was drilled into her, with the occasional slap, to always be polite, so she didn’t say anything.
“I’ve got the coffee on, and it should taste good. Bacon, eggs, and some fresh grilled tomatoes for this morning.” He offered her a smile, and she was taken aback.
In the year and a half they’d been married, not once had Lorenzo even smiled at her. At least, she couldn’t recall him ever smiling at her. She couldn’t move, because it had taken her by surprise. He had a nice smile. It was so unexpected.
She moved toward the coffee. She opened the fridge and pulled out the milk.
When it was getting closer to Halloween, she loved to splurge on some creamer, but not yet.
She added some milk, stirring the coffee into the mug and giving it a good mix.
The scent of bacon was heavy in the air, and it made her stomach grumble.
Turning toward the stove, she watched as he pulled out the crispy-looking bacon, but he was not done.
Two slices of bread went into the grease, and he dipped them in, only to keep the bread on the pan for another minute or two, getting it nice and crisp.
He did turn the bread, and it looked amazing.
Once the bread was done, he placed a piece on each plate with crispy bacon and soft scrambled eggs.
She didn’t have the heart to tell him she liked her scrambled eggs overcooked.
It was the way her granddad often did them.
Every time she was in the kitchen with him, he’d always complain about how chefs didn’t know what the hell they were talking about and they didn’t have the first clue how to cook.
The tomatoes, perfectly grilled, went on toast.
Lorenzo was great at everything, except marriage.
Or being a friend. Or having a conversation.
He was good at telling his friends about all her shortcomings as a wife.
It was her biggest fear that she was never going to be as good as her sister.
That was certainly coming true now. She was not as good as ...
she couldn’t bring herself to say her name.
It hurt too damn much, which is why it was always easier to say “her sister.”
“Breakfast is served,” Lorenzo said. “Are you going to follow me to the dining room?”
She nodded her head and proceeded to follow him to the dining room. They sat down, and Lorenzo had already put the plate of food in front of her. She offered him a smile and a thank you.
“Don’t thank me yet, you might need to try it.”
Clarissa picked up her knife and fork and cut into the piece of bread, being sure to add bacon, tomato, and eggs. Even though the eggs were a little soft, she didn’t mind eating them. Eggs still tasted like eggs, and they were so good.
“It’s really good.”
“That’s good, so I was thinking you and I could hang out today,” Lorenzo said.
“Hang out?”
“Yes. There’s nowhere I need to be, and I thought you could show me what you like, what you enjoy,” he said.
Clarissa stared at him. “You wouldn’t want to do that.”
“Why not?” he asked.
“What I do is boring and...” she faded off, because it was the insult that he’d sent her way.
“And I don’t know anything about it,” Lorenzo said. “I need to learn what you like. You know what I like. I’ve taken you dancing. We’ve enjoyed movies.”
In the early days of their marriage, before he told his friends how he really felt, they did everything he loved.
She would get her chance in the sewing room when he was busy with the mafia.
She didn’t mind. It had been fun to learn more about him, and she absolutely loved to go to the nightclubs with him.
When he would take her. She loved to dance, and although they had done it only once, it had stuck with her.
“You don’t have to do that,” Clarissa said, even more nervous. Sewing was not for everyone, and it did have the reputation of being boring. She loved it. She loved being creative and bringing fabrics to life, and it provided her an escape where she didn’t have to think about everything.
Lorenzo reached out and touched her hand. “I want to do it.”
She saw no point in arguing with him. She reckoned thirty minutes in her sewing room would be enough to send him running for the hills.
****
There was no way Lorenzo was ever going to tell his friends that other than killing people and being a Capo within the Colombo Mafia, he absolutely, one hundred percent, loved sewing. He was in shock.
Clarissa had given him free reign on her sewing machine, and it wasn’t like he’d made a lot, but for the whole afternoon, he learned the sewing machine—the speed of which to use it, and bringing strips of fabric together to create a large rectangle, to which they added some wadding between.
He did two sides, and she helped him assemble the border with something called bias tape, which made it look pretty.
If his sewing was neat, it would have looked amazing.
She did suggest he hand sew, but he wasn’t interested in hand-stitching anything.
However, from the looks if what he’d made, it probably would have been a lot better to hand sew.
He loved every second of it, and after several hours, he had a quilted rectangle Clarissa said he could use on his desk, to put a mug of coffee on, with a plate of cookies.
She stood close to him as he looked at his work, and he’d removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. This had taken all afternoon, mainly because he had to get used to the sewing machine.
“That was incredible,” he said. He saw the smile on her face, and he realized it was the first real, genuine smile she had given him in the short time she had known him.
“You did this?” she asked.
“Hell, yeah, I can see why you rarely want to come out of this place. Show me around,” he said.
She giggled. It was the first time he had ever heard that sound, and it was magical. “You did this room for me.”
“I know, and I didn’t really understand it, and it was with your grandmother’s help.”
“My grandmother?”
He nodded. “Yeah, she wanted me to help you make this work. She said a sewing space for you would help you adjust to married life.” He saw her eyes go watery. “Fuck, that wasn’t supposed to make you sad.”
“Oh, I’m not sad, I’m just, I don’t know. I’m grateful to my grandmother. She was an amazing woman, and it didn’t seem to matter what it was, she always knew what we needed or wanted. She was always on the ball.”
“She was certainly an amazing woman. I am so sorry for your loss.” He reached out and stroked her cheek, and Clarissa didn’t immediately pull away. She also didn’t linger for too long either, and he knew an afternoon of sewing was not going to change that.
Everything faded away, and his only focus was to get the lines right and stay within the seam allowance. This project didn’t have a massive seam allowance, so he had to be careful.
Clarissa took his hand and showed him each machine.
The sewing machine, the serger that helped to finish edges.
There were other uses for it, but she often used it to finish edges.
She showed him her haberdashery items—from scissors, to rotary cutters and threads.
There was so much to learn. He listened, not really understanding all of it, but knowing this was part of her world.
His wife had designed and made her own wedding dress. There were some women at the wedding who had looked at it with scorn, but he had loved that wedding dress. It looked stunning, and it had fit Clarissa like a second skin and showed off her body to perfection.
She pointed out her cutting table, along with the many, many, many pieces of fabric in her stash. They ranged from dressmaking to crafting, and even bag-making. It would seem Clarissa was a hoarder of crafting skills.