Serena #2
With Minnie in line, for the moment at least, I motioned for him to follow me. It was a short distance to the door. I stopped and turned.
From this close, I could smell him, all clean laundry, coffee, and something faint and masculine that made my chest tighten.
My pulse jumped. For a moment, I wanted nothing more than to press myself against him, to feel a touch that wasn’t motherly or polite but filled with desire and recognition, as if I mattered in a different way.
I mentally shook my head, trying to chase the thought away. What is wrong with me?
He tilted his head, watching me, and I felt my body betray me with a tiny shiver. My hands curled into fists at my sides, and I shifted my weight from foot to foot, unsure where to look.
“It’ll only take me a few days to get the order,” I said, forcing my voice steady. Internally, I scolded myself for letting my mind wander.
He leaned a fraction closer, his gaze never leaving mine. “There’s no rush. Whenever you have time to fit it in your schedule,” he said, smooth, calm, commanding.
I swallowed, aware of the small space between us, the closeness of his frame, the subtle heat of his presence.
His eyes traveled over me, head to toe, and for a beat, I wondered if he saw more than the designer, more than the professional barrier I’d built around myself.
Then he straightened, stepped back, and left, the door clicking softly behind him.
My pulse thundered in my ears, and I had to lean against the wall for a moment to remind myself to breathe, forgetting I had eyes on my every move.
I sighed in relief. If he looked at me any longer with his assessing gaze, I was going to start blushing.
“Well,” Minnie said from where she stood, a dreamy smile on her face as she stared at the closed door. “Isn’t he something?”
I shook my head and walked over. “Stop.” I pointed at her.
Minnie blinked at me, her face the picture of innocence. “Stop what?
I rolled my eyes, adjusting some fabric on the table to my right.
“You’ve got that ‘planning something diabolical’ expression again.
” Minnie loved matchmaking, and thus far I’d managed to stay out of her clutches.
“I'd like to remind you that Enzo is a client, and I’m his tailor. I work for him. He pays me.”
“No. Don’t you dare do that.” She jabbed a finger at me.
“Do what? Outline the nature of our relationship, if you could call it that.” I shrugged and started moving around, looking everywhere but at Minnie.
“That is a man, with a capital M, who is interested in more than you taking in the seam of his pants. He wants to get into yours. And I, for one, think you should let him.” Minnie nodded, crossing her arms over her chest. “Even if it’s for one night. You deserve one night.”
My chest tightened, and I rolled my eyes, but I didn’t say anything in response.
I came with baggage. I was a single mom whose time was limited, and I’d had my heart shattered in a way I wasn’t sure could be repaired.
If I were being completely honest with myself, which I tried to be, I hadn’t really made any attempt at piecing my heart back together.
There wasn’t any time in my life to work on that. No one wanted to be the person who had to piece me back together. I didn’t think it was fair to ask of someone, either.
“I love Charles, but I want to punch him in the face with a brick sometimes.” She grabbed my shoulder, turning me to face her.
“Charles doesn’t have two cents in his head.
Somewhere along the way, his father and I screwed up and gave him the idea that he’s a god when he’s only human.
He cheated. That is on him. It had nothing to do with you.
He did not deserve you, and he doesn’t deserve Harper. ”
Tears pressed against the back of my eyes.
The Clearwarts had the kind of wealth that brought them to the highest echelons of society. They were millionaires, edging closer to the billionaire status every year. When they walked down the street, paparazzi followed them.
Minnie was always in the news for making massive donations to schools and organizations.
When Charles cheated, a video of him boarding a plane with another woman went viral, even hitting the gossip pages as more accounts of his antics surfaced. Each picture broke me, and I couldn’t escape the story as it dominated the news cycle for weeks.
I filed for divorce when Harper was one —my happy world turned upside down. Charles was not happy. He came at me with his expensive lawyers, threatening to take everything from me, and he would’ve won if Minnie and Charles III hadn’t stepped in and paid for my divorce lawyer.
I was in the right, but I didn’t have the funds to stop Charles’ expensive lawyers from picking my life apart and dragging it out because they could.
And it wouldn’t have been good for Harper, who took precedence over everything else.
“Thanks, but it’s nothing like that. I’m over the divorce.” It was a small lie. I was over Charles, but I was still building myself back up. “You and I both know I never should've said yes just because I was scared and pregnant.”
“It’s in the past. Let’s focus on the future.
How about you let Charles and me buy you an apartment?
” She made the offer, as she had many times before, so nonchalantly.
She raised a finger. “Or, we get you out on a date. Maybe if Lorenzo,” Minnie said his name with a terrible Italian accent, “finds out, he’ll stomp in, throw you over his shoulder, and have his way with you. ”
“You know how I feel about you buying us a place. When I have the money and resources, we will find a new place. Until then, we are staying put. And you’ve been reading too many romance books,” I said with a laugh.
“And you haven’t been reading enough,” Minnie countered, leaning against a table covered in fabric.
“You’ve had a bad hand dealt to you these past few years, in no small part because of my idiot son.
Just because you’re a mother doesn’t mean you stop being a woman who deserves to get wined and dined by a hot, tattooed man with a dangerous air about him who is very interested in you. ”
I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. “I agree with you on everything but him being interested in me. I have work up to my eyes, especially with some of the custom commissions I have coming in, and I have a few famous stylists coming in to talk through some custom red carpet looks. There’s barely enough time for me to eat throughout the day and be present with Harper. ”
It was stressful, having all this work, but with every small piece I tailored, I got a larger custom order, too. I was itching to dig in—find the right fabric, bring the vision to life. Every late night was worth it for work that kept the creative muse flowing.
A small, sad smile formed on Minnie’s face. It was tender and caring, motherly in a way that hit me in the stomach.
From the moment Charles introduced us, Minnie took me under her wing. The only other woman I’d had as a motherly figure in my life was Martina Vinci, Adrienne’s mom, who once dragged me to dinner at her house every Sunday for a year once she found out I was in the city alone.
She was the one who had pushed me to start my tailoring studio, guided me on how to run my own business, and taught me that when anyone in that family asks me not to work with someone, I don’t question it.
It wasn’t that I didn’t have a mom. I did. She was alive and well, but we weren’t close and never had been. We never developed the deep connection that many girls do with their moms as they grow older, and we barely spoke unless there was a reason to.
Still, I knew I could take care of this on my own. Minnie might have taken my side in the divorce, but she could change her mind. That was an option I was always mindful of.
“If you don’t want to try with him, I have a list of men. Rich, attractive men who I know would bend over backward for a woman like you. I can bring you their resumes whenever you’re ready.” She reached out, twirled a strand of my hair, and left.
In my wildest dreams, I could have it all—a doting husband, maybe give Harper a sibling if it was in the cards. We’d get out of this big studio that doubled as our home, and I could finally separate work and family.
The reality, though? Life had kicked me in the teeth one too many times to let myself believe in fairy tales. I wasn’t looking for a husband, not really. Not someone to fill in the cracks or pretend to be the hero I didn’t need.
And yet… I caught myself pulling out my phone and staring at my half-finished dating profile, that little digital form taunting me.
What’s the harm in finishing it? I told myself.
Not that I expected anything to come of it—just a small act of curiosity, a tiny rebellion against the part of me that always plays it safe.
I tapped the final details, pressed send, and a cheerful message popped up: We’re so excited that you took this step in finding love. We’ll get back to you on your matches.
I exhaled, a little smile tugging at my lips. At least I could say I tried if anyone asked. That Charles didn’t win. Then I put the phone aside, picked up my pencil and drawing paper, and let myself get lost in the dress I absolutely had to finish today.