Serena
Monday mornings were always the hardest day of the week. I woke up half an hour earlier, showered, and got ready.
Harper hated waking up on a great day. She hid under the blanket, threw temper tantrums, and went as far as faking sick with the worst fake cough I had ever heard to get out of leaving the bed in the morning.
After the fun weekend she had, it was going to be a nightmare getting her out of bed.
Psyching myself up to take on my four-year-old, I went to her room.
She wasn’t there. I walked to the bed, lifted the blanket and... she wasn’t there. I checked around the room, but she was nowhere to be found.
Then I heard her tinkling laughter.
I checked the time on my watch as I followed the sound. It was 7:05 am. Thirty-five minutes earlier than I typically start to try and wake her up.
I headed downstairs, following the noise toward the kitchen, and stopped.
Harper had a spoonful of mac and cheese suspended in the air, laughing hysterically. Her hair was in a lopsided ponytail; her shoes were on the wrong feet, but she was wearing her uniform.
Enzo was at the stove, dressed in a suit I had made, shaking his head. Harper’s laughter filled the air, echoing down the hallway where I stood. Whatever I had walked in on, I didn’t want to interrupt.
The two of them, enjoying their moment in the morning, tugged at my heart
I knew magic when I saw it.
Harper made a face and started laughing again. Enzo whipped around, waving the spatula in his hand like a wand. With a flourish that was more akin to a Broadway show. He walked over, carrying two plates, placed them next to her, and sat down beside her.
I did my best to stay unnoticed as Harper reached over with her fork and stabbed it into the food. It was a piece of pancake, a food item I had yet to get her to like.
She shoved it in her mouth fast, chewing as she giggled. Enzo pushed his plate closer, and she had another bite. Then another.
I wanted to pump my fist in the air. For a year and a half, I’d tried every healthy breakfast I could think of, and she rejected every single one. She couldn’t live off mac and cheese and dino nuggets forever.
The longer we spent here, the better everything got. Harper was waking up more easily, eating without a fight, and I had a studio again.
I cleared my throat, hating to interrupt their moment, but having no other choice.
“What’s for breakfast?” I asked and walked to the fridge.
“Mommy, I went to wake you up, but Enso caught me. He said if I got ready really quietly, I could make my own lunch,” she said and pointed to the brand-new cartoon lunch box on the counter.
I smiled at her mispronunciation of Enzo’s name and opened the lunch box, almost afraid to see what she put in there. Surprisingly, not every container had mac and cheese. There were a variety of items, some that she had never tried before. I only had to pull out one thing because of the nuts.
“I have to be with her for drop-off. None of you or your men are on the approved drop-off or pick-up list.” I forgot that there was a drop-off approval list for her daycare last night.
“Okay. How long does it take to add me?” Enzo said as he cleared his and Harper’s plates.
“Oh, uhm, easy. It’s just a form I have to submit,” I said. With hesitancy, I asked, “Do you envision doing drop-offs often?”
“Yes.” Enzo was in front of me. “I do. I’ll take her every morning unless there is a reason I shouldn’t.” He stepped closer. “You’re not alone in doing anything anymore.”
He pushed a cup into my hands, our fingers touching. It was early, I hadn’t had a sip of coffee, and yet one touch had me more awake than I’d been in years.
“Did you sleep well, amore mio?” he asked, leaning down. I nodded, unable to talk, and drank the coffee he handed me.
A blend of vanilla and cinnamon deliciousness filled me, and I sighed, closing my eyes.
“Thank you,” I whispered, holding the cup close to my chest.
When I opened my eyes, he was still staring at me. He winked and went back to his food. Was it me or was he always a step ahead of what I wanted? Did I have a tell that clued him in?
It was a question that I didn’t care to answer. I was okay with accepting life as it came, making workarounds when needed, and knowing when to appreciate things as they were.
This was one of those moments.
“Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it,” he said, stepping away and putting on his suit jacket. “We need to hit the road in the next few minutes to be on time.”
Harper jumped off the seat and ran to the front. I followed.
There were two pairs of shoes at the front. One was clearly for Harper, new, and part of her uniform. The other was a platform sandal in warm brown leather with a designer emblem.
They weren’t mine. I opened the small closet to find jackets, but no shoes. There weren’t any shoes that came with the delivery of clothes from Enzo’s guys.
“Put the shoes on, Serena. We’re going to be late,” Enzo said, holding the door open.
“I don’t have shoes,” I said, making a show of looking around for my beat-up Converse.
“You do.” He pointed to the pretty sandals. “Put them on. I know you like them.”
I did. They were pretty, with amazing stitching and craftsmanship. They also cost thousands of dollars and would be the most expensive things I’d ever worn.
Enzo walked over, crouched, grabbed the sandals, and gestured for me to step into them.
Seeing Enzo on his knees, staring up at me, fried my brain. I couldn’t process it.
In a daze, I stepped into the shoes, and Enzo carefully buckled me in. I pressed my nails into my palms, the bit of pain grounding me in reality.
I nodded, keeping my eyes on the ground to avoid looking at Enzo, for fear that he’d keep me in a daze, and headed outside. Enzo’s low laugh followed me out the door.
There were two SUVs out front, one with Donovan behind the wheel, and the other had three men loading it up with clothes I needed to send back to clients.
I headed over, “Wait. What are you doing?”
All three men froze in place, one stopping as he was hanging up a garment, his face paled.
“Bambina, no.” Enzo tugged my hand back, whipping me toward him. “They’re doing deliveries for you today.”
“What?” I heard him, but it was like my brain refused to process the information.
“Stay with me, bambina.” He hit me with that damn smirk that flipped my stomach. “They know where every piece goes. You keep great records. They’ll take payment and bring it back for you to deposit.”
I opened my mouth, but no words came out. Gently, Enzo put a hand on my shoulder and guided me to the car, where Harper waited.
Her feet swung in her booster seat, strapped in and ready to go. I climbed in and slid to the middle seat; the SUV was spacious enough for it. Enzo came in after. As I buckled up, an arm reached behind me, flicked Harper’s hair, then curved around my shoulders.
A breakfast sandwich appeared in my periphery. I grabbed it, unable to contain my excitement.
I loved breakfast. It was my favorite meal of the day. Skipping meant that I was hungry, got a headache, and hated the world.
I narrowed my eyes at Enzo as I brought the sandwich, a bacon, egg, and cheese on a bagel, to my mouth. Catching the moan in my throat, I chewed and sighed at how good it was.
We drove, with Donovan navigating the morning Manhattan traffic with ease. Normally, Harper and I walked and took the train, so being in a car was a change from our usual commute.
Harper showed no nerves as we got closer to her school, like she normally would, jumping out of the car and bouncing on her toes as she held my hand and walked up the steps.
Enzo walked in with me as I headed to the office to get the paperwork to add him to the school’s authorized pickup list. Sending Harper to the school Charles wanted had left me uneasy, even though he paid for it and never missed a deadline, because the families that went there were in his circle.
I hated knowing there was a chance he reported my comings and goings to him. With Enzo accompanying me, there was no doubt the mothers and nannies were already typing away about the man I’d brought to drop-off.
My only saving grace was that the school administration liked me and abided by our custody agreement to a T. That meant Charles wouldn’t be notified that I’d added Enzo to the approved list.
We got back into the car and pulled away from the curb.
“You have some fabric to get, right?” Enzo asked, never taking his eyes off his phone.
“Yeah.” I was behind on some custom projects with all the chaos of the last few days. “I don’t have my designs on me, though.” Typically, I liked to bring them and try different fabrics to find which ones I liked the most.
Enzo reached under his seat and pulled out a folder that I knew had my designs.
I wanted to ask how he knew everything I needed, but I refrained.
“I’ll go with you,” he said.
“You don’t need to. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
“You will be. With me right there.” He leaned closer, his lips brushing my ear. “I can’t wait to see you work.”
A shiver raced down my spine. All day with Enzo following me like a shadow, watching me with his intense gaze?
Hopefully, I'd be able to focus.
I touched the last roll of fabric. I didn’t have a project for it, it but it made my creativity swirl.
It was white, semi-sheer with a pearlescent shine. My hands itched to sketch a design, or maybe a silhouette that would highlight the fabric and the person wearing it.
A small notebook and a sharp pencil broke my view of the fabric.
Enzo held it out, shaking it. “We have time. Draw.”
My heart soared. These spells always hit when I had nothing to draw with and no one patient enough to let me work through them.
I should’ve known Enzo wouldn’t be like that, rushing me to hurry up, or telling me to remember the design until I was home.
He pulled a chair to one of the empty tables in the room and motioned to the salesgirl, who pulled the fabric out and laid it on the table.
“Fine. Since you strong-armed me,” I said sarcastically.
Sitting, I let the vision flow from one sketch to the next. I made quick work of the sketches, not because I felt pressured to, but because I didn’t.
After I finished, I looked up from the drawings—they were a good starting point. Enzo was leaning against a wall directly in front of me, thumbs flying across his screen. The salesgirl ran around the room pulling fabric, probably for another customer.
“Okay,” I said, standing up. “I’m done.”
Enzo nodded and came over. “Let’s get lunch.”
Lunch? I checked the time, and it was after twelve. Had I been working and forcing Enzo to stand around until I was done?
“Lunch?” I would have thought he’d have other, more important things to do.
“Yes. Lunch. You know, the meal between breakfast and dinner?” he said. “I got a reservation for us.”
He made reservations? I checked my outfit in the window’s reflection and smoothed my shirt. I wasn’t prepared to go out to lunch. Especially not with Enzo.
Enzo invaded my space, something I noted that he was doing more often. I liked it. I wanted more of it, to bask in his attention like it was sunshine.
“You worked hard. We should have a good meal and do whatever else you want to do for the rest of the day,” Enzo said. He wanted to spend more time with me? Doing what I needed to do?
Was this a dream, or was I going to wake up soon?
I was so focused on my drawing and Enzo that I almost missed the group of men who were undoubtedly part of Enzo’s crew, carrying multiple bags of fabric a few feet in front of us.
“What is in those?” I asked, pointing to the bags. There were nearly twice as many filled bags as I bought.
“We need to fill your studio with the fabrics you want, not the ones you think you need. I got them for you.” I stopped short, turning to him. I wasn’t mad, but there was an emotion brewing in me that resembled anger.
“You got all the fabric I looked at but didn’t get?” I asked, and he nodded. “That was a waste of money. I might like the fabric, but I have no use for it. There is too much work as is, even to use them.”
“Don’t you have downtime?” Enzo asked. “We aren’t arguing about this. You need more fabric, ones that allow you to try what you want, not what they’re paying you for.”
“We aren’t arguing; we’re having a passionate discussion about you spending way too much money on me. Especially on my business.” That was my real sticking point. It wasn’t up to me how he spent his money, but I had limits when it came to my business.
“You’re right; we aren’t arguing. You also aren’t going to dictate how I spend my money or where I invest it.
You were never going to buy those pieces.
” He was right, but I didn’t get a chance to tell him because he kept going.
“You were going to find every reason not to get them when you could create one-of-a-kind pieces and continue with what you’re doing. ”
“You already invested when you created that studio. I’m not saying what you should do with you money, but if you continue to spend it on me, can you at least talk to me about it first?
” I had built my business from the ground up.
While I wasn’t going to turn down the investment, I wanted to make sure I knew how much was being spent so that I could work out the numbers.
“Fine. But only if you won’t fight with me over every penny.” He sighed.
“Fine.” I turned and flounced away, feeling like I finally won an argument.
Enzo muttered under his breath, but he was too far away for me to hear, and I would bet a hundred dollars it was in Italian.
Once we were both in the car, we rode silently to our next destination.