Nine

Chapter 9
Arin
All things considered, I’m doing alright. Granny Ruth didn’t raise a quitter. Just because my dreams have been dashed for the zillionth time, I refuse to give up. Failure simply isn’t an option. I’ll have to hustle three times as hard if I want to give my daughter the life she deserves. Until then, it’s time to put my nose to the sewing machine and work until my fingers bleed. I just wish…
I just wish I could stop thinking about him.
It’s been over a week since I wandered into Dominic’s office, yet he occupies my every waking thought. His hulking frame, his luscious hair, those hauntingly beautiful eyes that seemed to see every inch of me. I’m still marveling at the fact that the father of my child has been in New York this entire time, only three subway stations and a transfer away.
Maybe I should go back and tell him about Felicia. But that’d be kind of embarrassing, wouldn’t it? Especially on the heels of being rejected for a loan. And if he really is a loan shark, do I want to expose Felicia to that kind of person?
A million and one thoughts swim around in my head, punctuated by the rhythmic beat of the sewing machine needle bobbing up and down as I sew a hem.
“Mommy!” Felicia whines from her play area. I have a little spot set up in the back corner of my shop where she spends most of her Sundays with me at work. My budget is unfathomably tight, and that means I can really only afford to take her to daycare from Monday to Friday. The weekends are just for us, even if I do have to work.
“Yes, sweetie?” I ask, momentarily looking away from my work. “Pudding!” my daughter announces.
I smile at her gently. “You had a snack pack twenty minutes ago. Plus, Auntie Lana’s making tuna casserole tonight. You don’t want to be too full.”
I’m not at all surprised when my daughter’s face crinkles up, her cheeks red and her nose runny. She starts to whimper before breaking into an outright wail, throwing a tantrum in the back of my empty store. She cries and cries, pouting with distressing effectiveness. She’s as cute as a button and she knows it.
Abandoning my desk, I go and pick her up, holding her close as I press kisses to her wet cheeks. “Look at this!” I gasp, snagging a swatch of soft emerald green satin. “Isn’t it beautiful? Don’t you think your Barbie would look pretty in a dress made out of it?”
Felicia takes the fabric in her tiny hands, running her fingers along its surface. My distraction works like a charm because she sniffles once, twice, before she stops crying altogether. “Pretty,” she echoes in agreement.
“Tell you what. I’ll make your Barbie a new dress right after I’m finished with my client’s, okay? And then we can show Auntie Lana once we get home.”
The bell over my front door chimes. In walks a familiar redhead, shaking out her umbrella beneath the small awning outside.
“Ah, speak of the devil,” I say. “I thought your shift at the restaurant wasn’t over until after five.”
Lana sighs, exasperated. “My manager sent me home. Someone fu — I mean — messed up the schedule so we had way too many servers. And here I was hoping to make a little extra in tips, too. My MetroCard is about to expire, and I could’ve used the money to top it up. I’d really hate to stall hop again.”
I grimace. “Didn’t you get caught last time?” “Yeah, but it wasn’t like I had a choice.”
“You can just borrow my card if you need to. I can work out of the apartment for a little while.”
Lana shakes her head. “I can’t ask you to do that. You’re already paying out the ass to cover the store’s overhead.”
Felicia gasps. “Bad word!”
I chuckle as I say, “Let’s give Auntie Lana a break today, hm? She deserves it.”
“C’mere, you little troublemaker,” she says, walking over to take Felicia from me. “How was it today? Slow going?”
I gesture around to my empty store. “What are you talking about? Can’t you see I’m swamped?”
“Sorry, babe. If that’s the case, feel like heading home early? I can get a head start on that casserole and—”
The bell over the door chimes yet again.
When I look up to greet the customer who just walked in, I’m stunned into silence. This massive bull in my tiny dress shop is no customer at all. Instead, it’s a familiar man dressed in a sharp suit and a tan peacoat. Behind him, two similarly dressed men I’ve never seen before gaze around.
“Dominic?” I breathe.
He tips his head. “Afternoon.”
The air rushes from my lungs. I’m suddenly very aware of how small and underwhelming my store is. Dominic looks misplaced here, far too classy and rich for the likes of my humble business.
A moment passes. Nobody makes a move; nobody utters a sound.
“I was hoping to have a word with you,” Dominic says to me. “In private.”
Lana leans in, eyeing the men with a combination of confusion and cautious suspicion as she holds onto Felicia a little tighter. “Do you want me to stay?”
I chew on the inside of my cheek. This whole situation is weird. A small voice in the back of my head wonders rather dryly if I’m about to be robbed, but for some reason, I know Dominic would never do that to me. Right now, I’m more concerned with the fact that Felicia is right here. Will he realize who she is just by looking at her? Now that I have them in the same room together, their features are strikingly similar. The same nose, same ears, same lips.
Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to notice the girl in Lana’s arms. I tell myself that’s a good thing. I don’t think I’m ready to have that conversation yet.
“It’s okay,” I tell Lana. “Head on home with Felicia and I’ll meet you there later.”
Lana nods, watching the men at my front door warily. She kisses me on the cheek. “Be careful, babe,” she whispers in my ear before shuffling off. The men part to give her plenty of room to leave.
“Bye bye!” Felicia waves at me.
“I’ll see you later, sweetie.” I wipe my hands on my apron, my heart thudding in suspense. “So, um… Who’re you guys?”
Dominic turns to his colleagues, gesturing. “These are my…friends, Elio
Bertoneli and Johnny Mancha.”
“Aww,” the guy to his right, Elio, says with a smile. “I’m your friend?
That’s a big step for us.”
“Not now, stronzo.” He waves them off. “Wait outside.”
They follow his orders without question. It’s hypnotizing to watch. And then we’re alone.
Dominic looks at me the same way he did when I walked into his office a week ago. Hungry and dark, but with an undercurrent of something warm and fond.
“What are you doing here?” I ask quietly.
“Not happy to see me, huh?” he replies with a smirk.
A light laugh bubbles past my lips. “I didn’t say that.” I lick my lips, excited beyond belief when I see his eyes dart down to follow the motion. “I’d give you a tour,” I say sheepishly, “but this is pretty much it.”
“Nice place you’ve got here.”
I roll my eyes, but there isn’t any heat behind it. “You don’t have to lie.” “I never lie.”
“I’ll have to take your word for it.” A second later, I ask, “Seriously, Dominic. What are you doing here? Is this about the loan?”
“No,” he says. “Well, maybe a little.”
I glance at him, my interest piqued. “Care to fill me in? Or are we going to have to play a game of twenty questions?”
He chuckles, the sound rich and smooth like brandy. “I was wondering if you make suits.”
“Oh.”
“I assume that’s a no?”
“Not no. I just wasn’t expecting you to ask that. Uh, yeah, I can make suits. I can make anything, actually.”
“And what would your rate be for a full set?”
I run the numbers in my head. Making a suit is very different from dressmaking, although a lot of the same principles apply. “It depends on the quality of the material,” I tell him honestly. “And how quickly you’d want it. I have a couple of customers ahead of you, too, so if you don’t want to wait, it might be better if you go to a tailor and—”
“I don’t want another tailor. I want you.”
Three simple words, yet their effect on me is overwhelming. My skin heats and the ache between my legs is suddenly too difficult to ignore. How
am I supposed to respond to that?
“A thousand,” I tell him. “For a bespoke suit.” Dominic’s brows furrow slightly. “That’s all?”
“I could make it two thousand, if that’s what you want?” I reply dryly. “Make it five.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re underselling yourself.”
I cross my arms, feeling strangely defensive. “You want me to charge you more?”
“I want this to be fair.” He reaches into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and pulls out a checkbook and pen. “I think four custom suits will more than cover me. I’ve seen your work. I think this amount reflects that.”
I’ve never experienced a heart attack before, so I have to assume that the uneven thud-thump of my heart can only mean I’m suffering from a serious cardiac event. Four suits at five thousand dollars? That means—
Dominic hands me the check without pomp or circumstance. To him, this is just another perfunctory shopping spree. To me, it’s my future career pinched between my shaking hands. His name is printed neatly in the top left- hand corner: Dominic Costello.
“Is this some kind of joke?” I ask him, staring at all the zeros he’s drawn. “Do I look like I’m joking?”
“Wait a second. You wouldn’t give me a loan for twenty-grand, but you have no problem shelling out twenty-grand for a couple of suits?”
His jaw ticks. “I have my reasons.” “Care to enlighten me?”
“Not particularly.”
I make a sound that’s half-laugh, half-huff. “I don’t know if that answer is going to fly, Dominic.”
“Do you make a habit of sassing your customers?” “No, just you.”
The corner of his mouth pulls up into the smallest of amused grins. “I feel so special.”
“I can’t take your money.” “Sure you can.”
“I… I feel guilty.”
“Why? I’m paying for a product upfront. You ask your other customers for a deposit on their dresses, don’t you?”
“Of course I do.”
“Then how is this any different? We’re even now. You won’t owe me anything except my suits.”
I want to keep arguing with him, but I don’t want to push my luck. Not when I finally have the money I need to get my fashion label off the ground. I’ve been working up to this moment for years, and I sure as hell know when I’m looking a gift horse in the mouth.
“Okay,” I whisper, clearing my throat so I can speak normally. “Four suits. You’ll need to come back tomorrow so I can get your measurements. Are you free around noon?”
Dominic nods. “I’ll see you then, dolcezza.”