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I don’t have the strength to put it back together.
Chapter 39
Arin
Five Months Later
“You’ll never guess who called me yesterday asking for a private fitting with you,” Miriam all but squeals over the phone. “I’ll give you a guess. They call her Queen Bey.”
I nearly drop the stack of fabric samples I’ve been carrying. “Are you serious? Please, tell me you’re serious.”
“Deadly serious, honey. So what should I tell her?”
Ever since the incident, people have been theorizing non-stop about who I am and what the hell happened. Apparently, a handful of people witnessed me being thrown into a car at gunpoint. Even after I made a public statement that it was a prank gone wrong—it was the only way to keep the cops from asking too many questions—people weren’t quick to believe me. Especially not now that I’ve essentially gone into hiding, refusing to make public appearances and only working on orders out of Isabella’s winter home.
Miriam frankly loved the idea. “A reclusive designer of extraordinary talent is a narrative that sells itself,” she’d told me. “Your demand is going to skyrocket!”
After learning of Dominic’s fate, I decided I had to get out of New York. I packed everything I could and took Felicia with me. My daughter’s flourishing out here away from the concrete jungle, and I’m pretty sure her little brother growing in my belly appreciates the fresh air. It’s a peaceful existence, far from the spotlight and crime and chaos of the city that never sleeps.
“Tell her I’m booked out until January,” I say, my phone pinched between my ear and shoulder as I set my things down on my work desk. “I’m still working on the gowns Genevieve ordered for the Met Gala, so there’s a bit of a wait.”
“I don’t think this particular client is accustomed to waiting,” Miriam admits.
“I know, but you can’t rush art. Mrs. Carter would know that.” I flip through my sketchbook, admiring the dresses I’ll be busy making in the next few weeks. “How are things at the store on Fifth Avenue?”
“Everything’s looking good. We’ll be ready for the grand opening by the end of the month. There’s a lot of speculation as to whether or not you’ll be there.”
I smile even though I know she can’t see me. “The clothes should be the highlight of the event, not me. Besides, as my representative, I trust you’ll do the grand opening justice.”
“You flatter me,” Miriam says with a giggle. “Oh, shoot. I’ve got to go. That’s the other line. I’ll talk to you soon, babe.”
“Talk to you soon.”
I set my phone down and take a deep breath. It’s only one in the afternoon, which means I won’t have to pick up Felicia from preschool for another two hours. I was intending on spending my day productively, but my brain’s been foggy lately, preoccupied with thoughts about the bun in my oven.
Isabella has basically given me free reign to do whatever I want to her winter home, even going so far as to add my name to the deed. I’ve been wanting to turn the room at the end of the hall into a nursery, but I’m as indecisive as ever when it comes to what color I want to paint the walls and where I should shop to buy all the things I’ll need to welcome my son into the world. I suppose I could always order everything online, but there’s something incredibly satisfying about going to a store and picking everything out in person.
Thud.
I turn around and frown. The sound came from somewhere near the front of the house. There’s plenty of wildlife in the area, so my initial thought is that it’s those pesky raccoons I’ve caught rummaging through our trash. I’m about to ignore it and go back to work when I hear anotherthud, thud.
That’s no raccoon. It sounds an awful lot like footsteps.
Whatever it is, it’s on my front porch.
I remind myself to stay calm, though my time spent being the woman of a Mafia capo has taught me the importance of being alert and ready to fight if necessary. I’m all by myself out here.
Thud, thud, thud.
It seems like my unexpected guest is… pacing?
I grab the baseball bat out of the umbrella holder by the front door, holding it in front of me as I go to open it. I whip it open and shout, “Can’t you read the sign? It says no trespassing!”
“Arin, it’s me—”
I swing the bat before I can register his voice. It knocks him right in the ribs. The man keels over with a pained grunt. When our eyes lock, I’m in too much shock to worry about whether or not I’ve broken something.
“Dominic?” I choke.
