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His face stays utterly neutral. In the few times I’ve interacted with Dante’s head of security slash right-hand man, it’s become clear that he’s a man of few words. Not exactly big on showing emotions, either.
Honestly, the guy’s a brick wall.
“Okay, but,Mrs. Sartorreisn’t my name. It’s Tempest Black. So if you’re dead set on formality, can you use Ms. Black?”
Lorenzo doesn’t reply verbally, but the look on his face speaks volumes.
I step out of the Range Rover and look up at the unassuming narrow building on West Seventy-Third Street: Ginevra’s shopand showroom, where apparently I’m getting fitted for new clothes I don’t need or want.
Whatever. Dante’s paying for it. At least, he’d better be.
“Mio Dio! Sei così bella!”
The voice surprises me as I step into the small but elegant front room. I spin to see an older Italian woman probably in her late seventies with silvered hair come bustling out of a side room. A tape measure hangs around her neck, as well as a pair of shears in a little holder dangling from a thin chain. She smiles warmly at me, and before I know it, she’s coming over and throwing her arms around me.
Okay?
I awkwardly hug her back before she pulls back to beam at me.
“I…I’m sorry,” I say slowly. “I don’t speak Italian?—”
“Honey, I’ve lived in New York for sixty years,” she chuckles in an almost-cliche Brooklyn accent. “I think I did okay picking up the language. What do you think?”
I look down. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. “She grins widely, stepping back to let her eyes drag up and down my frame. “Such a beauty!”
I blush even deeper as she chuckles and shakes her head.
“If only Dante’s father had lived to see the day his boy married a girl like you.” She makes a clucking sound with her teeth. “He’d be pleased as punch.”
I smile weakly back. “Thank you. But?—”
“C’mon, sweetheart,” Ginevra chuckles. “I’m not blind or stupid. I know why you’re married to him.” She winks. “I even heardhowyou married him.” She swings open a doorway to a much larger room and ushers me inside. “I’ve worked with made men my entire life, dear. I know how that world works. Still, even if itisjust business, Dante’s a lucky man to have you at his side.”
“Thank you,” I mumble awkwardly.
She leads me into the larger room that has a small platform surrounded on three sides with walls of mirrors.
“Now, the yoga pants you can keep on. But I’ll need you to lose the sweatshirt.”
I nod, blushing slightly as I turn away and pull off my hoodie. I only have a bra on underneath.
“Here, hon.”
Ginevra hands me a thin tank top. I blush as I take it. “Sorry, I get…shy.”
She smiles warmly and genuinely as I slip on the top. “No problem, dear. Now, let’s get you up there and I’ll start measuring you. Or maybe coffee first?”
Turns out Ginevra isawesome. We do end up having an espresso before doing the measurements. While she takes them, she chats away to me about Dante’s father, Bruno, who she apparently knew for years and years.
“Lovely man, and a fantastic tailor. Almost as good as me,” she winks with a grin.
“So you’ve known Dante for a long time?”
“Since he was born. Which is why I can say, even though he’s lucky to have you on his arm, you’re not so hard up yourself to be on his.”
My brows furrow, but she ignores my look. “Oh, I know it’s just pretend, hon. But he's a good boy. Always was. And after all he’s been through? Can’t have been easy. First his parents when they were all so young, then poor Claudia when he was still a teenager?”
