Page 62 of The Fixer

For a long minute, he just stares at the brown cotton shirt. Then he looks up. “Is this?—”

“The fabric you liked? Yes.”

His expression is one of total disbelief. “You made this shirt for me?” He swallows convulsively. “Why?”

Because I love you. “I couldn’t think of what to buy you,” I say lightly. “What do you get someone who thinks nothing of spending two million euros on an engagement ring? I’m still processing that, by the way. I haven’t decided how I feel about it.”

He ignores my blabbering. “Youmadethis,” he repeats. He lifts the shirt out of the box slowly,reverently.“Should I?—”

“Try it on? Yes, please. I based the pattern off one of your existing shirts, so it should fit, but you never know for sure.”

I drag him into my sewing room and position him in front of the full-length mirror there. Leo lifts his T-shirt over his head and tosses it aside. His fingers are careful as he undoes the buttons on the shirt I made him. “These are nice.”

Finding the right buttons took four hours in my favorite button store. Four hours of holding every button against the brown fabric to see which ones looked the best. “Thank you.”

He undoes the cuffs and slips the shirt over his shoulders. “It fits great.”

I roll my eyes. “You don’t know that until you button it up.”

“Youmight not know until you button it up, principessa.I,on the other hand, can see it fits perfectly over my shoulders. And the sleeves are exactly the right length.”

“One of us is an expert on clothing, orsacchiotto mio.” I do up his buttons, my fingers lingering over his muscled chest. “The other is you.” I finish and take a step back. “What do you think?”

“It’s. . .” Words appear to fail him. “You said you don’t like sewing menswear. On the plane ride back from Lecce, you told me you apprenticed with a menswear designer in Paris, and it was long enough to know you didn’t enjoy it.”

“You remember that, but you don’t remember Andrea?”

He frowns. “Who’s Andrea?”

I start to laugh. “Never mind. My opinion about menswear hasn’t changed.” I pick a stray thread from his sleeve that I’ve somehow missed, even after multiple rounds of ironing. “This was a very complicated project.”

He stares at his reflection, his eyes shocked. “How long did it take you to make?”

Including the practice muslins, forty-three hours. “I don’t know,” I lie. “I didn’t keep track. Do you like it?”

“I love it.” He pulls me against him so my back hits his chest, and his eyes hold mine through the mirror. “If you don’t like sewing shirts, why did you do it?”

“Because you’re worth the effort.” I twist out of his grasp and turn around. Standing on tiptoe, I brush my lips over his. “Happy birthday, Leo.”

His hand cups the back of my neck, and he deepens the kiss. He drags his lips down my throat, kissing the side of my shoulder, the pulse beating at the base of my neck. “Thank you, tesoro,” he says, his voice so quiet that I have to strain to hear him. “This is the most precious gift I’ve ever received.”

He takes a step back and starts to unbutton it. “That didn’t last long,” I tease. “Already tired of your new shirt?”

He looks at me, a spark lighting in his eyes. “I believe I owe you an orgasm,” he says. “And I honor my commitments. But clothes have a habit of tearing when we make love, principessa. My fiancée madethis shirt for me, and if you think I’m going to risk doing anything that might rip it, you’re very,verymistaken.”

Leo’s nightmaresdon’t go away as we get closer to the wedding. If anything, they get worse. A lot worse. He gets to the point where he barely averages four hours of sleep a night. He seems to be able to survive on that, but I’m finding it a lot more difficult.

I could prioritize rest by sleeping in a different bedroom. But I love falling asleep in Leo’s arms, and I can’t give that up. I don’t want to.

He still won’t tell me what’s haunting him. He won’t tell me anything, and I’m not going to lie—ithurts.I have to keep reminding myself that while I might have had a crush on Leo formonths, we’re in the very early stages of a relationship, one he was forced to embark on. I just need to be patient, and he’ll eventually confide in me.

But as the days go on, fear sets in. Leo likes me, I know that. He is physically attracted to me andenjoys my company. But maybe that’s as much as I’m ever going to get. Maybe he’ll always keep me at a distance. Maybe he’s never going to let me in.

Ten days before the wedding,I crawl into the boutique at eleven. I only got three hours of sleep last night, and it’s not nearly enough. My eyes are burning, I feel light-headed and dizzy, and I look like something the cat dragged in. Makeup can camouflage a lot, but it isn’t magic.

Annalisa is already at the boutique, unpacking the shipments and checking their contents against the manifest. Gisele has returned from her vacation, but when Annalisa said she’d be willing to stay longer, I jumped on the opportunity to move my French shop assistant to the wedding side of my business. It’s a win for everyone. Annalisa genuinely enjoys working with customers, and Gisele sews beautifully.

“Oh dear,” Annalisa says when she sees me, biting back her smile. “You didn’t get much sleep lastnight, did you? Ah, young love. I remember the days.”

---