She wants to talk to Mia about a dress design she made up from Mia’s sketch.
“Nora and her mother loved it. I had to make adaptations for all the bridesmaids, but it worked out perfectly.”
I’m bringing a tray of drinks and snacks out to the poolside table. Mia says, “That’s fantastic! I’m so pleased it worked out. I could have helped with the designs, though.”
“Last week? I think you were…” Poppy looks up at me with a twinkle, “I think you had enough on your plate last week”
Mia blushes. I love it when she does that. It’s so rare and that makes it all the more satisfying. I can nearly always guess exactly what’s making her blush, too.
We barely stepped out of that bridal suite the whole week and we were pretty intensely occupied with each other.
Poppy smiles and says, “Anyway, the dress design is genius. I’m going to work up a whole range. I should give you a royalty or something.”
Mia smiles and waves her hand. “Take is as a down payment for saving my life. Anyway, you did the work. I just made a sketch. I’m not a dressmaker. I have no idea how to make it work so that it stays together.”
“That’s my job. I can do that. You’ve worked out how to make a shape and to make it flow. Do you want a job?”
Mia laughs.
“I’m serious. Have you got any more ideas like this?”
Mia’s head shakes. “Ideas are easy. Carrying them out, bringing them to life. That’s what matters.”
“I could get a whole new line out of this. You have no idea what this could be worth.”
Mia shakes her head. “I want to be an artist. I want to study and learn my crafts.”
I put a hand on her shoulder.
She lays a hand on mine. I love how we can communicate with the slightest touch. The tiniest movement.
She says, “I’m enrolling in art classes,” but I know she’s only signing up for things she can take while we start a family. And we’re right on that.
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Epilogue II
Giovani
My father calls me to a meeting but he won’t say who it’s with.
We go to the private rooms in the back of a cigar club. Top-shelf bourbon and Cuban cigars from the very special humidor are brought out into the dark paneled room.
Dad gives me a general preparation for the meet. Our problems with Drago are not going away. But Dad wants to take the recent goodwill with the O’Malley family, Liam O’Malley especially, and use it to, as he says, ‘forge bonds.’
Liam O’Malley arrives after twenty minutes or so.
When we’re alone and all the wait staff have left, he leans across the table to say, “We have some interests in common. Certain supply issues, some product ranges. I want to the O’Malley family to consider working with the Franconi syndicate in Los Angeles. We have a connection. And the head of the family is coming for a visit.”
Dad’s waiting. I take my cue from him and stay quiet.
Liam says, “It’s up to you if you want to be a part of this or not. But I think it could be a fruitful cooperation and it could…” he pauses, watching the cigar smoke, “I might assist with your current complications.”
I think I know what he means, but I’m not sure. I can see that dad does, though.
Dad nods. So Liam says, “I’ll let you know what meetings we’ll have, Lucas. If you’re interested, I can let Leo Franconi know. I think he’ll be well disposed to include you. If that’s your choice.”
“Thank you, Liam,” Dad tells him, “I appreciate your consideration.”
“While he’s here, Leo is bringing his daughter. An excitable girl at a difficult age.”
Even I know that’s an understatement. Lily Franconi is a known incendiary. She’s constantly in tabloids, celebrity gossip blogs, ‘entertainment’ pages. Her family is rumored to have gone to extreme lengths to have certain videos removed from public view.
Everything you read about her makes her sound like dynamite. And not the good kind. Not the dynamite that opens bank vaults. The kind that just randomly makes shit blow up and catch fire.