Thoroughly Whipped

“No, thank you. I will have a tailor attend to it tomorrow.” Harry flashed me an amused glance. “Someone fell into me and somehow managed to rip it.”

Mom shook her head. “Some people.”

As she walked away to put away her presents, I leaned close to Harry. “Are you sure it didn’t just buckle under the weight of all those pocket squares?”

“I’ll have you know those squares are the epitome of gentry fashion.”

I patted his chest, trying to linger longer than necessary when I felt the hard muscle underneath. “I’m sure it is, Harry. Keep telling yourself that.”

“Please. Let me look at it,” Papa insisted. Harry took off the jacket and immediately folded his shirt sleeves back to his elbows. I had the sudden urge to lick the muscles on his forearms. I had no idea why his forearms had grown into a fetish for me.

Harry watched Papa disappear into his back room. “Your father is sewing my jacket?” he asked, confusion clear on his face. “I have no idea what is happening.”

“He’s a tailor. That’s what he came to America to be.” A rush of pride threatened to take me down. “He’s the best in all of Manhattan.” Harry must have detected an air of sadness around my words because he momentarily took hold of my elbow in a comforting gesture. His gaze implored me to tell him what was wrong. I shook my head. Not right now. He must have understood, because he didn’t push any further.

But as I lowered my head, he pushed back a strand of hair from my face. “I like your hair like this.” My breath trembled as he said those words. “Down. Wavy. Just like this.” In that moment, I was glad Mom chose to come back with drinks, or I was sure I would have scaled his six-foot-three frame like King Kong climbing the Empire State Building. That disturbing scene might have been difficult to explain to my parents.

“Prosecco?” Mom asked and I swiftly swiped a glass from the tray. I knocked back the bubbles in record time. “Christ, Faith!” Mom said. “Calm down. We’re not at a frat party. I know we’re not the richest of people, but I’m sure we can be civilized if we try.” Harry coughed into his glass, hiding an amused grin. I narrowed my eyes at him, promising him a painful death.

“Sorry, Harry,” Mom said. “I think I dropped her on her head one too many times when she was a baby.”

“It is what makes her unique,” Harry said, and I couldn’t help the smug grin plastered on my face.

“Well, at least someone thinks so.”

“Mom!” I shrilled.

“I’m just joking, baby. You know that.” Mom held me in a one-armed hug, but I saw her shaking her head at Harry, as though she was anything but sorry. “Dinner will be ready in five. Make yourselves comfortable, kids!”

We sat on the couch, and I watched Harry soak in the room. His eyes fixed on the many photo frames on the old wallpapered walls. Pictures of family past and present, from Scotland to Italy, and every awkward stage I’d gone through growing up.

“Pink hair?” he asked, pointing at my fourteen-year-old self, glaring menacingly at the camera.

“My expressive stage.”

“And the septum piercing?”

“Emo stage.”

“Wow.” I smiled at that word coming out of his mouth again.

“What? You didn’t have the quintessential teenage stages in high school?”

“Lord no,” he said. “My father would have disowned me.” He smiled as he said that but then took a long drink of his prosecco. “I went to Eton. The boarding school. I would have been expelled if I’d even attempted anything of the sort. That and my father would have killed me.” When he faced me again, I recognized those eyes. Those eyes that were racked with sadness. They were the same ones that had stared back at me from the picture I’d found of him as a child with his father.

He sat back against the couch, and I mirrored his movements. I found his hand by his side, resting on the couch, and held on. I heard Harry’s breathing hitch as our palms kissed. The moment was quiet, but not awkward. Just then, Papa came back into the room, carrying Harry’s blazer.

“Va bene,” he said and held out the blazer for Harry to see. Subtly releasing my hand, Harry stood and took the jacket from Papa. He brushed his hand over the pocket, which looked like new.

“Thank you,” Harry said, sounding genuinely grateful. He studied the jacket more closely. “That is excellent work, Mr. Parisi—”

“Lucio.”

“Lucio.” Harry folded the blazer over his arm. “Where is your shop? I have several suits that need attending to. I would love for you to tailor them.”

I ached at the happiness breaking out on Papa’s face. It was as bright as the sun outside. “Just down the block from here. Parisi Tailoring.”