Page 27 of Loss and Damages
“Jemma, wait,” he says as I stand up. The grass tickles my feet and the birds start singing again now that my meltdown is over.
I brace my back against the tree. I’m so tired. “What?”
He stands and brushes the bits of grass off his pants. “The favor, for my mother. She wants to meet you, that’s all. She didn’t know about you, either, and it would mean more than I can explain if you would attend the fundraiser with me and speak to her. She’s so lost without her son, and her saying she would go if you were there was nothing short of a miracle. Please.”
There was something about his voice when he said she’s lost without Leo. “You two don’t get along?”
His expression smooths into a stoic mask. “I don’t know why you would think that.”
I search his face, but he’s not giving anything away. “It’s nothing. I’ll go,ifthe girl who helps me can work tomorrow evening and close the gallery. I’ll speak to your mother, but that’s all I can do. Leo’s gone, and I’m not part of your family. I don’t want to be.”
He frowns. “Why would you say that?”
“Why didn’t you and Leo have a better relationship?”
“You’ll find out at the fundraiser. I’ll send a car to pick you up at six-thirty. It’s black tie, if Leo didn’t tell you. Do you need something to wear? I can—”
“I can dress myself.”
“Fine. Goodnight, Jemma.”
“Goodnight, Mr. Milano.”
Dominic stiffens like I insulted him, but he nods and starts down the gravel driveway toward his car. I don’t think he left anything inside, and he doesn’t mention the bottle of white wine.
I stand near the edge of the field until the sound of his engine fades, and I clean up the kitchen feeling his strong arms holding me the whole time.
“Why are you going to this thing?” Tara asks, zipping up a dress I’m trying on for the fundraiser tonight. Ashley said she’d be able to work at the gallery until close, and I asked Tara to drive out to Hollow Lake and help me find a dress. Maya’s at Mom and Dad’s and Jeremy’s going to pick her up after work.
Holding in a breath, I smooth the skirt and stand sideways in front of the mirror.Way too much chocolate, Jemma. Way too much.
“Stop it. You look fine.”
“My ass is bigger than a train’s caboose.”
“Men like that, dontcha know?”
“You sound like your grandma.” Tara’s grandma is one hundred percent Norwegian and sounds exactly the way we say no one sounds in this part of Minnesota.
“You’re not going to change the subject. Does this come in blue? I think it would look nice in blue.”
“No, only the black,” I mumble, creating a faux updo to see how my hair would look pinned up.
“You’re an artist, Jemma. Try some color.”
“I need more than color, I need a different dress.”
“Let’s go look.”
She pushes the door open and we step out of the fitting room and onto the selling floor.
“You don’t like it?” Becca Williams asks, holding a steaming wand in front of a rack of wrinkled dresses. She’s the owner of Becca’s Boutique, one of only two stores in Hollow Lake that sells what I need to attend something black tie.
“Do you have something more forgiving?”
“She thinks she’s fat,” Tara says helpfully.
“I do not. I’m short and curvy. An empire waist, maybe.”
