BENEATH THE CHANDELIER

The carriage house smelled of brass polish, old wood, and ozone. Rain lashed against the high windows as Evelyn and Rocco tore through her father’s old filing cabinets.

Mia was asleep on the vintage velvet sofa in the corner, covered by Rocco’s massive suit jacket.

“He’s not taking her,” Evelyn said fiercely, wiping a smudge of dust from her cheek. She hauled out a heavy box of lighting schematics.

Rocco paused, looking at her. She was wearing a faded college t-shirt and overalls, her hair tied in a messy bun. To Rocco, she looked more beautiful than anyone he had ever seen.

“You shouldn’t be involved in this,” he said gruffly. “Carmine is dangerous.”

“This is my shop. And he threatened a child.” Evelyn slammed a drawer shut. “Plus, if my father was involved, this is my business too.”

Rocco stepped close to her. The sheer proximity of him made Evelyn’s breath catch. He reached out, his calloused thumb gently wiping the dirt from her cheekbone.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured.

Evelyn looked up into his eyes. The tension between them had been building since they met under the banquet table. She leaned in, her lips parting, the space between them evaporating.

The shop bell chimed aggressively.

They jumped apart. The door swung open, and Margaret Hartwell marched in, shaking an umbrella.

“Evelyn! I’ve been calling you for—oh my god.” Margaret froze, staring at Rocco in his rolled-up shirtsleeves, then at the sleeping child on the sofa.

“Mother, this isn’t what it looks like,” Evelyn started.

“Isn’t it?” Margaret snapped, her eyes narrowing. “Are you trying to ruin yourself? Martin Colby called me this morning. He heard rumors you left the party with a mobster. And now I find him in your shop?”

“He’s a businessman,” Evelyn defended, her voice rising.

“Oh, please!” Margaret pointed an accusatory finger at Evelyn. “You can’t afford to play games, Evie! The bank called me yesterday. You’re three months behind on the mortgage for this place. You’re bankrupt!”

The silence in the shop was deafening.

Evelyn’s face drained of color. She hadn’t told anyone. She had been drowning in debt, desperately trying to keep her father’s legacy alive while the bills piled up.

Rocco looked at her, his expression unreadable. “You’re losing the shop?”

Evelyn swallowed hard, humiliation burning in her throat. “It’s none of your business.”

“If you’d just let Martin take you to dinner,” Margaret wailed, “he’s an investor! He could have saved you.”

“I don’t want to be saved by a husband I don’t love!” Evelyn shouted.

Margaret flinched, then turned on her heel and walked out, slamming the door.