I Made His Wife’s Dress Now I’ll Marry Another Chapter 30
Julien took me to a twenty-four-hour diner downtown.
I ate half a plate of eggs and roasted potatoes before the feeling returned to my hands.
“When did you figure out I eat salty things when I’m nervous?” I asked.
“The first atelier negotiation you attended in Paris,” he said. “Afterward, you ate an entire jar of olives.”
He said it as if remembering something like that required no special effort at all.
“Paolo is living in the old factory district in Paterson now.” Julien slid a file across the table. “Late-stage pulmonary fibrosis. He’s refused a transplant. He has a sixteen-year-old daughter—Sofia. The person in the exchange chain who needs the transplant is his niece. The files for all three families have already been sent to the hospital.”
I flipped to the last page.
In the photograph, Paolo’s hair was completely white. His right hand was curled inward, but he still wore an old pair of cutting shears on his belt.
“His daughter refused direct funding from the foundation,” Julien said. “She studies art history at a community college and unpicks garments for a secondhand shop at night. She’s willing to meet you, but only with her lawyer present.”
“Good.”
A girl who insisted on boundaries didn’t need another benefactor.
She needed adults who would respect her choices.