I exhaled, grounding myself in the present. Beside me sat Nicoletta Moretti, my mother in every sense that mattered. Technically, I was adopted; my birth mother—Nicoletta’s best friend—died giving birth to me, and Nicoletta had taken me in, raising me as her own. She was my mother, my backbone, my strength, and the woman who shaped who I am.
I carried her resilience, charm, work ethic, and compassion. She had raised me without a father, but her strength as a mother was enough for both roles. She had built me a life on love alone, and that was more than any child could ask for.
“What are you thinking about,la mia bellissima figlia?5” she asked as I settled across from her on the cozy red sofa.
“I’m fine,” I replied. “How are you,Mamma?”
“You’re not fine. That vein on your forehead gives it away.Cosa c’è che non va?6” She pressed, concern etched on her face.
I sighed and then let out a small laugh. “The fashion show has me a tad anxious, and look at you, perfecting your English.”
She rolled her eyes and lightly smacked my thigh. “My Papà was British, and my Mamma was Italian. I can speak English; I choose not to. Your show will be great. I’ve seen your beautiful sketches and gowns.”
I shrugged. “I hope so.”
She studied my expression intently. “This isn’t only anxiety for the show. What else is bothering you,mia cara?7”
I cleared my throat, reaching for the bottle of water beside me. “Mamma, it’s just the show,” I lied, avoiding any mention of Ronan’s name.
“Se lo dici tu,8” she muttered, “How are the preparations going?”
I told her about my sketches, the designs, the models, and the venue—every detail leading up to the big moment. As I spoke, I couldn’t miss the pride in her eyes or the happiness radiatingfrom her.
“I’m proud of you, Nina. You’ve built a name for yourself—everywhere I go, I hear it. Despite everything you’ve endured, you’ve become an incredible woman.”
My eyes watered at her words. “Graize, Mamma.” Listening to her stirred memories of our life in Italy. The cramped flat, the relentless struggle mixed with survival instincts, and the way she went without so I could have a little more. She never let me see her cry, always wearing a brave face, even in our hardest moments. I remembered the nights we huddled together for warmth, her soft voice spinning stories to chase away my worries.
Her strength shaped me, and I would never forget that.
As our conversation came to an end, we exchanged warm goodbyes. I held her tight, soaking in the steady warmth that had carried us through so much. Then, with my heart a little fuller, I returned to my flat, where Inaya was already waiting.
Walking through the door, she greeted me with a smile. “How was seeing your mom?”
I smiled back, feeling a mix of emotions. “It was good. We talked about the show and everything. She’s so proud.”
“Of course she is,” she replied, her eyes full of support and understanding. “You’re doing amazing things, Nina.”
“We’redoing great things,” I corrected, “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
I remember meeting her as if it were yesterday. Though she was initially from Turkey, her parents had moved to the city when she was accepted into fashion school here. From that moment on, we’ve been inseparable.
“So,” she began, her tone gentle but probing, “what are you going to do about Ronan?”
I sighed, leaning back into the sofa. “What can I do? He paid a generous sum for his ticket.”
She nodded, understanding in her eyes. “I get that. But do you think you two can truly be in the same space and nothing happens?”
I exhaled as I had the same thought.
I shrugged, feeling a mix of emotions. “It’s overwhelming to think about him.”
“You’re stronger than you realize, Nina,” Inaya said softly. “Remember, I’m here for you, no matter what.”
I smiled, grateful for her. “Thank you. You’ve always been my rock.”
She reached out and squeezed my hand. “I have to ask, though, do you still love him?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted, “And honestly, I don’t want to think of it.”
