A skeptical pause. “Hm. I don’t believe you.”
I rolled my eyes before heading into the kitchen, where she stood by the stove, stirring something fragrant. “You can check,” I challenged, leaning against the counter.
She gave me that look—the one that said she would check, and if she found so much as a sock out of place, I’d never hear the end of it. But instead, she sighed and said, “I don’t know if you can start fashion school this year.”
And there it was. The thing I’d known was coming but had been avoiding thinking about.
I swallowed, my stomach twisting. “I figured,” I admitted, forcing a shrug. “But I’m going to work twice as hard to get more money. I’ll save up.”
My mother’s eyes softened, but there was something else there, too—guilt. “Bambina78, I know how much you want this.”
“Iwillhave it,” I said firmly. “I have to work harder. Being poor should actually be illegal.”
“Nina!Non dire queste cose!79” She flicked a spoonful of sauce at me, and I yelped, dodging it. “We have what we need.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered, but before she could launch into another speech about gratitude, a sharp knock at the door sent my heart straight into my throat.
I knew that knock.
I didn’t even hesitate. I ripped the door open, and there he was.
Ronan.
His skin was kissed by the sun, his sharp jawline was just as devastating, and his familiar grayish-blue eyes locked onto mine before I all but launched myself into his arms. He caught me,holding me tight against him, his chest rumbling with laughter as I buried my face in his neck.
“You’re here,” I whispered, inhaling the scent of him—citrus, salt, something distinctly him.
“I told you I’d be back, didn’t I?”
I pulled back enough to cup his face, my lips parting in shock. “Aspetta—” My fingers tangled in his hair, realization hitting me like a bolt of lightning. “Your hair.”
His lips twitched. “What about it?”
“It’s auburn.”
Ronan smirked, tilting his head. “You said you felt weird because you dyed yours,” he said, his voice impossibly soft. “So I dyed mine too. Now we match.”
Something in my chest snapped.
“Youidiot,” I whispered, but my throat was tight, my eyes burning.
“Youridiot,” he corrected, brushing his lips against my forehead.
I crushed my mouth against his, kissing him like I could make up for all the time and distance between us. Because he was here. He was mine. And this summer, auburn hair and all, belonged to us.
A sharp throat-clearing shattered the little bubble Ronan and I had wrapped ourselves in. My spine stiffened, and I turned my head in time to see my mother standing a few feet away, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
Ronan immediately straightened, setting me gently back on my feet before stepping forward with polite stiffness. “Buonasera, Signora Moretti,” he greeted, voice steady, but I felt the tension in his posture.
My mother gave him a slow, assessing nod. “Ronan.” A pause. Then, “Nina, remember to—”
“Mamma, no,” I cut in before she could finish, my eyeswidening in warning.
I would not be hearinganothersafe-sex lecture right now.
She huffed, shaking her head before stepping forward and pressing a quick kiss to my cheek. “I’m off now,” she murmured, then turned to Ronan with a look that could turn grown men into stone. “Dinner’s on the stove. Be good. And be safe.Both of you.”
Ronan, to his credit, nodded obediently. “Yes, ma’am.”
