The ache.
The wanting.
I wished he was here. Wished I could feel him beside me, over me, pulling me back into that heat I couldn’t shake. The memory of his voice, his jealousy, the way he’d looked at me had my skin humming all over again.
I was so frustrated I could barely breathe.
His words kept replaying in my head, turning over and over until my thoughts felt tangled and restless. And his jealousy… God, that part of him did something dangerous to me.
It had taken everything I had not to say something reckless back then, not to admit how badly I wanted him, how close I was to losing myself in him all over again. I’d been left there, stunned and shaken, with too many feelings and not enough words to hold them.
“You ready?” Inaya snapped me out of thought, and thank God, too. I was so close to calling off this day to spend it with my vibrator instead.
On my way out the door, my eyes caught sight of a box sitting there, seemingly waiting for me. I quickly brought it inside, the anticipation bubbling within me. Running my hand over the fabric that enveloped the box, a rush of familiarity and nostalgia washed over me. The texture was impossibly soft, an unmistakable quality that sent my heart racing.
Before I could voice my recognition, Inaya’s excited exclamation filled the room, “Is that Guanoco fabric?”
I looked up at her, amazement and shock mingling in my gaze. “It is,” I whispered, my mind reeling.
Ronan Romano, what am I going to do with you?
“This looks like one yard. Who the hell buys a whole yard of such an expensive fabric to wrap a box?” she asked, incredulous.
A smile tugged at my lips, a small chuckle escaping as I replied, “Ronan does.”
Carefully, I unwrapped the box, savoring the sensation of theluxurious fabric beneath my fingertips. His meticulous wrapping was almost too perfect to disturb. As the fabric fell away, revealing the box beneath, a note slipped out. The sight of his impeccable script brought a smile to my face, the irony not lost on me that a doctor, notorious for illegible handwriting, could pen such elegant letters.
I remember the days you’d talk to me about Coco Chanel for hours, so I figured her fashion biography would be the perfect gift.
-RR
A wave of emotion crashed over me, my eyes welling up as my heart softened completely. The memories of our endless conversations about fashion, dreams, and inspirations came flooding back, each one tinged with the warmth of his presence.
It was so long ago, and I couldn’t believe he kept that in his mind.
I couldn’t believe Ronan didn’t forget.
With trembling hands, I opened the box further, revealing a collection of thoughtful, deeply personal items and two VIP Admission Premium, front-row show tickets for Milan Fashion Week, upcoming in September. A wrist pin cushion adorned with delicate peony patterns, fingertip thimbles, and new sketching pencils engraved with my name. Nestled among the items was another note:
I saw the pricks on your fingertips last night and figured theywere from hand-stitching (your favorite kind.) You’ve also never been to Milan Fashion Week. Here’s your chance to.
-RR
Tears streamed down my face as I read his words, but with quick fingers, I stopped them. His thoughtfulness and attention to detail, his understanding of my passion and dedication, left me breathless. He remembered everything from the smallest details to the quietest moments.
It was as if he had captured a piece of my soul in these gifts.
“You okay?” She asked, placing a gentle palm on my shoulder.
I wiped my eyes, carefully packed everything into the box, and then turned around to face her. “I’ve never been better.”
With the tender moment still lingering in my heart, Inaya and I stepped out into the bustling streets, ready to scout for potential spaces for the new boutique. The sun hung high in the sky as we met with the realtor, an enthusiastic woman named Sofia who promised to show us the best the city had to offer.
For the next three hours, we trudged through numerous properties, each one holding the promise of a fresh start. But with every place we visited, hope seemed to wane. Some spaces were too small, unable to house the grand vision I had for the boutique. Others, while spacious, were too far from the city center, their locations lacking the vibrancy and foot traffic crucial for success. And then there were the ones that were simply overpriced, their shabby interiors a stark contrast to the exorbitant rents being asked.
With each disappointment, my frustration grew. I could feel the weight of the day pressing down on me, the excitement Ihad felt earlier slowly ebbing away. Finally, after yet another lackluster viewing, I decided I had had enough.
“Inaya, I think we’re done for today,” I said, trying to keep the exasperation out of my voice. She looked at me with understanding eyes and nodded.
