“I want every version you’re willing to tell.”
I took a breath. “After we broke up, I fell apart for a while, then I pulled myself together.I had to pull myself together.Fashion school, full scholarship, top of my class, and working jobs through it all for some extra money. I apprenticed while I studied. Then came the boutique. Then the expansion. A lot of work, a lot of nights wondering if I was crazy for trying.”
He listened like every word mattered, like every part of me still did. The ache of the past loosened its grip, just a little.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “For leaving. For everything.”
I rested my hand on his thigh. “We can’t fix what’s gone. We’re going forward, Romano. Now it’s your turn to give me a crash course.”
He exhaled. “I started therapy to get better for you, but mostly for myself. I do therapy once a month now. That is progress, considering there was a time I needed it three times a week. I finished school without taking a single semester off. No breaks. No vacations. I completed my residency and fellowship early. Grieving was not easy, but I did not have the luxury of falling apart. Life was not waiting for me, and I couldn’t let everything my parents worked for slip through my hands. I saved a hospital from bankruptcy and made it my own. I built something real. Something that will outlive me.”
I squeezed his knee. “They’d be proud of you.”
His eyes softened, and for a moment, the city felt very far away.
His throat bobbed. “Who?”
“Your family. They would be so proud of you.”
“I hope so,” he murmured, tipping his head back to stare at the sky. “God, I hope so.”
“I know Lucio and the guys are proud of you,” I said gently.
A small smile tugged at his lips, the tightness in his shoulders easing like he had finally let himself breathe.
“Anything else I missed?” I asked softly, sensing he was still holding something back.
He shook his head. “Everything else about me is public knowledge. Same hobbies. Same friends. Same headlines.” Then his gaze shifted back to me, warm and searching. “What about you?”
“I’m stronger,” I said simply.
He smiled, slow and tender. “I know. I always knew you would be. I’ve always loved that about you.”
“Loved?” I teased. “Grumpy and sassy?”
“Fearless,” he corrected. “Resilient. You walk into rooms like you belong there, even when the world is trying to tell you you don’t.” His voice softened. “You’ve always been extraordinary, Nina.”
“Credit has to be earned.”
“And you earned every bit of it.” His words came out steady but full of feeling. “Your fashion show had the biggest buzz of the season. You became the youngest designer to debut a show, land Vogue, and sign with Eminence all within months. You’re building a brand, a future, and your wealth. You took nothing and turned it into something beautiful.” He leaned a little closer. “You deserve all your flowers. If you won’t give them to yourself, I’ll give them to you.”
My eyes burned, tears threatening. He lifted his hand, brushing one away with his thumb like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“You mean that?” I whispered.
“Every word.”
Something in my chest cracked open.
We kept talking, softer now. He told me about a patient who reminded him of his mother, about the way grief still snuck up on him when he least expected it. I told him about the way impostor syndrome whispered I didn’t belong, even when the whole world was finally looking at me.
It wasn’t just conversation. It felt like we were stitching something back together.
Up here above the city, with the lights glowing like constellations beneath us, everything felt strangely right.
“Hungry?” he asked after a while, that familiar crooked grin making an appearance. “How do you feel about a burger?”
My stomach betrayed me with a loud growl. I laughed. “It’s late.”
