It didn’t even matter that she was shouting at me, that everyone could see and hear. The fact that she was talking to me at all was enough. More than I deserved.
“I never walked away without looking back. No matter what I was doing, I always looked back. I never stopped caring or loving you.”
Her eyes glossed over, her gaze distant as she looked away. “You’re right about one thing. You don’t deserve anything from me. Goodbye, Ronan.”
Her words, her finality, felt like the last nail in the coffin. Sheturned and walked away without looking back, and this time, I couldn’t move, couldn’t even breathe.
When she disappeared around the corner, I forced myself to stumble back to the villa. The moment I was alone, I pulled out my wallet, fingers shaking as I reached for the old photo of her I’d carried with me all these years. She was laughing in it, her eyes bright and full of life—a version of her that I’d crushed.
As I stared at the picture, a sob tore its way up my throat, and I couldn’t hold it back anymore. I cried because I missed her, because she was still so heartbreakingly beautiful, because no matter what I’d told myself, I knew I loved her. And most of all, I cried because of the years of pain I’d seen in her eyes tonight, the brokenness that lingered there… I put it there. She’d spent years trying to pick up the pieces I’d left behind. No matter how hurt I was, I knew I deserved every ounce of the anguish I felt now.
Chapter Ten
NINA
Present Day
ITALY
Defeated.
That was the word.
As if something inside me had surrendered the second he looked at me. I wanted to hate him, to say the words I’d rehearsed in my head a million times, but they wouldn’t come.The worst part?Some small, traitorous part of me was glad he was there. It pissed me off, the way it curled warmth into places I had carefully numbed over the years.
When we bumped into each other, I knew it was him even before he spoke. My heart plummeted, my pulse rioting as ashiver raced up my spine, my skin tingling as it recognized him before my mind even had the chance.
I wanted to breathe, to escape, to move past him as if he were a stranger in a crowded room. But I couldn’t. I barely slept a wink, kept awake by memories and the sight of his face so close, the way it almost felt like he had won something by being there.
But today, I had a show to put on, so I pushed him back to the farthest depths of my mind. Months of meticulous planning, endless nights of sketching and sewing, the dedication of my team—all of it had led me here.
Every single critique from Mr. Mariachi to fix my stitching, every lecture from Signora Grazi about using the sewing machine instead of my favored hand-stitched method—all of it brought me to this moment, and I wasn’t about to let him rob me of it.
The room was a symphony of activity. Seamstresses flitted about like graceful dancers, ensuring every stitch was perfect. Models moved with purpose, their elegant silhouettes draped in the creations that had sprung from my imagination. Inaya bustled nearby, orchestrating the last-minute details with effortless efficiency, and I sat down, taking a minute to breathe.
A knock on the door broke through my inattentiveness, and Francesca entered with a tray of steaming espresso. Her eyes sparkled with excitement, a mirror of the anticipation coursing through me.
“I brought your favorite,” she announced with a warm smile, placing the tray on my desk.
“Thank you, Fran,” I said, accepting the cup. “You always know the way to my heart.”
As Francesca was about to respond, the door opened, and bouquets of peonies in deep burgundy and purple were wheeled in, their delicate petals filling the room with color. I gasped, nearly spilling my coffee.
“Delivery of fifty bouquets for Ms. Moretti,” the man said, looking down at the clipboard in his hand.
I signed for them, said thank you, and stared in shock. “Where did these come from?”
Francesca, equally taken aback, shook her head. “I’m as clueless as you are.”
I lifted the card, my heart fluttering as I read the message:
Hai lavorato tutta la vita per questo; il tuo spettacolo sarà un successo.12
Tears pricked at my eyes, emotion swelling in my chest. The words were a reminder of the years of dedication, the countless hours spent honing my craft and chasing my dreams.
Francesca leaned closer, her voice soft with reverence. “They’re beautiful.”
I nodded, blinking back my tears. “They are. Please make sure each bouquet is placed at the entrance and on the tables. They deserve to be seen.”
