“What’s wrong,mio cuore?”
She took another bite. “Every time I see myself like that, I feel like a fraud. Like I don’t belong there.”
“Nina.”
“I didn’t come from that world,” she said quietly. “I didn’t come from—”
I stopped her. “Where you came from doesn’t matter. You fought for every inch of where you are now. You rewrote your story. That woman on that screen is you, and I am so fucking proud of you.”
Her eyes shimmered. She turned away quickly, wiping at them.
“Thank you, Ronan.”
“I believe in you,” I said. “Always have and always will.”
And I meant it. I had built doors for her to walk through long before she ever knew they existed.
Outside, we sat beneath the lights, her tasting different flavors while the night wrapped around us.
“Why do you call it ice cream and not gelato?” she asked.
I smiled. God, I missed her strange little questions.
“American influence,” I said.
She rolled her eyes. “You barely speak Italian with me anymore.”
“È una scelta,63” I said smoothly, leaning closer. “Ma per te lo parlerei sempre.64”
She laughed. “Show off.”
“Tell me about fashion,” I said. “About you.”
And she did. Louis Vuitton. Collaborations. New York FashionWeek. The future she was building with her bare hands.
I watched her talk, light spilling out of her like she was made of it.
Midway through a sentence, she stopped.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m…” she hesitated. “Like I’m everything.”
Because you are.
But I smiled, my heart already betraying me.
“I’m in awe,” I said quietly. “ I can see how much you love what you do. I always loved that about you. Hearing you talk about your dreams… It’s one of my favorite things in the world.”
She stopped moving.
Slowly, she turned to face me. I couldn’t read what was in her eyes, and that scared me more than anger ever could.
“Ro—”
“Do you hate me?” The words came out before I could stop them. “I need to know.”
