One
Matteo
In the weeks since Night to Remember debuted, Luster has been buried under a flood of attention—calls, emails, and endless offers from people desperate to buy our diamonds or attach their names to the brand.
Most requests have been turned away, but today is different.
Today, I’m sitting down with Olivier’s representative, Ellory Matisse.
It’s time. I’ve been counting down the minutes, and it’s finally here.
“Dana, I’ll be back after lunch,” I say, grabbing my jacket from the back of my office chair.
“Good luck! Knock ’em dead.” She shoots me a cheesy grin and throws in a double thumbs-up as I pass.
But this isn’t just another lunch on the calendar. It’s the lunch. Olivier International is one of San Francisco’s premier luxury goods companies. They design, manufacture, and distribute high-end jewelry and watches, and they’ve got the global prestige to back it up.
Ellory Matisse is the daughter of the legendary founder, Olivier Matisse, and the undisputed powerhouse running the show. She oversees more than two hundred stores across one hundred and twenty-five countries and is widely considered one of the most influential women in the luxury market.
Scoring this meeting took months. Others chase us, and we’ve been chasing them. This one’s thanks to a standout showing at Paris Fashion Week…and maybe a little luck.
Normally, I stick to the tech side of Luster, our family’s diamond empire.
We have a busy website of selling gems we’ve crossed the world to buy.
But with my brothers, Dante and Luca, tied up on the East Coast doing Luster company business, this was the perfect excuse to meet with Ellory and suggest partnering with Olivier for diamonds and other gem stones. Their brand. The goal? A perfect match.
I’ve suited up in my lucky charcoal-gray wool, expertly tailored, paired with a crisp white shirt and a bold red tie, the exact shade of Olivier’s iconic packaging. A detail I’m counting on her noticing. My life is beautifully uncomplicated. Just me, my car, my company. No complications, no drama.
I arrive at the restaurant, One Market, early. Too early. I check in and take a seat, doing my best not to glance at my watch every thirty seconds. Still no sign of Ellory.
I shoot Dana a text.
Me: Please tell me we confirmed lunch today?
Dana: Yes. She’s just running a few minutes late. Breathe. You’ve got this.
I tuck my phone away, exhale, and glance toward the entrance, just as a hush rolls through the room.
Ellory Matisse has arrived.
She strides in, flanked by two bodyguards, but it’s not them people notice.
It’s her. All effortless elegance in a powder-blue silk suit that ends just above the knee, paired with a cream blouse that floats as she moves.
Heads turn. The clink of silverware pauses.
Conversations dip, just for a second. She moves with the calm confidence of someone who’s been stared at her whole life—and never minded.
She owns the room without trying.
I catch myself staring—at the way the silk of her suit catches the light, or maybe the curve of her neck—and force my shoulders back. Focus. This is business.
I rise and extend a hand. “Ellory, it’s great to meet you. I’m Matteo Marino, your lunch date.”
She offers a smile that’s all poise and quiet confidence. “Nice to finally meet you, Matteo.”
The hostess appears with two menus and leads us to our table.
If I’d taken the table earlier, we might’ve scored better real estate.
Still, I don’t mind where we land. It’s intimate enough that our knees nearly brush.
Her security detail settles at one table over, close enough to eavesdrop but far enough to pretend they aren’t.
“Feels like we need a table for four,” I joke, sliding into my seat.
She laughs, light and genuine. “They’re great guys, but I hate that they have to follow me everywhere these days.”
“I get it. I read about the blackmail thing. Scary stuff.”
She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, that was wild. I didn’t even know about it until the FBI showed up and told me they caught him.”
My brows lift. “And here I thought my brothers kept secrets.”
She leans in slightly, and her floral perfume drifts between us—soft, warm, and completely disarming. My gaze flicks down before I catch myself and bring it back to her face.
“I think my father’s worried I’ll walk away from the business,” she says.
For someone so confident, there’s a flicker of hesitation behind her eyes, like the stakes are higher than she’s letting on.
That takes me off guard. “Really? What would you do if you didn’t run Olivier?”
She lets out a laugh, rich and unbothered. “Read. All day. Curled up in some oversized chair with a stack of books and nowhere to be. That’s the dream.”
“But don’t you like what you do.”
“Oh, I love it,” she says, flashing a grin. “And I’m damn good at it.”
“I don’t doubt that for a second.”
The server appears to take our drink order.
“I could go for a bourbon,” I say, half-joking, “but I’ve got work to finish this afternoon.”
“I won’t tell,” she replies with a smirk.
I shake my head. “I need all my wits about me if I’m going to hold my own with you.”
“You probably do. I’m a tricky one.” She flips open the menu. “You won’t see me splashed across the tabloids with a new girl every week.”
She glances up to see if I caught the slip.
I raise a brow.
“I meant…guy,” she says again, cheeks flushing the prettiest shade of pink.
“Unsweetened iced tea. No lemon,” she tells the server.
“I’ll take an Arnold Palmer,” I add, still watching her.
My phone buzzes. I glance down. My condo building. Odd. But not urgent. They’ll leave a message.
I turn my attention back to the menu. The grilled trout looks like a safe bet. I haven’t seen the inside of a gym in over a week, so it’s time for some damage control. I fold the menu and set it neatly on the table, just as Ellory catches me watching her again.
She closes her menu in sync, eyes sparkling. “How are the stones coming out of your mine in Nevada?”
She’s talking about our family’s diamond mine near the northern border. “We’re doing well,” I say with a casual shrug. “We’ve been selling to tool manufacturers. Good margins in industrial. But after Fashion Week, things are changing.”
She tilts her head, curious. “Weren’t those the same rough stones Felicity Ford used in her Fashion Week line?”
I nod. “Yeah. That was my brother’s idea. Smart move. He took flawed, inclusion-heavy stones and rebranded them as fashion-forward. Turned imperfections into elegance.”
Her smile curves with something close to mischief. She leans in slightly. “I was at the Paris show. I bought Night to Remember .”
My brows shoot up. Night to Remember was the showstopper. It sold before the model even left the runway. No one knew who bought it…until now.
“You were the mystery buyer?” I blink, impressed. “That dress was unforgettable. You’ll have to give me a heads-up when you wear it. Pretty sure my entire family would want to catch a glimpse. It’s an honor having it here in San Francisco.”
She smiles like she’s been waiting to drop this. “That’s actually part of why I wanted to meet. I took the dress to our design team, and they’ve sketched a collection inspired by it. We’d love to collaborate—with you—to fabricate and produce the pieces.”
I sit up straighter. This just turned into more than a meet-and-greet. “I’m listening. What kind of partnership are you thinking?”
Before she can answer, my phone buzzes again. I ignore it. Not now .
The server reappears, ready for our orders. I go with the grilled trout. Ellory surprises me with the burger, loaded with pimento cheese.
I glance at her in mild shock. She grins.
“You look surprised,” she says.
“Just impressed,” I reply. “Not every day someone in heels and a silk suit orders a burger that bold.”
She laughs, carefree and full-bodied, and for a second, I imagine the path from her collarbone to the curve of her ear and how good it would feel to trace it with my mouth. I shut the thought down. Focus .
“I couldn’t decide,” she says, shaking her head. “It was between the burger, the brisket, or the pastrami Reuben. Burger won by a nose.”
“It was the truffle fries, wasn’t it?”
Her brow lifts, playful. “Guilty.”
“I respect that,” I say. “I’d love to eat like that, but these days, I mostly sit at a desk and pretend I still have abs.”
“My trainer drags me out of bed at five a.m. It’s cruel and unusual, but it beats eating lettuce for every meal. I’m not a rabbit.”
“You’re clearly stronger than I am. Maybe you’ll inspire me.”
She takes a slow sip of her tea and sets the glass down with purpose. “You know we’ve met before.”
I blink. “I don’t think so. I’d remember.”
“Probably not,” she says, smiling. “I was fourteen. Stringy hair, braces, awkward as hell. You were friends with my cousin. Mike Sutton? We met at your high school graduation.”
I search my memory. Nothing.
“You were a little distracted,” she adds, the corner of her mouth turns up. “There was a girl practically glued to your arm. Her dress barely covered anything. Boobs for days.”
I laugh, full and unfiltered. “That sounds… accurate.”
She watches me, waiting.
“I do remember that girl,” I say, shaking my head. “Lost her to Peter Phillips the minute she found out he was going to Stanford.”
“Of course,” Ellory says, rolling her eyes. “Mr. Heisman turned NFL flop.”
“Total crash-and-burn,” I agree. “They say the Heisman’s a curse—huge spotlight, crushing expectations. Most guys buckle.”
She nods, lips curving with amusement.
“But I do remember you,” I add. “You weren’t that awkward.”
Her smile softens, a little skeptical. “I think you’re being very generous.”
I meet her gaze. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just seeing you clearly now.”
“Were you in my sister’s class at Convent Stuart Hall?” I ask, curious.
She shakes her head. “No, I was a year ahead.”