Twenty-seven #2
Michelle’s smile softens. “Say no more. I’m a single mom. I get it. And congratulations. It’s life-changing.”
“Thank you. I never knew I could love someone so instantly.”
Michelle laughs. “Just wait until the teen years.”
I glance at Matteo, something tender and deep blooming in my chest. The man sitting beside me isn’t the one I met five months ago, carefree, always flanked by stunning women. Now, he’s grounded. Focused. Stronger in a way that feels… dangerous. And magnetic.
After dinner, Matteo heads to the podium. The room quiets without a single prompt. He commands attention without asking for it.
He begins his talk on rough diamond sales, weaving in the history of their family mine in Nevada. For decades, it had only produced industrial-grade stones until their PR manager suggested a pivot to fashion.
Through a string of connections, they partnered with Felicity Ford. Her design. Dante’s execution. A showstopper during Paris Fashion Week.
The room is rapt.
And I can’t take my eyes off him. Not because he’s beautiful—though he is—but because he’s relaxed. Grounded. Solid. He’s the storm shelter I didn’t know I needed.
“I never imagined flawed stones, regardless of color, would create this kind of demand,” Matteo says.
Two hundred fifty people, and not a single whisper breaks the silence.
As he starts wrapping up, someone calls from the crowd, “Do you have anything that can top Royal Elegance for this year’s NAGI National Awards?”
Matteo smiles, cool and confident. “I’m not giving away all our secrets, but yes, my brother’s determined to take home Best in Show.”
Laughter ripples through the room.
“Have you seen a spike in sales since the fashion show?” someone else asks.
“We’ve seen a noticeable uptick in cut diamond sales and an even sharper rise in interest for our rough stones. A few designers are working on some incredible pieces for next spring’s Fashion Week. I think we’re about to see a shift in the industry.”
A woman stands. “Are you selling your rough stones directly to designers?”
He doesn’t glance my way, thank God. “We currently have a first right of refusal agreement with a designer for all stones coming from our mine.”
A low buzz of speculation hums across the room.
Michelle steps in smoothly. “Thank you, Matteo. We can’t wait to see what Luster debuts at the Las Vegas Gem Show next month.”
Applause breaks out as Matteo returns to our table.
“I’ll wait for you in the hotel bar,” I murmur as I rise.
He meets my gaze and winks. “I won’t be long.”
On my way out, a few attendees stop me with congratulations and warm smiles. I spot Patrice near the exit.
“Just the woman I wanted to find. Drink?”
“Perfect,” she says, linking her arm through mine.
We head upstairs, away from the crowd. The bar is quieter here, dimly lit. After ordering our glasses of wine, we settle into a corner table.
Patrice leans in. “So…is Matteo Marino officially your boyfriend now?”
I laugh softly. “Yes. No. I don’t know. It’s complicated. He’s got a lot on his plate right now, juggling a sudden global interest in rough stones.”
“That shift was fucking genius. Whoever pitched it deserves a seven-figure bonus.”
“Larkin Knight, their PR manager. She’s brilliant.”
“I hope we get a good employee discount. I’m in love with every single piece that Antoine made.”
“I’m sure you know someone.”
Her eyes twinkle. “Is he joining us?”
“He’s supposed to, but he’s pretty popular tonight.”
Patrice takes a sip of her wine. “What the heck is going on at work? The police interviewed Heather and Antoine today.”
“They really don’t want anyone knowing what’s happening, but if you can keep it to yourself…” I’ve trusted Patrice with secrets before and she’s never given anything up.
Patrice leans in closer. “Is this about what happened in the bar the other night?”
“Someone stole Night to Remember out of the boardroom last night.”
Her eyes narrow, sharp as ever. “You know it was Heather.”
“Yes. I’m positive it’s her.”
“Do they think she’s behind what happened the other night?”
I give a noncommittal shrug. “I can’t say.”
We sip the last of our wine in silence.
The energy shifts as Matteo appears behind me, his hand resting lightly on the small on my back. The tension I hadn’t realized I was carrying melts away.
“Thanks for waiting,” he murmurs, then kisses my cheek.
Patrice stands. “I should get going. I’ll talk to you both next week.”
She reaches for her bill, but Matteo waves her off.
“You’re a vendor,” she protests.
“I’ve got this,” he counters with a wink.
“Ah, but my evil plan to model Fire and Ice is working,” she whispers and then gives her impression of an evil laugh.
Matteo nods toward the server. “Lucky for you.”
Patrice smirks. “I’d propose if Ellory wouldn’t murder me.”
I laugh. “Don’t let me stop you.”
As she buttons her coat, she shoots me a wink. “Have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“That leaves us plenty of options,” I tease, waving as she heads out.
She lifts her hand like a phone and mouths, “Call me!”
The server returns. Matteo orders a scotch and glass of wine for me.
“She’s a delight,” he says, eyes still on the door. There’s admiration in his voice that goes beyond charm. He’s watching me in my world. And liking what he sees. “You two go way back?”
“We started at Olivier together.”
“She worked for you when she was a teenager.”
“No. My official first day was after I graduated from college.”
“She knows her stuff.”
“She and Sophie are my rocks. I’d be lost without them.”
Silence settles between us. I have questions—about Amelia, about us—but I hesitate. He already has so much on his plate. Maybe I should give him space.
But before I can say anything, he speaks first.
“I’m sorry I haven’t called. I’ve been a complete heel.”
I study him. “You’re not. My dad dropped a bomb in your lap, and you’ve had to deal with that and Willow.”
He winces. “Still. Shitty excuses. But not untrue.”
“You don’t look like a man dodging legal grenades.”
“You don’t look like a woman who was assaulted two nights ago.” He says it with reverence, not dismissal. Like he’s in awe of my strength.
I lift my hair and show him the neat line of stitches I’ve been hiding.
His jaw tightens.
“Makeup’s a miracle,” I say softly, taking a sip of my drink. “Did Willow get out of town okay?”
He shakes his head. “She was evicted from the hotel. We were in court this morning for an emergency custody hearing.”
My stomach knots. “God. How’d it go?”
He wavers a hand. “Not as definitive as I hoped, but the judge was clear. She needs a job and stable housing. Being Amelia’s nanny isn’t an option anymore.” But I can’t breathe yet. Nothing about Willow is predictable. And the court doesn’t always get it right.
“That sounds…like a good sign?”
“My lawyer thinks so. The judge approved supervised visits only, but it means a social worker will be making regular home visits.”
“Once they see how Amelia lights up around you and falls apart when Willow tries to take her, they’ll understand.”
“I hope so.” He pauses, watching me. “I should warn you. The judge wants to evaluate everyone regularly involved in Amelia’s life. So…you’ll probably need to meet the social worker.”
“That’s fine. Whatever you need.” I pause. “And if that means stepping back for a while, I will. You’re juggling enough already.”
He gives me a crooked smile, soft and sad. It lands in my chest like a punch.
“I don’t want to talk about Willow. Or Luster. I want to know how you are.”
I ease back in my chair. “I’m okay. My dad’s floating the retirement idea again. If this new line takes off, I think he’ll finally see that I can run the company.”
“You sure he’s not using the new line as a way to stall?”
I shrug. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s Heather. She’s convinced she’s taking over when he steps down.”
Matteo blinks. “That makes zero sense. Your dad knows that Night to Remember is gone and he must know that she’s the prime suspect. Plus, he’s been grooming you to take over Olivier since you could walk. Why would she think she has a shot at running an international luxury brand?”
I lift a shoulder. “Delusion? Audacity? All I know is, she’d burn it to the ground in six months.”
“And your dad’s okay with that?”
“I don’t think anyone has spelled it out for him, but if she ever got control, I’d sell my share. Fast.”
“That’ll get his attention.”
I take a long sip of my drink. “Something’s going on with her. I used to roll my eyes at all the drama around generational business shifts. Now, I get it. And he’s acting like he’s under a spell.”
Matteo chokes on his scotch, coughing into his napkin. “The Voodoo pussy?”
“What else could it be? He could have nearly any woman over forty—probably over twenty—and he picks her. She’s the worst. All sweet and doting when he’s around, but the second he’s gone? She treats me like gum on the bottom of her Louboutins.”
“Have you told him?”
“Not in those exact words. But yeah. He didn’t believe me until she snapped after my board presentation. I told her maybe she and my dad should retire together, and my dad seemed to like that.”
“And you’re okay with that? Them traveling the world together?”
“Totally. If she makes him happy, great. Go to Aruba, blow through the retirement accounts, drink pina coladas until they forget how to spell Olivier. I need to confirm things with my mother, but as I understand it the trust from my parents’ divorce is ironclad.
If she thinks she’s getting a slice of the company, she’s in for a rude awakening because I’ll sell my shares and walk before I work for her. ”
Matteo lets out a low breath. “I suddenly feel grateful my drama is with my daughter’s mother, not my dad’s girlfriend.”
I laugh softly. “Count your blessings.”
He shifts gears. “Not to change the subject, but when are the campaign photographers coming?”
“It’s scheduled for next week, but we need to get Night to Remember back. Larkin’s shooting the design team first, then me for the print ads the week after, and finally the video shoot for the TV spots.”
“What’s the rollout?”
“NAGI next month. Antoine and Dante are locking in the final pieces for a pre–Fashion Week release in New York in April. Larkin wants Olivier and Luster to announce the partnership together.”
“You’ve got it all mapped out. I didn’t even know.”
“You’ve had a few things on your plate.” I reach across the table, brushing my fingertips against his. “But she’s worth it, right?”
He doesn’t hesitate. “Every bit. But yeah…I’m excited about the launch too.”
“Me too. We’ve got to have all creative finalized by the end of next month.”
“I still think you should be the one wearing the dress.”
I arch a brow, smiling. “I’ll wear it for you. But for the campaign? A model might be better. I don’t love the idea of standing around for hours while someone tells me to ‘smile.’”
His voice dips, low and intent. “I want to take you home and show you how beautiful you are.”
I pause, grounding myself. “I assume Willow has someone watching you?”
Matteo nods. “If she’s smart, she does. But we hired someone first.”
I rest my hand on his arm. “I’m sorry she’s putting you through this.”
“Thanks. It’s exhausting, but it’s what I have to do to protect Amelia. She used my credit card to cash advance herself way too much, bought drugs, posed for photos with people I wouldn’t trust in a parking lot.”
“And don’t forget. She tried to extort you.”
He lets out a hollow laugh. “Yeah. Can’t leave that part out.”
We talk for another half hour, slow and steady, like we’re both trying to hang onto the moment. When he finally flags down the server and settles the bill, we walk together to the valet stand.
“Do you need a ride?” he asks.
I nod toward Richard waiting at the curb. “I’m good. He and Duane were here the whole time.”
“They’re stealthy. I like that.”
He leans in and kisses me, soft and lingering. “I really wish you could come home with me.”
“Me too. But I understand. I’m not going anywhere.”
His hand comes up to cup my cheek, thumb brushing gently beneath my eye. “Thank you. I know I’m a mess right now. I appreciate your patience.”
I shrug, my smile soft. “I think you’re worth it.”