Chapter Six
RONAN
Present Day
NEW YORK CITY
Night bled into morning before I realized I hadn’t eaten or even sat down. My scrubs smelled faintly of antiseptic and adrenaline, and my hands still itched with the ghost of the last suture I tied.
By the time I found myself at my brother’s door, I wasn’t sure whether I came for comfort, distraction, or maybe proof someone who loved me was still awake in this city.
The door swung open before I could knock. Lucio stood there, hair sticking up wildly, eyes narrowing with sleepy concern.
“Fratello,9” he said softly, stepping aside. “Come in.”
“Twin telepathy?”
He laughed. “My penthouse is fully surveilled, Ronan.”
I didn’t answer right away. Sugar—his and his wife’s fluffy gray cat—trotted over, her fur brushing against my calves like she’d been expecting me to. The house smelled like woodsmoke and books, warm and safe, nothing like the sterile hum of the hospital.
Lucio pressed a glass of Glenfiddich into my hand without a word. The whiskey burned on the way down, and only then did I feel the tightness in my chest start to crack.
“I’m going to a fashion show,” I began as I sank into the sofa.
“A fashion show?” Lucio interrupted incredulously. “What in the world are you doing at a fashion show?”
“Nina’s ho—”
“Ronan,” he cut in sharply, his expression furrowing.
I nodded solemnly. “Yes?”
“Are you sure going to Italy is the sane thing to do?” he sighed heavily, resignation coloring his tone.
“I’ve spent almost three million dollars,” I said with a bitter laugh.
“When Nina’s involved,” Lucio remarked dryly, “you’d empty your bank account without a second thought.”
“True,” I admitted ruefully. “But maybe I need a change of scenery to get back into the groove of life.”
Lucio leaned back, studying me thoughtfully but clearly not buying into my bullshit. “And you think chasing after Nina halfway across the world is the answer?”
I shrugged, a flicker of uncertainty crossing my features. “Maybe not the answer, but it’s something. I need to see her, to talk to her.”
Understanding dawned in Lucio’s eyes as he nodded slowly. “I get it, Ronan. Just don’t lose yourself in this.”
Looking down at the empty glass in my hand, I took a deep breath. “I won’t. I promise.”
“Do you ever think about Mamma e Papà?”
I looked up, surprised by the sudden question. “Yeah, I do,” I replied, my expression softening. “I think about them all the time.”
Lucio nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. “Remember when Papà used to take us for lunch on his boat every Sunday? Those horrendous sandwiches we’d still eat just to avoid hurting his feelings?”
I laughed warmly, the sound filled with nostalgia. “Mom would always take backup tagliatelle, in case we needed to sneak some.”
Lucio’s eyes sparkled with the memory. “Then there’s how much she’d always worry we’d catch a cold being on the sea every weekend. But if we didn’t want to go, she would throw a fit.”
“She was the best,” I responded, my feelings mixed. “I miss her singing those songs while she cooked.”
Lucio nodded, his smile fading a bit. “Especially the old ones, while she’d be stirring sauce and dancing. I miss them.”
I reached across the sofa, giving Lucio’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “Talking about them like this helps and keeps them with us.”
Lucio smiled, squeezing back. “Yeah, it does. I’m glad we can share these memories. They’d be happy to know we haven’t forgotten them.”
“Never,” I declared firmly. “We never will.”
Remembering our parents brought both warmth and a sharp sting. Even with our inheritances, the void their absence left was never filled. Losing them shaped us in ways we never anticipated, leaving us to navigate a world that always felt incomplete.
“You think they’d be proud of us, Ro?”
I nodded, conviction in my eyes. “Of course. We made quite the name for ourselves, so much so that you have been traveling for three years.”
“You’re right,” he conceded, his voice weighted with a trace of resignation. “Perdere loro è terribile.10”
“Mio caro!11” Marina’s warm call drifted over, clear and affectionate. “Where are you?”
“Right here, baby,” he replied, his expression softening as he turned to face her.
Ah, the lovely Marina. The woman who, with her auburn hair always swept into a bun and a pair of piercing hazel eyes that could slice through any facade, had captured my brother’s heart since he was eighteen.
“Is everything okay?” she asked, her gaze flickering over to me with a warm smile. “Hey, Ronan.”
I let out a long, weary sigh. “Women troubles.”
She nodded knowingly, one brow arching as though she’d heard this a hundred times before, and she had. “Women? Or a particular woman?”
“Exactly, Mar,” I admitted, a slight smirk tugging at my lips.
“Good luck with that, Ronan,” she said, flashing a grin before spinning back toward her husband. “See you when you come to bed, okay?”
He reached up, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips, and for a moment, the unguarded happiness on his face was infectious. Seeing him so in love stirred a feeling I couldn’t quite shake.
“Okay, baby,” he murmured, watching her as she swayed gracefully up the stairs.
Once she was out of earshot, he turned to me with a grin. “Did I tell you we’re trying for a baby?”
I blinked, momentarily stunned. “No.”
He nodded, taking a sip of his drink, “We’ve been married for fourteen years. I think having a baby or five right now would be good.”
“Well, Luci, I wish you all the best. If you ever need medical or any other advice, your big brother is here.”
He scoffed. “Big brother by like two seconds, Ro.”
I released a hearty laugh. “Still older.”
“Whatever,” Lucio stood up, signaling the end of our conversation. “You know where to find me if you need anything. But seriously, be careful.”
I nodded gratefully. “Thanks, fratello. I appreciate it.”
Later, in the quiet sprawl of my living room, I let myself sink into the leather couch until it seemed to swallow me whole. My jacket slid off my shoulders, and from its pocket, I pulled my wallet.
The photo slipped out easily, its edges worn soft from years of being handled. Nina.
She sat in a garden full of peonies, the sun catching in her dark hair until it burned with copper threads and illuminating her melanin in a way that always brought me to my knees. One hand cupped a single bloom, and her smile was so bright it felt impossible that it could ever fade.
My throat tightened.
“I love you,” I whispered, the words catching like they might splinter me from the inside. “I’ve tried to let go. I can’t. You’re everywhere, Nina. In every room, every silence. I don’t know how to live in a world where you’re a memory.”
The room stayed still, the only answer was the faint hum of the city outside.
“If it takes a lifetime,” I said finally, voice rough, “I’ll prove it. I’ll make it right this time.”
The photo offered no reply, but I kept staring, as if sheer will might make her turn her head, laugh, and forgive me.
Nina
Another day dawned with a clarity that belied the storm raging inside me. I tried to bury thoughts of him beneath layers of fabric or to drown them out with the cacophony of last-minute show preparations.
But he stayed, like a haunting melody, refusing to be ignored.
It infuriated me how effortlessly he could invade my thoughts and how his image could materialize with such vividness.
I hated how handsome he was—those piercing grayish-blue eyes seemed to see right through me, or his hair, which always looked like he had run his fingers through it.
Even now, I could remember the curve of his smile and the tilt of his head when he was amused. It was maddening how memories of him could still evoke such visceral reactions.
“He’s not worth it,” I muttered under my breath, gripping a bolt of fabric perhaps a bit too tightly.
Francesca shot me a concerned glance. “Everything alright?”
I forced a smile, smoothing out the fabric with deliberate care. “Just lost in thought, Fran. We have a show to prepare for, after all.”
She nodded, though her eyes held a hint of worry. “You know, sometimes it helps to talk about things. Bottling it all up—”
“I appreciate it, Francesca,” I interjected gently, not wanting to delve into the messy tangle that was my past. “But not now. Please.”
As she bustled away, I turned my attention back to the surrounding chaos. Models darted back and forth, seamstresses murmured in rapid Italian, and Inaya hovered nearby, a perpetual whirlwind of efficiency.
“Nina, the final fittings for the evening gowns are starting soon,” she reminded me, her voice laced with concern. “Are you sure you’re alright?”
I nodded curtly, avoiding her gaze. “I’m fine. Let’s get to work.”
The hours passed in a blur of measurements and adjustments, each gown a masterpiece in its own right.
Still, beneath the surface, my thoughts churned like a tempestuous sea. Ronan’s name echoed in my mind with frustrating persistence.
“He’s only trying to get under your skin,” I muttered to myself as I pinned a hemline. “Snap out of it, Nina.”
No matter how much I tried to rationalize, the truth lingered.
I couldn’t shake him. His image haunted me, taunting me with memories of laughter and shared dreams. I hated how effortlessly he breached my defenses, how his presence unraveled the facade I’d worked so hard to build.
“He’s not worth it,” I repeated like a mantra. “Focus on your show.”
After a few more quiet moments, I stepped away from the sewing machine and, with a deep breath, walked out of the studio. Inaya followed me into the calm of my office, the scent of fresh coffee filling the air and grounding us amid the chaos.
“You’ve been a mess since a certain person was mentioned,” Inaya said gently, her voice breaking through my thoughts.
I sighed, sinking into the plush armchair behind my desk. “I know. I just… I didn’t expect him to be such a distraction.”
She nodded, her expression sympathetic. “He has a knack for that, doesn’t he?”
I scoffed bitterly. “Unfortunately.”
“He was a big part of your life, Nina,” she added. “It’s natural that seeing his name again would stir up old feelings.”
That was the most fucked up thing of all.
I always saw his name. I read articles about him, celebrating his success and all the great and empowering things he was doing worldwide, and it never failed to affect me.
I would feel a pang of pain, enough to ruin my day or two, but it had never been this constant.
I ran a hand through my hair, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “I thought I had gotten over it. I built a successful career and created a life without him. And now…”
“Now, he’s coming back,” she finished for me, her tone mellow. “But remember, you’re not the same person you were back then. You’re stronger now, more resilient.”
I nodded. “You’re right.”
She smiled warmly. “Focus on your designs, your business, and your vision. The rest will fall into place.”
I wished it had been that simple, but nothing with him had ever been simple.
I pushed the memories aside and refocused as the boutique buzzed with life. Sketches and mood boards covered the walls, and the gowns with fabrics ranging from lace, silk, and beadwork caught the light. It truly felt like pieces of my soul stitched into fabric.
“I can’t believe we’re almost there,” Inaya said, scanning the racks with pride.
I smiled. “It’s all coming together. Thank you, Aya.”
“We should close with the emerald gown,” I added. “It has drama. It’s beautiful.”
“It’s a showstopper,” she agreed.
I lifted the dress, its green fabric shimmering under the lights. Once, it had been a mess of rushed stitches and broken dreams—something I’d hated. But someone had seen promise where I saw flaws. Now it would close my show… exactly as it had closed another, years ago.
I studied my reflection.
“You were right,” I whispered to myself. “One day, I would have my own show.”
“You okay, Nina?” Inaya asked.
I set the gown down and nodded. “Yeah. Let’s finish the lineup.”
Still, a knot lingered in my chest. A Ronan-sized knot. Seeing him again—here, of all places—might be the hardest part of my success.
We reviewed the final schedule. The venue, a historic villa among vineyards, would glow with candlelight and anticipation.
“I’ll handle backstage,” Inaya said. “You focus on shining.”
I looked at the gowns and smiled. “Thank you… for everything. I love you.”
“Tomorrow will be unforgettable,” she said softly. “I love you too.”
Five years had led me here—scholarships, internships, and endless nights proving I belonged. Every hardship had carved this moment into me.
Somehow, I knew tomorrow would change everything.