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 a shiver 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.”
Francesca nodded, a smile tugging at her lips. “Of course.”
She left to carry out my instructions, and I set the card aside, my fingers lingering on the delicate script, one I’d always recognized, no matter the years.
The flowers—the same ones I’d received every birthday for the last five years, even on my graduation day—were always peonies.
Few knew they were my favorite. Their beauty and delicacy always touched me.
Then it hit me: there was only one person who truly understood their significance.
Ronan Romano. How had I not noticed sooner?
“You ready for this, Nina?” Inaya’s voice broke through my thoughts, her expression a mix of excitement and reassurance.
I took a steadying breath, meeting her gaze with determination. “Absolutely.”
“Did we order extra flowers?” Inaya’s voice barely registered as I gazed down at the card in my hand.
“Nina!”
Her shout snapped me back to reality. “What?”
“You’re crushing the card.”
I looked down at the crumpled paper, releasing it with a soft, frustrated curse. “Fuck.” I straightened, my thoughts catching up with my actions. “What were you saying?”
“I asked about the flowers, but never mind,” Inaya said, exasperated.
I rubbed a hand through my hair, letting out a long breath.
“We’re all set at the venue. Models are being prepped, and everything’s ready,” she reassured me.
“Okay.”
Inaya gave me a once-over, then said, “Take a minute to breathe. You’re flustered. The car’s waiting to take you to the venue when you’re ready.”
“Okay.” I tucked the crumpled note into my drawer, gathered my things, and headed out, determined to make this night everything it needed to be.
I arrived at the venue and quickly checked everything—lights, sound, and staging were perfect.
Inaya had prepped the models, but I made my rounds, ensuring they were physically ready and mentally confident.
The models ranged in size, showcasing the diversity I’d always dreamed of—no body type left out and different cultures accounted for.
A few were nervous, but I reassured them, reminding them how stunning they looked in the designs I’d spent months perfecting.
Once the final checks were done, I got ready. Makeup, hair, and the dress I had chosen for myself all felt surreal. By the time I was finished, I could feel my heart racing as I stepped out into the backstage area.
The murmurs from the crew grew louder, and I could hear the whispers about me being “on the verge of tears.” I couldn’t blame them.
Seeing my life’s work finally come to fruition—the designs, the hard work, everything—made me want to sit down and cry.
There was a lingering doubt, a small voice whispering, Do you really deserve this?
But I shoved it down. I had fought for this. I had earned every moment, every step.
I peeked through the curtain, taking in the runway. Its simple elegance perfectly matched the Embrace All theme. The décor was understated yet impactful, tying everything together. The unexpected peonies added a touch of beauty I hadn’t realized was missing.
As the crowd filed in and cameras flashed, my breath caught. The press—the media—there were so many. I hadn’t expected this much attention. I thought I might pass out. But as the energy built, my nerves shifted into something else. For the first time, I wasn’t scared. I was ready.
The show began, and Inaya took center stage as the moderator, standing tall in the deep red abaya I had spent nearly three weeks creating. The silk draped effortlessly, intricate embroidery catching the light as she spoke with confidence.
Then, the models stepped onto the runway.
It was beautiful. Perfect.
Each piece moved exactly as I envisioned—flowing silks, structured suits, beadwork that caught the light just right.
Every design told a story, celebrating diversity in a way that felt so much bigger than me.
I stood out of sight, my hands clasped together, my heart thundering.
The crowd’s reaction was overwhelming. Cheers, gasps, murmurs of admiration.
I stole glances at the audience, catching flashes of emotion—some in awe, some deeply moved, others nodding in appreciation.
Then came the final men’s segment—a powerful, commanding close to the main show. The tailored pieces, sharp cuts, and fluid fabrics combined masculinity and grace in a way that had the audience enraptured. Every detail, from the walk to the music, unfolded like a dream.
And then, it was my time.
I smoothed my hands over my emerald dress, the fabric rich beneath my fingers. The nerves were back, crawling up my spine, but before they could consume me, Inaya’s hand brushed mine. “This is your time to shine, Nina.”
I nodded, swallowing hard. “Let’s make history, Aya.”
Then, she stepped onto the stage again. Her voice carried through the room, warm and powerful.
“Tonight, you’ve witnessed a dream come to life.
A vision brought forth by a woman whose talent, dedication, and heart have made not only a collection, but a statement that embraces beauty in all its forms. It is my honor to introduce the woman behind it all... Nina Moretti.”
The applause was deafening.
I stepped out, my breath catching at the sea of people rising to their feet. Cameras flashed, the crowd roared, and behind me, models—my models—lined up in formation, their presence as strong as the work they wore.
We took our bows, the moment stretching into something surreal, something I had only ever imagined in the quiet of my dreams. And then, as the applause softened enough, it was time for me to speak.
I took a deep breath, holding the microphone with steady hands.
“Thank you all for being here tonight. This collection is a labor of love and a celebration of beauty in all its forms. Each piece you’ve seen tonight serves as proof of the power of creativity and the importance of diversity in fashion. ”
As I spoke, my eyes scanned the crowd, landing on familiar faces—my mother, friends, supporters, industry insiders. Then, my gaze locked onto a pair of gentle grayish-blue eyes.
Ronan.
He was sitting near the front, dressed in a perfectly tailored midnight blue suit, accentuating his broad shoulders and lean physique.
His tie was a deep shade of burgundy, contrasting sharply with his crisp white shirt.
He looked annoyingly handsome, his hair as neat as ever, and his jawline sharp enough to cut a diamond.
Panic bubbled up inside me.
For a moment, I felt like the ground was slipping away.
But I forced myself to breathe, to stay grounded in the present. “This journey has been filled with challenges but also immense joy and fulfillment. I am grateful to my incredible team, without whom none of this would be possible. To all of you, thank you for believing in my vision.”
The applause thundered, grounding me in the moment. I finished my speech, a mix of relief and triumph settling in. As I turned to leave, my eyes met Ronan’s—only for a second. Heart racing, I hurried backstage, where Inaya and Alejandro, my other friend, waited with open arms.
“You did it, Nina! That was amazing!”
I hugged her tightly, the tension slowly easing from my body. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
Just then, I saw my mom making her way towards me, a proud smile lighting up her face. Her presence always brought a sense of calm and reassurance, and I knew she had been my biggest supporter throughout this journey.
“Mamma!” I exclaimed, stepping into her warm embrace.
She held me close, whispering softly, “You were incredible, Nina. I’m so proud of you.”
I felt a rush of emotions.
“Grazie, mamma. Your belief in me means everything,” I said, my voice choked with emotion.
She gently brushed a strand of hair from my face and kissed my forehead. “I’ll let you celebrate with your friends, but I hope you know you made history.”
With one last affectionate squeeze, she stepped back, giving me a nod of encouragement before making her way towards the exit.
Turning back to Inaya and Alejandro, I smiled. Alejandro, tall with a slight scruff along his jaw, had an easy charm that could put anyone at ease.
“Everything was perfect.” He pulled me in for a hug and kissed my cheek softly. “I loved it.”
“Thank you, Ale. You’re such a dear friend to me. You both are.” And with Inaya joining, the three of us stayed in a hug for a while.
We finally pulled back from the hug, and Alejandro kept his hands on my shoulders. “So, what’s next for our star?”
I laughed, glancing around at the bustling backstage area, filled with energy and celebration. “First? I need to get out of this dress before I end up tripping over it. Then maybe we celebrate with Vitello Tonnato and wine?”
“I can’t drink, but I can eat!” Inaya chimed in, grinning.
Alejandro nodded, a mischievous smirk forming. “You mean you’re finally letting us spoil you a bit, huh? That calls for a big night out. We’ll make it unforgettable.”
At that moment, a few other colleagues came up to congratulate me, their smiles wide and voices overlapping in praise. I thanked each one, still a little dazed by the attention. But when they left, Inaya leaned closer, her voice softened.
Alejandro’s phone buzzed, and he gave an apologetic smile. “I need to take this.”
He winked, squeezing my hand before slipping to the side, leaving me and Inaya standing alone in the bustle. I glanced at her, still buzzing from the night, but she had a look in her eyes that told me she had something else on her mind.
“What’s up?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “You have your I-need-to-say-something-that-will-annoy-you look.”
Inaya leaned closer, her tone dropping to a hushed excitement. “There’s something I didn’t get a chance to tell you before your speech. Ronan… he donated an additional two million euros to the show.”
I blinked, her words sinking in slowly. “What?”
She nodded, her voice hushed but excited. “His assistant quietly sent it over.”
A mixture of shock and confusion crashed over me. “Ronan?” I repeated, my voice softer this time, almost to myself. “But… why? He already donated enough. ”
Inaya shrugged, though her gaze was sympathetic. “I have no idea why he did it.”
I looked away, processing. I wasn’t sure how to feel or if I even knew him anymore. But here he was, showing up in my life again in ways I couldn’t predict. The thought unsettled me, stirred something in me I’d tried hard to let go of.
Inaya watched me closely, her expression softening. “I know it’s a lot. But ma—”
I let out a shaky breath, feeling more off-balance than I wanted to admit. “No, we’re not doing this tonight.”
She placed a comforting hand on my arm. “Okay.”
“What are we whispering about?” Ale asked, placing a hand on my arm.
“Oh, we ju—”
Of fucking course.