Chapter Thirty-seven
NINA
Present Day
NEW YORK CITY
Four hours.
Four fucking hours.
That was how long I’ve been sitting up in my bed, unable to escape the thoughts of Ronan swirling relentlessly in my mind.
The date. His lips.
How he electrified me, how effortlessly he stirred desire within me, and how he left me spinning in a whirlwind of emotions.
His romantic gestures had slipped from my memory—like the sign made from peony petals, displaying only my two favorite gelato flavors, specifically labeled “gelato” because he knew I despised the term “ice cream.” Fifty flavors, but only the ones I love were named “gelato.”
And that kiss.
After five years of suppressing every memory and emotion tied to him, it all came rushing back at once.
The soft brush of his lips against mine reignited a fire I had thought extinguished long ago.
The taste of him, the scent of his cologne mixed with the faint aroma of peonies, created a sensory overload that left me breathless.
I didn’t know if butterflies were fluttering in my heart, belly, or my pussy. Maybe it was all three.
A reaction only he could evoke in me.
In those fleeting moments, time stood still. It felt like we were back when everything was simple, and our love burned brightly. His touch awakened dormant feelings, stirring a longing I struggled to contain.
I closed my eyes, savoring the rush of emotions. Despite the years apart, Ronan had never truly left me. His imprint on my heart was indelible, his love an echo that resonated in every fiber of my being.
I melted into him, and then he said, “Lo faremo, cazzo, tesoro.”
We fucking will, baby.
Each memory, each sensation, flooded me with bittersweet intensity.
“I never fell out of love with you in the first place, tesoro.”
“I spent the past five years watching you through everyone else’s eyes because I was too fucking embarrassed to come see you.”
“I love you more and more as the days go by, Nina. You’re it for me. Fuck, you’ve always been it for me.”
I didn’t know what hurt more. The fact that he watched me from afar all this time, or the realization that he had come to Italy numerous times and couldn’t find the courage to reach out to me.
With a sigh, I let sleep claim me, my mind drifting into dreams filled with memories of Ronan and the emotions he stirred.
The night passed in a haze of conflicted feelings and memories. As morning broke, faint light filtered through the curtains, waking me. Blinking, I realized it was a new day.
I swung my legs out of bed, rubbing sleep from my eyes. Ronan’s words echoed in my mind, a haunting melody I couldn’t shake.
I woke up to a message from Inaya saying she was gone on her morning run before we headed out later. She and I had to tackle some work regarding the boutique, then I had to visit Mara.
With a deep breath, I rose from bed, feeling the cool floor beneath my feet. The morning air promised a new beginning despite the turmoil inside me.
I drew back the curtains, letting in light and taking in the view of New York City’s beautiful skyline.
Turning to the bathroom, I showered and dressed in an emerald summer dress, feeling a surge of energy. A final glance in the mirror, a stray strand of hair adjusted, and a faint smile. Ready to face the day, I gathered my things and headed for the door.
My tracks stopped when I noticed two distinctly wrapped boxes with what appeared to be purple Vicuna fabric, and I almost passed out.
What the fuck?
I grabbed the box, hurried inside, and ran my hands over it. It was exactly what I thought it was.
Vicuna fabric.
The most expensive fabric to date, which was about three thousand euros a yard. I’d only worked with this fabric once, when I made a dress for a princess’s wedding.
Holy fucking shit.
Why the hell did this feel illegal for me to touch?
The fabric aside, this level of delicacy in the wrapping had to be Ronan’s. He was the only person I knew who made sure all sides were even and free of creases. As I placed the boxes on the table, a note slipped out, and I quickly grabbed it.
Since you say I don’t speak Italian enough,
I fiori stavano diventando eccessivi. Sero che questo basti, bellissima.70
~ RR
The note alone was enough to send me off the deep end, and with trembling hands, I opened the two boxes, and my heart fell out of my chest.
The first gift was two custom-made sketchbooks with authentic crocodile leather covers.
Opening one, I ran my hand over the sheets and noticed they were Bristol vellum paper—the best for sketching but also insanely expensive.
Both sketchbooks were leather-bound, with my name and my boutique’s logo embossed on the cover.
Ronan Emanuel Romano was sending me to tears, yet again.
Not because I was hurt, but because I was touched.
He sent something completely me. Something he didn’t have to do, and my heart fluttered in my chest.
I carefully placed the sketchbooks back in the box, folded the fabric, and then my eyes locked onto the next gift—one that nearly sent me into cardiac shock.
At first glance, I thought I was hallucinating, but as I gently picked it up, I went into complete shock.
I felt like I needed to be sedated at the hospital.
Why was I holding a two-million-dollar bag in my hand?
Why was the Mouawad 1001 Nights Diamond Purse in my possession?
Its weight, both physical and metaphorical, pressed against my palm, the diamonds and gemstones twinkling like a galaxy captured in silk. The purse was a masterpiece, designed not just to hold valuables but also as a significant sign of wealth.
As I turned it in my hands, intricate embroidered scenes danced in the light, each jewel telling a story of luxury. The clasp, a small treasure chest, gleamed with rare gems that seemed to pulse with life. Holding it felt like holding pure opulence.
Anger and a deep sense of appreciation surged, and I ran out, hailing the first cab I saw, making my way to Ronan’s building.
Ronan had some serious explaining to do.
Getting there felt like a miracle—I hadn’t passed out yet. The sleek, modern yet rustic building with the “RR” sign confirmed I was in the right place.
The receptionist downstairs directed me to his office on the thirteenth floor after I gave my name and warned her she’d be fired if he ever heard how she spoke to me.
Wait. Did I leave the front door open?
I quickly grabbed my phone to tell Inaya to meet me there because I had an emergency to handle.
When I finally reached the top floor, I stormed around until a woman with dirty blonde hair stopped me.
Great.
Another fucking barrier.
“You can’t be on the floor without an appointment,” she rudely stated.
My anger was about to spill over until I took a deep breath and remembered that she was doing her job, and my anger wasn’t toward her. Hell, my anger shouldn’t even be toward anyone. I should be happy to have gotten such a gift, but I was livid.
Two million euros?
“Good morning,” I greeted, trying my best to fix the bitch look on my face. “I would like to speak to Dr. Romano, please?”
It didn’t seem she understood what I was saying, and who could blame her? I was pretty sure I threw in a few Italian words.
I took a deep breath and spoke the words again.
“He doesn’t take visitors,” she answered rudely.
“Tell him N—”
“Amore mia,” I heard him call, and I turned around to see him at the corner of the receptionist’s desk.
He didn’t have to be wearing a suit to get the attention.
Black button-up, with the top buttons undone, his muscles literally peering through the shirt, and those well-fitted pants, were enough to turn me on.
“Do you like being employed?” he snapped at the receptionist.
“Yes, sir,” she answered almost immediately, her tone getting in line.
“Then I suggest you watch how you address this woman.”
She nodded quickly and scurried off.
“Are you okay?” He asked, searching my face for any distress, but all he found was anger.
I didn’t answer; I instead nodded with his hand on the small of my back, and as soon as we reached his office, I brushed it off and turned to face him.
“What the fuck, Ronan?”
“What?”
“Y—”
And yet again, another fucking barrier.
“Ronan,” Rachel called out, “Will you be attending the meeting?”
“It’s ‘Dr. Romano’,” I corrected her, and she turned around to face me.
“Ms. Moretti!” she exclaimed. “It’s nice to see you again, and what do you mean?”
“Are you fucking him?” I asked and looked dead in her face, then realized I posed the wrong question. “Is he fucking you?”
She gazed at me in shock.
They both did and gulped, “No, tha—”
“He’s your boss. It should be ‘Dr. Romano’ not ‘Ronan.’”
“Nina, rilassati.71”
“E se non lo faccio?72”
“Aspetta, e scoprilo, cazzo, tesoro.73”
He turned to her. “Rachel, I’ll be a bit late. I need to finish this first.”
She nodded at him and scurried off, closing the door behind her.
“Wha—”
“I don’t fucking want her calling you Ronan. Sue me.”
“You’re making my dick hard, sweetheart,” he teased, and I rolled my eyes at him.
“Before another woman, you’re evidently fucking walks ins—”
“Jealous?”
“Repulsed.”
“You being repulsed by other women interacting with me is jealousy, amore mia,” he said, walking closer to me.
I rolled my eyes yet again, and he murmured, “I prefer your eye rolls in a different, more intimate setting, tesoro.”
Ignoring him, I finally ask, “Why is there a Mouawad 1001 Nights Diamond Purse at my doorstep?”
“Oh,” he answered nonchalantly. “You got the gift, great, and it’s at the doorstep because it’s yours.”
“Why?”
“Why not?” he retorted.
“It’s too much,” I whispered breathlessly.
It was all too much.
Too expensive.
Too thoughtful.
Too fucking perfect.
“It’s not enough,” he said, and I looked at him blankly. What does he mean?
“Ro-”
He shushed me and took a seat on the handle of the seat I was sitting in. “You’re a fashion designer. That’s a designer bag. Designer bags are in your forte…” he trailed off, and I looked up at him.
“It is at least two million euros.”
Even saying it aloud sounded fucking insane.