Chapter Fifty-one
NINA
Present Day
ITALY
“Look who finally decided to show up,” Inaya’s voice rang out as I briskly walked into the boutique, three hours late.
“I was… busy,” I muttered, hurriedly taking a seat. “What did I miss?”
“Busy? Busy doing what?”
Ronan.
“Working,” I lied, avoiding her gaze.
“And by any chance was your ‘work’ company a certain Italian doctor?” Her eyes sparkled with mischief.
I laughed at her persistence. “Cannot confirm or deny.”
“There it is,” she remarked, her tone triumphant.
“There what is?” I asked, popping a cherry into my mouth.
“That look on your face. I haven’t seen it in forever.”
“What look?”
“That happiness. You look happy,” she observed, a soft smile playing on her lips.
I smiled and settled into my chair, feeling the warmth of her words. “I am happy.”
As the moment lingered, the soft chime of my office door announced Francesca’s arrival. She entered with her usual poise, carrying a stack of design samples.
“Good morning,” Francesca greeted, her voice carrying a professional warmth. “Sorry to interrupt, but we’ve got some updates to go over.”
Inaya raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. “We just started, don’t worry.”
Francesca placed the samples on the desk and slid into the chair beside Inaya. “I’ve reviewed the latest designs and collected feedback from the clients. We need to finalize the selections for the upcoming showcase.”
Inaya nodded, flipping through a few of the designs with a critical eye. “What’s the consensus? Anything we should reconsider?”
Francesca scanned her notes. “Most clients are excited about the bold colors and innovative patterns, but there’s been some pushback on a couple of the more unconventional pieces. It might be worth revisiting them.”
I leaned forward, her gaze fixed on the samples. “Which pieces are causing the most concern?”
Francesca handed over a few sketches. “These three. They’re a bit too avant-garde for the current market. We might need to adjust them to balance the collection.”
Inaya’s eyes twinkled with a hint of mischief. “Or maybe we push the envelope a bit further and create a buzz?”
Francesca chuckled. “You always have to be the daring one, Aya. But, given our goals, it might be wise to strike a balance.”
I tapped a finger on the desk, contemplating the feedback. “Let’s find a middle ground. Keep the essence of the bold designs but make them more accessible.”
Francesca and Inaya nodded in agreement, diving into a discussion about adjustments and refinements. We debated fabric choices, color palettes, and the strategic placement of the more daring pieces in the collection.
As the meeting progressed, the conversation shifted to logistics.
Francesca detailed the timeline for the final fittings and marketing strategies.
Inaya contributed ideas for promotional events and social media campaigns, while I considered the potential impact on the upcoming New York Fashion Week debut.
The room buzzed with focused energy as they mapped out their next steps. By the end of the meeting, we had a clear plan in place and a renewed sense of purpose.
With the meeting wrapped up, Francesca gathered her materials and rose to leave. “I’ll make these accommodations and get back to you with updates.”
Inaya grinned. “And thank you for saving us from another design disaster.”
I laughed, feeling a surge of satisfaction. “Let’s make this collection our best yet.”
As Francesca left the boutique, I turned to Inaya with a smile. “It feels good to be back in the swing of things.”
Inaya nodded, her eyes reflecting the same enthusiasm. “It sure does. And I’m glad you’re happy.”
My smile widened. “Me too.”
As the day wore on, I dove into the myriad tasks that defined my role at the boutique. The rhythm of activity was both comforting and chaotic. I moved from one task to another with practiced ease, but my mind was far from focused.
First, I reviewed the samples with Inaya, making notes for adjustments and strategizing our marketing pitch.
Then came the client calls—confirming appointments, fielding inquiries, and handling a last-minute request for a custom gown.
Each call required a delicate balance of professionalism and charm, which I managed with practiced grace.
Midway through the afternoon, I found myself in the middle of a conference call with our fabric suppliers. I jotted down details, negotiated terms, and finalized delivery schedules. As I was about to conclude the call, my phone buzzed with a new message.
Ronan.
I felt a jolt of excitement when I saw his name appear on the screen. I had been trying to push him out of my mind so I could focus today, but he always managed to pull me back in.
I hesitated for a moment, then opened the text.
RR
Pick a number from 1-10.
Me
10.
RR
Is that your final answer?
What is he up to?
Me
Yes
RR
Are you sure?
Me
Positive.
RR
That’s the number of different positions I’ll be taking you in when you get home.
The words were undeniably provocative. They left little to the imagination, making my cheeks flush with excitement.
Me
Fuck
RR
See you later, tesoro.
I switched my phone off, and I tried to focus on the call with the fabric supplier, but my thoughts kept drifting back to the message. His words were like a siren call, tugging at my composure and drawing my attention away from the meeting.
Ten different positions?
I couldn’t wait to get home.
I tried to steady my breath and refocus. The conversation about fabric swatches and delivery dates blurred into the background. It took all my effort to respond appropriately, but my mind was racing, replaying Ronan’s messages over and over.
The call ended, and I put my phone down, attempting to regain my focus. I glanced at the clock—almost four hours had slipped by, and as soon as closing time came, I made my way home.
I staggered into the apartment, my shoulders drooping with exhaustion. The day was so exhausting I could feel the weight in every muscle, and the only thing that propelled me forward was the anticipation of resting in my bed with Ronan cuddling me up.
“Ronan?” I called out, my voice tinged with a mix of hope and weariness.
There was a moment of silence before I heard the soft shuffle of footsteps from the direction of the bedroom.
Out he came, in nothing but a pair of sweatpants and a white T-shirt, hugging his form in a way that made my breath catch.
My heart skipped a beat at the sight of him.
He was a vision of casual enticement that made me weak in the knees.
My lips curved into a smile as I bit my lower lip, unable to tear my eyes away from him.
“Wow,” I breathed, unable to contain the admiration in my voice. “You look… incredible.”
His eyes softened as he took in my reaction. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be home yet.”
Without a second thought, I kicked off my heels and tossed them aside.
The thought of them seemed trivial compared to the desire to be close to him.
I rushed into his arms, pressing my lips to his in a kiss that was both urgent and tender.
The world outside seemed to melt away as his arms wrapped around me, and I felt the stress of the day dissolve into the warmth of his embrace.
He deepened the kiss, his hands roaming gently over my back before he pulled away slightly, taking my hand and guiding me toward the bedroom. I followed him, my heart racing with anticipation. As we crossed the threshold, I was met with a sight that took my breath away.
The room was transformed into a dreamy wonderland of peonies. Petals in shades of deep burgundy, dark purple, and creamy white covered the floor, creating a delicate, romantic carpet. The entire scene was bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, casting a warm, golden hue across the room.
I stood frozen, my eyes wide with astonishment.
“What… what’s all this?” I asked, my voice trembling with awe and emotion.
Ronan’s gaze was steady, and he took a deep breath. “I realized that I hadn’t officially asked you to be my girlfriend, and I needed to fix that.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of calico fabric.
The fabric was adorned with delicate but tacky stitches forming the words, “Will you be my girlfriend, Nina?” As I read the words, my eyes became teary, each stitch a reminder of the effort and sentiment he had poured into this moment.
I choked back a sob, my voice breaking as I said, “Ronan, this is… It’s beautiful. Of course, I’ll be your girlfriend.”
Tears streamed down my face as I pulled him into a kiss, pouring all my gratitude, love, and emotion into it. He responded with equal zeal, his hands cradling my face as our lips moved together in a dance of pure connection.
After the kiss, Ronan took my hand once more, leading me to the edge of the bed.
He looked at me with a mixture of tenderness and nervousness.
“After you left this morning, I spent the entire day sewing that,” he confessed.
“I watched some YouTube tutorials and practiced until I got it right. I wanted to make something special for you, to show you how much you mean to me, and nothing quite makes you happy like elements of fashion.”
I looked at him in disbelief, my heart swelling with affection. “You did all of this for me?”
Ronan’s eyes sparkled with sincerity as he nodded. “It’s as extraordinary as you are.”
I was overwhelmed, my emotions crashing over me like waves. I kissed him again, this time with a passion that matched the depth of my feelings.
“There are approximately seven thousand, one hundred and thirty-nine languages in the world, and I’m one hundred percent sure I love you in all of them.”
A smile broke across my face, and I nodded. “I love you too, Ronan,” I whispered, my heart full and my soul at peace.