Chapter Fifty-three
NINA
Present Day
ITALY
Ronan had been gone for five grueling days, and it felt like my world was crumbling. Emotional dependency is one hell of a thing. Every moment without him made me feel like a part of me was missing. I knew it was irrational, but the ache in my chest wouldn’t go away.
It was like déjà vu, a haunting reminder of our early days.
Back then, when he was in med school in New York, and I was in Italy, our relationship had been nothing but long-distance calls and longing gazes through screens.
The distance had felt like a cruel joke.
But now, with the world between us again, it felt even more unbearable.
Ugh.
I blinked away the tears that threatened to fall—again.
As the weight of my emotions overwhelmed me, my phone buzzed, snapping me back to reality. The director from Louis Vuitton. I answered, my hands shaking slightly as I pressed it to my ear.
“Ms. Moretti!” The voice on the other end was the talent director, smooth and professional. “This is it. The sketches have been approved. It’s a masterpiece, and we’re hoping to start designs as soon as possible.”
A gasp escaped my lips before I could stop it.
The words hit me like a wave, crashing into my chest with all the intensity of the passion I poured into my work.
It was real. After literal months of correspondence, they had given me the green light.
My designs had made it. I had done something no one could ever take away from me.
I closed my eyes, allowing the joy to flood through me.
A masterpiece. The talent director’s words reverberated in my mind, and I swore I could feel my heart scream with elation. The recognition. The dream.
I sank back into the office chair, the phone still clutched in my hand as I tried to catch my breath. All the exhaustion of the past few weeks melted away. To celebrate, I tore open the box of milk chocolates Ronan had surprised me with earlier this morning.
God, I loved him. Even from a distance, he always seemed to know exactly what I needed.
I leaned back, closing my eyes as I let the chocolate soothe me, but my thoughts refused to slow.
I was booked for the rest of the year—no free days in sight.
We were expanding the team, bringing on new talent to help with the influx of projects and collaborations that had come through the door.
Celebrities wanted my designs for their wedding dresses.
I was even designing the entire bridal party for the Livingston wedding.
And I knew—deep down—Ronan had played a huge part in that.
His connections. His influence. My heart fluttered at the thought.
Twenty-two candidates had been shortlisted for a project, and I’d already vetted them via Zoom.
But the second round? That was all Ronan’s doing.
He’d handled it like the mastermind he was, and when I returned to New York, we’d be going through a thirty-day workshop with everyone, finalizing the team that would carry the brand forward.
I couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at my lips. I was closing the Italian boutique for about two months to focus on the New York City operations. A tough decision, but it had to be done. The future of everything I had worked for was in New York now. There was no turning back.
Between interviews, calls, and trying to prepare for the official launch of the NYC boutique—no, scratch that—there was no “trying” anymore.
I was doing it. I had been interviewed on Good Morning America, which still felt surreal, and Corriere della Sera?
That was the one that had made me scream.
Seeing my name on that publication—talking about fashion, my rise—it was everything I had ever dreamed of.
But as the high from those victories began to settle, I was interrupted by Inaya’s voice.
“Nina?”
“Yeah?”
“There’s a call coming through for you.”
I groaned. “Who is it?”
“The director of Modanisa.”
I froze, then took a deep breath, excitement bubbling up inside me. “Perfect. Put them through.”
The call connected, and the director’s voice crackled through the speaker. “Hello, Ms. Moretti, this is Ms. Hisana Bashar calling from Modanisa. I wanted to personally discuss the details of our upcoming collaboration.”
“Thank you for calling,” I said, my voice steady with eagerness. “I’m thrilled about this opportunity and looking forward to working together.”
Her voice held a note of enthusiasm as she detailed our collaboration.
We discussed the upcoming campaign’s vision, the integration of my designs with Modanisa’s unique brand aesthetic, and the innovative marketing strategies we’d implement.
She was particularly excited about the prospect of a cross-promotional event that would blend our styles in a way never done before.
We also touched on the logistics, including the schedule for promotional activities and the selection of key influencers to drive the campaign’s success. Her confidence in the project and her shared vision for its success made me even more eager to dive in.
As we finished up the call, the door swung open and, to my surprise, it was none other than my beautiful mother.
“Mamma!” I exclaimed in delight upon seeing her face. “How are you?”
She walked over to my desk, placing her purse on the chair, “I am well, bambina. How are you? You look amazing!”
I got up from the chair to hug her. Sometimes, all a girl needed was a hug from her mother. She melted in my embrace, her Jimmy Choo perfume as strong as ever, and we stood there for a while.
Times like these, I looked around and thought of how grateful I was to have a mother like mine. Nicolette Moretti, my hero and my supermom.
Pulling from the hug, I said, “I’m good, Mamma. Busy but good.”
She nodded, a smile present on her face as she took a seat. “I see that, baby, and wow,” she said as her eyes landed on the framed features hung around my office. “These are gorgeous. Who did these for you?”
I smiled sheepishly. “Ronan, and speaking of... I have something to tell you.”
She beamed at me, her pride radiating. “You and him are back together?”
“How did you know?” I asked, confused. “Did Inaya say something?”
She shook her head, her eyes softening. “A few days after your fashion show, he came to see me.”
What? He never mentioned this.
“What did he say?”
“He wanted my blessing. He came to tell me he loves you and is here to stay.”
I swallowed hard, fighting back tears. “Do you believe him?”
She looked at me with such tenderness. “To have a man like him come to my doorstep and declare his love for you... of course, I believe him. And by the look on your face, I can tell you do, too.”
I nodded, my heart swelling. “I do. I can’t believe he didn’t tell me.”
She chuckled softly. “Self-praise is no recommendation.”
“Are you serious, Mamma?” I asked, stunned.
“I wouldn’t lie to you,” she said, rising to her feet. “I may be old, but I know the eyes of a man who loves a woman, and I know the eyes of a woman who loves a man.”
I quickly wiped away the tears, thinking about Ronan, about how incredible he was.
“Are you moving to the city?” she asked, surprising me.
“I don’t know,” I said, feeling torn. “My life is here.”
“Nina, it doesn’t have to be complicated. What’s stopping you?”
“My boutique is here, and you’re here. Italy is my home.”
She smiled gently. “No one’s asking you to give up your home. You have a boutique there, and I can get my ESTA to visit anytime.”
“I want to be with him, but I don’t know how to leave. I don’t want to thin—”
“Would he do it for you?” she asked, cutting me off.
“Huh?”
“If you called him right now and told him you’re not moving, but want him to come to Italy to be with you, would he do it?”
“In a heartbeat,” I said quickly. “He would do anything I wanted.”
“Then there’s your answer.” She smiled. “I’m not forcing you, but for once, I want you to make a decision for you.
Not for me, or your friends, or your career, but because it makes you happy.
Everything else is tangible—you can visit, travel—but happiness isn’t.
You’ve lived a hard life, and I never want you to experience that kind of sadness again. ”
After my mom left, I called Ronan, but he told me to give him some time since he was in an important meeting.
I doodled on a sketch pad to pass the time. An hour later, my phone rang—FaceTime from Ronan.
“I’m so sorry for the wait, baby,” he said, looking tired, his hair tousled, wearing scrubs instead of a suit.
“Are you okay?” I asked. “And don’t worry, I understand you were busy.”
“Thank you, and yeah, I’m good.” He yawned. “A bit hungry and tired, but good. How about you?”
“I’m okay. Tell me about your day.”
He started rattling off everything he’d done: meetings, site visits, a surgery, an interview, and more.
“That’s a lot,” I said.
He chuckled and took a sip of water. “Today’s a slow day, but it’s all good. Tomorrow’s my day off.”
“Are Thursdays always your day off?”
He shook his head. “Not at all. Rachel handles my schedule. I get whichever day is least busy.”
“That sounds hectic.”
“It is, but it comes with the job. I’ll be retiring soon, though.”
“Soon?”
“Yeah. I’m getting old. The companies will still run under me, but I’ll finally get some rest.”
“Old?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t think you’re old. Retirement’s at sixty-two to sixty-five, and you’re not even close to that.”
He smirked. “I’ve lived a full life. I need to marry you, start our own family, and then I can rest.”
Marriage? Sure. Starting a family? I’m not opposed to pregnancy. Rest? That, he deserves.
“You deserve to rest, babe.”
“I could say the same about you,” he said. “Fashion designing is hard work. I don’t know how you manage it all.”
I chuckled, leaning back in my chair. “It’s a passion. It just feels right, you know?”
“I do, baby, I do,” he said. “Oh, did you get my gift?”
“I haven’t been home all day, so I haven’t gotten it yet. What did you send?”
“You’ll see,” he said with a mischievous gleam in his eyes.
“What am I gonna do with you?”
“Only good things, I hope,” he teased.
“Always good things,” he said, then added, “By the way, how come you never mentioned you spoke with my mom?”
“I didn’t do it for self-praise or for you to magically choose to be with me again. I did it because of my morals. I know how much you love your mom, and I thought it best. I plan to spend my whole life with you, as long as I’m allowed,” he said.
My eyes welled with tears. “My heart will always beat for you, Ronan.”
“Always?”
“Always.”
Before he could respond, Rachel’s voice came through, telling him it was time for his pre-op.
“I hate to cut this short, baby, but—”
“No worries, amore mio. Duty calls. But what kind of surgery are you doing?” I asked, intrigued.
I never imagined it would be this sexy, having a billionaire boyfriend who was not only a businessman but also a doctor.
“Tumor removal from a breast cancer patient,” he replied.
“Good luck, baby,” I said, feeling a lump in my throat.
“I’ll call you after. Goodbye, gorgeous,” he said, before the call ended.
Fuck, I missed him already.