CHAPTER NINETEEN
ROME
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The way she said my name did weird things to me. Her voice was low, sweet, and sinfully husky. I shoved my hands into my pockets, hating the way I was responding to her. I was also kind of hating the way she was responding to me.
Gone was the carefree spirit I’d witnessed when we entered the store. She was no longer smiling or looking excited. Instead, she appeared nervous, unable to hold my gaze for long. I was used to that reaction.
The Cattaneo name tended to cause that. People heard it and immediately became nervous, like we were going to kill them on sight for merely existing. I offered her what I hoped was a reassuring smile, wanting to make her more comfortable.
It had the opposite effect. Her frown deepened, and her gaze swung back to Monique. She forced a smile that did not reach her eyes. She took another step backward, like she was trying to put distance between us.
“Come, Monique,” Blossom urged. “Let's go look at the flowers I’ve prepared for you.”
Turning away from me, she started toward the back of the shop. Monique immediately followed. But I stood there, staring at her shape from the back. Damn! That was a lot of ass. More guilt threaded through my veins.
Monique looked back and motioned for me to come with them. The florist noticed the gesture, and her frown deepened. Maybe it was my imagination, but I didn’t think this woman liked me. I had a feeling the little florist didn't want me anywhere near them.
Unfortunately for her, I was here for Monique. So, despite the look she cast my way, I followed the two women toward the back of the shop. From that moment on, the florist treated me as if I wasn’t there at all.
“You're having two weddings, right?” Blossom asked. “One at a venue and one on the beach?”
“Yes, that’s right,” Monique told her.
“Great. My staff and I will need pictures of both spaces so we can see what works best. But we'll talk about that after I show you the groomsmen's flowers.”
I followed Monique, keeping enough distance between the florist and me so I wouldn't make her more nervous than she already seemed. The back of the shop had a long work counter, and against the wall sat a small floral cooler.
Blossom walked over to it and opened the door. Cool air drifted out as she reached inside and carefully slid out a tray filled with what I assumed was the boutonnières Monique had mentioned. Monique immediately moved closer.
“Oh, these are beautiful,” she drawled.
Blossom smiled. A real smile this time. Not the nervous one she'd given me when Monique introduced us. This one was brighter. Like talking about flowers pulled her back into a world she understood, the world she loved, her safe haven.
“I prepared a few different styles for you to look at,” Blossom explained as she placed the tray on the counter. “Some are more traditional, with a single flower and a little greenery. Some are more modern and have a bit more texture. And a few focus more on the flowers than the greenery.”
Monique leaned over the tray, studying each one carefully. I looked down at the small arrangements and immediately realized I knew nothing about this. Absolutely nothing. They looked like tiny flowers people pinned to suits. That was the full extent of my expertise.
“This one is lovely,” Monique said, pointing toward one with a small white flower and greenery wrapped neatly beneath it.
“That one is more traditional,” Blossom told her. “Elegant, simple, and it photographs well, especially in a sophisticated venue setup. But if you want something that feels a little softer for the beach ceremony, this one may work better.”
She pointed to another one.
“This has more texture and movement. It won't look too formal in beach pictures.”
Monique nodded, listening closely.
“And we can add things to it to give it a more beach vibe, like a small seashell.”
“Really? That would be so cute.”
As Monique asked questions, Blossom answered them easily. Confidently. A few minutes ago, after meeting me, she'd looked like she wanted to escape her own shop. Now she looked completely at ease.
This was the look of someone who loved their job. Was this how I looked when I was doing hacking jobs or mixing chemicals in my lab? Is this how Juliet looked when she was trying to hack me? I watched the florist while Monique studied the tray.
Blossom reached out and gently adjusted one of the boutonnières, her fingers careful as she pointed out the differences among the stems, flowers, and greenery. Then her gaze flicked to mine. Only for a second.
The moment our eyes met, she quickly looked away. Interesting. At first, I figured she was nervous because of my last name. I was used to that. That made sense to me. However, the more I observed Blossom, the less certain I became that was the reason.
Her reaction didn't feel like fear. It was as though she was trying very hard not to look at me. Which only made me want to know why even more. Had we met before? No. I would remember a woman like her.
Was she simply shy? No. She didn't strike me as shy. At least not when she was talking to Monique about flowers. Not when she was in her element. Was it me who had her acting this way? It wouldn’t be the first time my looks had left a woman mesmerized.
However, Blossom the florist didn’t seem mesmerized by me. If anything, she seemed irritated by my presence. But I hadn’t done anything to irritate her. It had to be the last name that did it.
My thoughts drifted to Juliet. Would she look at me the same way if we ever met face to face? Would she glance away from me? Would she become nervous? Would she regret getting close to me once she truly met the man behind the screen?
I dismissed those thoughts.
Juliet wouldn’t stare at me like this. She already knew who I was. She knew my name. She knew my reputation. And she'd accepted me anyway. Whatever happened when I finally met Juliet, I didn't think she'd look at me the way the florist did.
She wouldn’t be as judgmental as this woman was. Damn it. Why was I getting angry with this woman?
“Rome? Rome!”
Monique's voice pulled me from my thoughts. I blinked and looked at her. She was smiling at me, one hand hovering over the tray. I saw the suspicious glint in her eyes. She’d caught me staring at the florist. I would never hear the end of this.
“What do you think of these?” Monique asked, smiling brightly.
I stepped forward and looked down at the boutonnières, trying to be interested in them. I had no fucking idea what to say. They were flowers. Tiny flowers. Pretty, I guess. Before I could come up with something that made me sound like I had a clue, movement caught my attention.
Blossom turned her head slightly and tried to suppress a yawn. She immediately covered her mouth and looked embarrassed.
“I’m sorry,” she apologized to Monique. “It’s been a busy week, and I’ll be even busier next week, so I’m a little tired.”
My entire body went still as Monique smiled at her.
“Oh, I understand. Wedding season is probably exhausting for you.”
Blossom nodded and said something in response, but I barely heard it. Because those words she’d just uttered were damn near the same thing Juliet had told me last night. Coincidence? Maybe.
But I didn't believe in coincidences. Not when they came at me back-to-back, as these had. I looked at Blossom again. Really looked at her. Taking in every detail I could about this woman.
The soft curve of her face. The nervous way she kept avoiding my gaze. Her exhaustion. She was tired because she’d had a busy week and planned to have more busy weeks since it was wedding season. She said things like, ‘Love has a funny way of sneaking up on you.’
Why did everything about Blossom remind me of my Juliet? Was I staring at Juliet in the flesh? Or was I so desperate to find her that I was imagining things? I didn't know. Not yet. But I planned to find out. Monique pointed to one of the boutonnières.
“I think I like this one.”
Blossom smiled and said, “That one would work beautifully.”
I barely glanced at the flowers. Because at that moment, I was far more interested in learning more about Blossom the florist than I was in learning anything about boutonnières. I watched Blossom as she showed Monique additional floral options.
She moved confidently around the work counter, pulling out arrangements and explaining different styles, colors, and combinations. The more I watched her, the less certain I became that she was my little cyber-criminal.
Nothing about her matched the woman I'd built up in my head. Juliet With Curves was someone who’d hacked me for months. She was the woman who slipped through firewalls. The woman who challenged me.
The woman who somehow made me look forward to being hacked. I expected her to have more of an edge to her. A hint of danger. While Blossom looked warm, soft, and fragile. She fit the image of a florist.
She looked at home among flowers and wedding arrangements. But Juliet would be someone who preferred a dark, quiet setting, a space where she could hack in peace and without being caught.
The two women couldn’t be more different. I shook my head. Maybe I was losing my damn mind. Maybe I wanted to find Juliet so badly that I was seeing connections where none existed. Seeing coincidences for more than what they were.
Of course, Blossom was busy. It was wedding season. She dealt with brides all the time, so of course, she’d say something cliché like, ‘Love has a funny way of sneaking up on you.’ Sure, Blossom was a beautiful woman.
But she wasn’t Juliet. And Juliet was the only woman for me. Therefore, I tore my gaze away from the florist. Monique continued asking questions while Blossom answered them. Eventually, Monique narrowed down her choices.
“I think these are my favorites,” Monique said.
Blossom smiled and picked up two of the boutonnières.
“I'll let you take these samples with you to show to your fiancé. And this will give you a chance to see which one fits the attire better.”
“Oh, that's perfect,” Monique said.
The two women spent a few more minutes discussing dates for the next sessions. They already had a date for the bridesmaids to come view the flowers with her. But Monique wanted another session so they could go over everything one more time and make sure it was really what she wanted.
Monique told the florist when she'd be available. Blossom showed her a few openings on her schedule. Eventually, they settled on a day for Monique to return with photographs of both wedding venues. Once everything was finalized, Blossom walked us toward the front of the shop.
“Thank you again,” Monique said as we reached the door. “And thank you for being patient with me and allowing me to have multiple sessions.”
“Of course,” Blossom replied. “As I said, this is your big day. We’ll be right here with you and help you bring your dream to life.
And if you have any questions, just give us a call.
If I’m not here, one of the other florists can help you.
But if you want me personally, just leave a message, and I’ll return the call. ”
When we reached the shop’s door, I held it open for Monique.
“See you later, Blossom,” Monique said as she stepped outside.
Once she was through the doorway, I glanced back. Damn, Blossom had already taken a few steps away from the door in the span of two seconds. Forcing a smile, she nodded at me. That nervous expression had returned to her face.
“Thank you for all your help,” I told her.
Her fake smile widened briefly. And that was it. No kind words like she’d given Monique. What had I done to make this woman dislike me? Before I could think too much about that, a voice shouted from behind the register.
“Close the door! You're letting bugs in.”
My jaw tightened as I glared toward the cashier. The woman glared right back, meeting my gaze directly. She’d glared at me the moment I’d first entered the shop. What was up with these florists?
What the hell had I done to piss them off? Resisting the urge to ask, I left the shop, pulling the door shut behind me, and headed toward the car. I’d known coming to a florist and staring at flowers for an hour would ruin my day.
Monique was already waiting beside the passenger door for me. Shoving my dark thoughts aside, I forced a smile for her. I unlocked the door and opened it for her. As she climbed inside, a grin spread across her face.
“I saw the way you were staring at the florist,” she said.
Of course, she had.
“People in love see romance everywhere they look,” I told her. “I was just making sure she didn't do anything to harm the don's woman.”
Monique laughed. “What could a florist do to hurt anyone?”
She’d hurt my pride somehow. Keeping that to myself, I shut her door, then walked around the front of the car. My gaze drifted back toward the floral shop. I stopped. Blossom and the cashier were standing on the other side of the glass door, watching me.
The moment they realized I'd caught them looking, both women immediately looked away. My frown deepened. Interesting. I climbed into the driver's seat.
“Strange,” I muttered.
“What's strange?” Monique asked.
I started the engine.
“Nothing,” I muttered.
Or maybe it wasn't nothing. Maybe I was imagining things. Then again, maybe I wasn't. But there was something about this floral shop that deserved my attention.
“So,” Monique said as she buckled her seatbelt. “What do you think of the florist?”
I stared at the shop for another second before putting the vehicle into drive.
“I don't know,” I admitted.
I didn't know what to think about Blossom. Didn't know why she seemed so nervous around me. Or why her associate had glared at me like I’d broken one of their luxury vases. I didn't know why parts of her reminded me of Juliet, while other parts felt completely off.
What I did know was that Blossom had piqued my curiosity. I needed to know more about her. I needed to confirm my lingering suspicions or fully expel them. Either way, I wasn't letting this go until I found out if Blossom from Blossoms and Vines was my Juliet With Curves.