"The offer still stands, by the way," Matteo said. "To visit the vineyard. If you find yourself with free time after the opening."
"I might take you up on that."
"I hope you do." He paused, and something shifted in his expression, more serious. "The man I saw you with. In New York. Is that your boyfriend?"
The question caught me off guard. "Something like that. We're trying to figure things out."
"Ah." He nodded slowly. "Trying to figure things out."
"It's complicated."
"Most things worth having are." He smiled, but there was something bittersweet in it now. Almost wistful. "I hope you get everything you need,Bella. Whatever that looks like. You deserve to be happy."
He leaned in and kissed my cheek. The scratch of his stubble, the smell of wine and sunlight.
Then he stepped back, breaking the spell.
"I should let you get back to Milan. You have a boutique to open."
He started to turn away.
"Matteo, wait."
He stopped, hope flickering across his features before he schooled them neutral.
"I should get your number. In case I decide to take you up on that vineyard offer."
Something flickered in his eyes. He pulled out his phone, and we exchanged numbers. His contact appeared on my screen: Matteo Rossi.
"Safe travels,Bella." His smile was warm, genuine, achingly kind. "I'll see you at the opening."
I watched him walk away until he disappeared around a corner. Then I called a taxi and headed back to the train station, my mind a tangle of thoughts I didn’t want to examine too closely.
The boutique was quiet when I returned. Late evening light slanted through the windows, catching dust motes in the air. Meg was still there, surrounded by notebooks and her laptop.
"Well?" she asked. "Did you find them?"
"I found them." I dropped into a chair beside her, bone-tired but relieved. "Mannequins arrive the day after tomorrow. Rush order."
Her shoulders sagged with relief. "How did you manage that?"
"I had help." I didn't elaborate. I didn't want to explain Matteo, what he'd done, how he'd made me feel. "What's the status here?"
We spent the next two hours reviewing final details, ticking items off lists. The garment delivery was confirmed. The lighting was installed. The caterer for the opening night event was locked in. Naomi would fly in two days before launch, while the other models would arrive the day before.
By the time we finished, it was nearly ten. Meg headed back to her hotel, and I returned to mine, the weight of the day settling onto my shoulders like a heavy coat.
My room was silent except for the distant hum of traffic. The city glittered beyond the windows, a thousand lives I'd never know.
I pulled out my phone and stared at it.
Still nothing from Femi.
I scrolled through our message history. His last message was from this morning, before everything fell apart: a photo of flowers he'd seen that reminded him of me.
That was hours ago. An entire day of crisis, and he hadn't reached out once.
I set the phone on the nightstand and stared at the ceiling, my mind spinning. Maybe he was busy. Maybe he was giving me space. Maybe he assumed I'd call him when I was ready.