The second year, girls went crazy for crystal bracelets. My little shop rode that wave to fame, drawing customers from far and wide. I started turning a profit and moved to a location closer to the town center.
The third year, I hired my first assistant and started taking custom orders.
The fourth year, a fashion buyer from Milan happened into my shop during vacation. She was blown away by my designs. Two months later, my pieces appeared in a high-end boutique in Milan.
The fifth year, I upgraded "Stella's Handmade" to "Stella Studio," renting an entire two-story building on the town's busiest street. The ground floor was showroom and shop, upstairs my workshop and office.
Under the Tuscan sun, I built my empire inch by inch...
"Elena! Check your email!" My assistant Anna, a bubbly young Italian girl, burst into my office waving her tablet.
"What's wrong?" I was reviewing new design sketches.
These five years had changed me completely. I'd learned to wear business suits, learned to negotiate, learned how to manage a growing brand. I'd become mature, confident—no longer that girl struggling at the bottom in New York who could be fooled by a few sweet words from a man.
"It's Vogue Gioiello! The international edition!" Anna shrieked excitedly, shoving the tablet at me. "They want to interview you! They called you Tuscany's rising star designer!"
My heart skipped a beat.
Vogue.
I took the tablet. That elegantly worded English email just sat there.
[Dear Ms. Jensen,
We have taken notice of your brand "Stella's" remarkable growth over the past year. Your unique design aesthetic is redefining contemporary jewelry art.
Vogue Gioiello International Edition cordially invites you for an exclusive interview. The feature will include your personal story, design philosophy, and future brand plans.
This will be an excellent opportunity to showcase your talent to readers worldwide...]
I didn't finish reading. One thought flashed through my mind. Accepting an interview with an international design magazine meant my face, my name, my brand would appear on newsstands around the globe. Including New York.
"Elena? Are you okay?" Anna looked confused. "This isamazing news!"
I forced a smile. "Of course. This is great. Go ahead with your work. I'll reply to them."
Anna skipped away happily.
Once the office door closed, my smile collapsed. I walked to the window, watching children playing in the square below. Stella had gone to kindergarten today. She was five now, bright and adorable.
Five years. Five whole years without hearing a single thing about Igor Vorontsov. Like an ostrich, I'd buried my head in the Italian sand, refusing any news from New York.
He'd probably forgotten me long ago. He was probably married to that mafia princess by now—that Slavic beauty named Natasha. They probably had a kid or two, real, legitimate heirs. And I was just some insignificant episode in his life, a mistress he didn't even bother introducing to his family.
The thought still sent dull aches through my chest. Damn it, I thought I'd healed.
I took a deep breath. I wasn't that Elena Jensen from five years ago who had nothing. I had my business, I had my daughter. I couldn't let some ghost from the past make me pass up this chance to take "Stella" global.
I returned to my desk and placed my fingers on the keyboard. I needed this interview. Stella needed a bigger future, too.
So I started typing my careful reply.
Chapter Twelve
Igor
Five fucking years.
