“You need a dress for an upcoming engagement you’ll attend with the boss,” he says, not bothering to turn his head. “We’re going to Mullier so you can pick something out.”
My jaw drops. “Wait—Mullier?TheMullier? As in the most exclusive fashion house on the planet? That Mullier?”
He casts me the quickest sideways glance. “I see you’re a woman who knows her fashion.”
“Anyone with taste knows Mullier,” I say, unable to contain the awe in my voice. “You can’t even walk into their boutiques without an invitation.”
“Well,” he says dryly, “you’re lucky your husband-to-be has connections.”
The wordshusband-to-beland heavy in my chest—equal parts surreal and grounding—and yet the thrill that ignites at the thought of stepping inside Mullier keeps the dread at bay. I watch the skyline blur by, skyscrapers glinting in the sunlight, until we pull up to a glass building so polished it reflects the city back like a secret.
I try to compose myself, to keep my expression neutral, graceful, worthy of someone who belongs here. But my pulse is a traitor, fluttering wildly beneath my skin.
“Good morning, Miss Morelli.”
A boutique assistantgreets me the second I step inside, her smile perfectly trained, her posture respectful in a way that tells me Matteo’s name arrived long before I did. “Mr. Davacalli informed us of your visit. My name is Janette, and I’ll be assisting you today.”
“Hello,” I say, my cheeks already aching from the smile I can’t quite contain.
Janette gestures toward the showroom. “Please feel free to explore the collection and choose whatever you’d like.”
Whatever I’d like.The words nearly knock the breath out of me.
Rows of garments drape across gold rails—pieces I’ve studied for years in magazines and lookbooks, pieces I once admired from a distance like art behind museum glass. Silk, organza, hand-embroidered lace. Craftsmanship that usually lives an entire lifetime beyond my reach.
And today… I get to touch them. Try them. Wear them.
My fingers skim the sleeve of a runway gown and something warm unfurls in my chest—a reminder of who I was before all this, before Giacomo, before fear. A woman who loved beauty. A woman who dreamed freely.
A small laugh escapes me as I turn to Janette.
“What if I want them all?”
Janette opens her mouth but Valerio beats her to it.
“Easy now, principessa,” he drawls, not bothering to hide the boredom threading through his tone. “Don’t go bankrupting my boss.”
“I wasn’t going to?—”
“Relax,” he cuts in with a lazy shrug. “It was a joke.”
“Well, you’re not funny.”
“I happen to behilarious, actually.” He rubs a hand along the stubble on his jaw, then glances toward Janette. “I’ll be over there if you need me. Do you have some whiskey, Janette?”
She straightens instantly,as if summoned by royalty. And I don’t miss the way her eyes flick over him—quick, interested, entirely involuntary.
“No whiskey, unfortunately,” she says, smiling too brightly. “But we do have an excellent champagne list.”
Valerio nods, and she signals another associate to tend to him before turning back to me.
“Please follow me, Miss Morelli.”
We move through the racks, and I lose myself in the fabrics—gowns I once admired through screens now draping beneath my fingertips. Silk, beading, embroidery—beauty I had thought I’d never get close to again. Minutes blur, and before long Janette’s arms are stacked with dresses.
Valerio lounges on a plush couch nearby, phone in hand, champagne flute refilled the moment it dips below halfway.
“Right this way,” Janette says, guiding me to the changing rooms.
