“Zoë,” a voice cuts through the haze. I drag my eyes away from Gio. A woman in a sharp blazer is standing at the edge of the stage, holding a headset and looking impatient. She gestures toward the side wing.
“Ms. Moretti wants to see you,” she says, raising her voice over the fading applause. “Backstage. Now.”
I nod once, the spell breaking. I turn on my heel and head for the wings, the silk of the dress whispering against my legs.
Backstage is a wall of noise and heat, but Elena Moretti stands in the center of it like a vacuum. The chaos seems to bend around her, unwilling to get too close. She's checking her watch, looking bored again, but when she sees me, she looks up.
I stop in front of her, forcing myself to breathe. My heart is still hammering against my ribs, but I lift my chin. I need a verdict.
"The line is bold," she says, skipping the preamble. Her voice is cool, clinical. "The construction is impeccable. You took a risk with the geometric inset—it could have looked messy. Instead, it looks intentional."
She steps closer, her eyes sharp as they rake over the emerald silk.
"I want you for the internship."
The air leaves my lungs in a sharp rush. It's vindication. Cold, hard, and absolute. I got it because I'm good. Because I designed something that couldn't be ignored.
"Thank you," I say, my voice steady. "I'll take it."
A flicker of a smile touches her mouth—approval, not affection. "Good. Be at my office on Monday at nine. Don't be late."
She turns on her heel and walks away, her assistant scrambling to keep up.
I stand there for a second, the adrenaline finally crashing, replaced by a fierce, burning triumph.
I spin around, searching the dim perimeter. Gio is leaning against a stack of equipment crates, arms crossed over his chest. He's watching me, his expression unreadable in the shadows. He didn't interfere. He just let me stand in the fire.
Our eyes lock. He nods once. Just a sharp, decisive dip of his chin.
I nod back, the tension in my shoulders finally unspooling.
We walk out together, leaving the noise behind. The heavy steel door of the design building clicks shut, cutting off the roar of the after-party. The alleyway is cold, quiet, smelling of rain and asphalt.
The silence is a shock to the system after the noise, but I'm vibrating, electric with the win.
I stop and turn to him. Gio is watching me, his hands in his pockets, looking like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. Hethinks I’m going to analyze it. He thinks I’m going to pick apart the victory.
Closing the distance, I step into his space, crowding him back against the brick wall.
“Zoë—” he starts, but I cut him off.
His lapels come up in my fists as I haul him down, crashing my mouth against his. It’s teeth and tongue and the taste of iron and desperation. The adrenaline, the triumph, the sheer fucking relief of the internship pours into the kiss. I bite his lower lip, hard enough to draw blood, and he groans, a low, ragged sound that vibrates against my chest.
The reaction is instant. Hands leave his pockets—one fisting in my hair, the other gripping my waist with bruising force. Control shifts as he tilts my head back, deepening the kiss until I can’t breathe, until I don’t want to.
The way he kisses me is ravenous, like he’s starving, like he’s trying to crawl inside me and mark me from the inside out. This is the only language we have left that doesn’t need words.
He breaks away, his breath ragged, his forehead resting against mine. His eyes are wild, dark, completely undone.
"I'm taking you to dinner," he growls, his voice rough, scraping against my throat. "Right now. Somewhere expensive. I'm going to buy you a fucking steak so big you can't finish it."
I laugh, breathless, my lips swollen and tingling. "Is that an order, Rossi?"
"It's a celebration," he says, leaning in to bite the sensitive spot under my jaw, sending a shockwave down my spine. "And you're coming with me."
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Chapter 35
