Page 227 of The Sweetest Return

“They need witnesses.”

Lena pulled him toward the door.

Eventually, the room emptied except for Pops.

“You heard them,” he said.

“I did.”

“And?”

I looked at the reports on the screen and the empty chairs around a table filled moments ago with people I trusted enough to hire but apparently hadn't always trusted enough to leave alone.

“They'll be fine.”

Pops nodded. “Yes, they will.”

That should have cleared the last obstacle, but it didn’t. My phone sat beside the laptop with Coach Price still waiting for an answer. My companies could hold. My father had told me what fear was and wasn’t allowed to decide, and I knew what I wanted.

But this choice touched more than me now. I had spent too many years believing I was protecting Imani by making decisions alone and presenting them once they were finished.

I wasn't doing that again.

Pops stood.

“Talk to her.”

I looked up. “I didn't say⁠—”

“You didn't have to.”

He left before I could argue.

For a moment, I remained alone with the reports and the strange relief of knowing one part of my life could stand without my hand around it.

Then I picked up my phone and pressed Imani's name.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Nia St. James sat across from me in one of The Nocturne’s private parlors with a notebook open, her dark hair swept back enough to show the gray streak near her temple. She was beautiful. Chocolate-brown eyes. A tailored black dress that made simplicity look expensive.

“This room is perfect for the preview,” I said, glancing toward the arched windows and the low stage tucked into the far corner. “Intimate without feeling small. The guests need to feel chosen, not gathered.”

Nia nodded. “The Nocturne does well when people feel as though they’ve stepped into something they were lucky to be invited into.”

“Exactly. Saint Aurelia cannot feel like it’s chasing attention here. It has to feel like the house opened its jewelry box for the women who already understood the value.”

“That sounds like you.”

I smiled. “It should. I’m very good.”

Nia laughed, and the sound loosened something in the room.

We had been discussing a potential partnership for almost an hour. A private Saint Aurelia showcase before the holiday season. Twenty-five to thirty women. Editors, executives, collectors, stylists, cultural patrons, and a few AWU alumnae with money and excellent taste.

Women who understood fine jewelry belonged beyond engagements, anniversaries, and apologies.

Nia leaned back in her chair. “We can build the evening around legacy and self-possession. Jewelry as inheritance, even when you are the one creating it.”