Page 142 of Ache for You (Slow Burn 3)
I’m in love with him. Even if he’s made a fool of me. Even if he’s lied to me. Even if anything.
I’m in love with him. Come what may.
A terrible decision, really.
You can do this. Go inside and take your seat. Watch the show. Afterward, talk to him. Like an adult. Have it out. Find out the truth. Deal with whatever it is.
“Okay,” I whisper, steeling my nerves. “Okay.”
I turn around, determined to march back into the show and take my seat, but as soon as I take a step forward, the sheer floating panel attached to the back of my waist gets caught on one of my heels. I stumble, teeter, and flail my arms to regain my balance, but suddenly the world has tilted sideways and gravity is doing its thing and I’m falling backward down the staircase.
My head hits a step.
I see stars.
The last thing I remember thinking before tumbling all the way down the elegant staircase of the Royal Palace of Milan is that even Cinderella didn’t have to put up with this much shit.
THIRTY-NINE
MATTEO
Where is she?
For the hundredth time, I peek through the curtains. I see the audience in their seats, I see the photographers lurking in the wings, but I don’t see Kimber.
Finally I have to admit defeat.
She isn’t coming.
Maybe she’s gone back to her ex-fiancé. Maybe she’s realized what she feels for me is more annoyance than attachment. Maybe my insistence on giving her space to decide I wasn’t a rebound was a colossal mistake.
Whatever it is, she isn’t here.
The last two weeks I’ve spent in agony without her are nothing compared to this moment.
“Matteo! We have to start! What are you waiting for!”
Antonio is beside me, hopping up and down in anxiety. He’s already sweat through his shirt. If I don’t give the signal to begin, a heart attack could be next.
All the models are staring at me, waiting. The audience is beginning to get restless. I can’t put this off any longer.
I jerk my chin at Alexa, the model in the red dress at the head of the line. She takes her cue and glides out onto the catwalk. The model behind her steps up. After a count of ten, I jerk my chin at her, too.
Then I let Antonio take over. I need to go sit somewhere quiet and nurse my aching heart.
I was so excited to see the look on Kimber’s face when she saw all her designs on my models making their way down the catwalk. Her dress shop in the States might have been obscure, but with
her name featured as the star designer of the House of Moretti’s new collection, she’ll be famous overnight.
She deserves to be. Her work is some of the most beautiful I’ve ever seen.
I want her to have everything her father never had. All the money, all the acclaim, all the options that come with success. Her father was a brilliant designer as well, but he toiled in anonymity his entire career. By featuring Kimber’s designs in the show, I can honor the DiSanto name and her father’s legacy, kick-start her career, and get her headlines that will outshine those from her disastrous wedding, all in one fell swoop.
Even if she’s decided she’d rather go back to that idiot of an ex-fiancé than be with me, I can still give her something he’ll never be able to.
I can give her the world.
Soon enough, the show is over and I’m out on the stage, bowing and waving to thundering applause from an audience that doesn’t include the only person whose opinion matters.
