Chapter 10 - Hayes & Moretti
Three months later.
The afternoon sun streamed through the brand-new floor-to-ceiling glass windows of Hayes & Moretti Bespoke.
The historic building in South Boston had been entirely restored and expanded. The interior was a stunning masterpiece of modern elegance—plush moss-green velvet sofas, polished oak cutting tables, and brass fixtures that gleamed under warm chandelier light. The shop was no longer just a small neighborhood tailor; it had become the most exclusive custom fashion house on the East Coast, catering to elite clientele who wanted designs created specifically for their real bodies.
Meline stood at her main cutting table, dressed in a sleek burgundy silk jumpsuit that complemented her lush curves perfectly. Her tape measure hung around her neck, and a breathtaking diamond engagement ring sparkled on her left hand under the sun.
The bell above the heavy oak door chimed softly.
Meline looked up with a bright smile as Lorenzo walked in. He wore a flawless three-piece charcoal suit—the very suit she had finished for him last week. He looked every bit the powerful boss of Boston, but the moment his silver eyes met hers, the coldness vanished entirely, replaced by boundless warmth.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Moretti-to-be," Lorenzo purred, walking behind her cutting table and wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her back against his chest. He pressed a soft kiss to the side of her neck.
"You are early," Meline teased, turning in his arms and leaning her head against his chest. "Fittings aren't until four."
"I don't have a fitting today," Lorenzo murmured, his fingers gently playing with the ring on her hand. "I just wanted to see my wife's business thriving."
"Our business," Meline corrected softly, looking around the bustling shop. In the back sewing room, three young apprentices she had hired were busy stitching garments for upcoming high-society events. "You know, people are still talking about the wedding planning."
"Let them talk," Lorenzo smiled, his thumb stroking her cheek. "Black roses or deep red for the main hall?"
Meline laughed, the rich, happy sound echoing through the shop. "Red, Lorenzo. Deep, passionate red. I told you three months ago—black roses are for funerals."
"And red?" he asked, his dark eyes locking onto hers with absolute, eternal devotion.
"Red is for a love that survived a war," Meline whispered.
May you like
Lorenzo smiled, leaning down to capture her lips in a deep, sweet kiss that made the rest of the world fade away.
She was no longer the safe woman hiding in the background. She was not a practice room or a rehearsal. She was Meline Hayes—the master tailor, the woman who had fought beside a king, and the undisputed queen of his heart.
