Startseite / Nine Postponed Weddings, One Final Goodbye / Kapitel 1 – Kapitel 9

Alle Kapitel von Nine Postponed Weddings, One Final Goodbye: Kapitel 1 – Kapitel 9

9 Kapitel

Chapter 1

Clara POV“Before we change the digital displays, should I call Mr. Rinaldi?”“No. ”I ended the call before she could ask anything else.I looked around the house that was supposed to become ours after the wedding.I had chosen almost nothing in it. Bianca had replaced the dining-room light, picked the bedroom curtains, and filled every room with fig candles, even though the scent gave me headaches.Her hair clip and perfume were still beside the downstairs sink.The house already felt more like hers than mine.My phone lit up.Dante: The planner says you’ve been making changes.I typed: One final correction. It’s handled.A few minutes later, he sent a photograph. Bianca stood on a fitting platform in a silver gown, one hand resting on his shoulder. His face was mostly hidden by the phone, but I recognized the concentration in the set of his mouth. He was adjusting the clasp at her back.Bianca’s at her fitting. The fastening caught. I’ll be home later.At my own fitting last week, t

Chapter 2

By Friday evening, I had handed over my New York assignments, copied my personal files off the house computer, and arranged somewhere to stay if I needed it. My best friend, Mia, had offered her spare room without asking me to explain twice.“Just call,” she said. “Any hour.”Dante came home at ten with Bianca beside him.“Here.” He held out a narrow leather case.Inside was a plain silver chain bracelet. Bianca leaned over my shoulder, close enough for me to smell her perfume. Emeralds circled her wrist in a broad gold cuff.“It’s sweet, isn’t it?” she said.“Very.” I closed the case and set it on the console. “Thank you.”Dante studied me. “You’re quiet.”“I’ve had a long day.”Bianca was already settling into his usual chair. She pulled the wedding schedule from her bag and smoothed it across her knees.“I changed the car for tomorrow. The vintage Bentley felt so stuffy, so Dante said we could use the open-top Aston.”“We?” I asked.“For the photographs before the ceremony. I’ll rid

Chapter 3

Clara“I’ll send Dr. Russo,” Dante said. “Bianca’s still shaken. Give me a little time.”I shut my eyes. “Fine.”It was easier than asking again.I called Mia before the pain made speaking impossible. By the time Dr. Russo arrived, she had used the spare key I had given her to let him in.He took one look at me and called an ambulance.I remembered Mia kneeling beside me, holding my hand. I remembered being asked what medication I took. Then there were lights above a stretcher and someone telling me to keep my eyes open.When I woke properly, it was morning.Mia sat in the chair beside the bed with my phone and document wallet in her lap.“They treated a small bleed from the ulcer,” she said. “You’re stable, but they’re keeping an eye on you.”I looked at the IV in my hand.“My flight.”“I spoke to your editor. Your flight’s been moved to tonight. Once the doctor clears you, we’ll get your suitcase and go straight to the airport.”I nodded. The relief hurt more than I expected. No argu

Chapter 4

Dante used to like surprises.For his first birthday with me, I had taken him to a tiny jazz club where no one knew his name. He had left his men outside and spent the evening with his knee pressed to mine beneath the table.On the walk home, he told me it was the first time in years he had felt like a man on a date instead of his father’s successor.I remembered that now, with a ribbon dangling from my hospital chair and Bianca wearing his jacket.“You can tell me,” he said.“I’m not marrying you, Dante.”He exhaled, looking more tired than shocked.“Clara, you’re frightened and upset. Don’t say something you’ll regret just because you’re angry.”Bianca’s eyes immediately filled with tears.“This is because of me, isn’t it?” Her voice trembled. “If Clara wants me gone, I’ll go back to Montreal today.”She had barely finished speaking when her body swayed.Dante caught her instinctively.“Bianca.”“I’m fine.” She tried to pull away. “I never meant to ruin your wedding.”“You haven’t ru

Chapter 5

Dante POVClara had left the hospital.That was all the driver said, but I heard it as a challenge.“Then go to the house.”“She’s not there either, boss. The gate team said her friend collected her.”I looked at the phone. Her last message was still open.I have ended our engagement.She had said it earlier. I remembered the words perfectly. I had decided she did not mean them because the alternative was inconvenient.“Find out where—”I stopped. In the corridor outside Bianca’s apartment, two of my men were waiting for orders. All I had to do was finish the sentence.Then I remembered Clara on the hospital bed, asking for quiet as if it were the only thing left I might give her.“Bring the car,” I said. “We’re going home.”The house was ready for photographs. Someone had placed fresh flowers on the staircase. A white ribbon floated loose from the banister.Her keys were on the coffee table.I saw the ring next. Then the bracelet, still in its case.The printed schedule lay beneath th

Chapter 6

That night, I went through the house looking for things Clara had forgotten.I found how little of her had been allowed to remain.Her books were gone from the study. The framed photograph of her mother had disappeared from the bedside table. A shallow drawer held nothing but two buttons and the spare ribbon from a gift I could not remember giving her.In the living room, the broken pottery dish sat where she had left it.I picked up one half and turned it over. Her crooked painted C. My thumbprint.I remembered making it. She had laughed so hard at my attempt that the instructor came over to see what was wrong. Afterward, we ate burgers in the car while she scrolled through the photographs she had taken of my efforts, laughing all over again.I had once known how to make her happy without buying her anything expensive.My phone rang. Dr. Russo.“She’s been discharged to a friend’s care,” I told him.“I know. I’m calling about what happened at the house.”“You said it was her ulcer.”“

Chapter 7

Clara POVParis did not fix me at the arrivals gate.I was tired, my suitcase had a damaged wheel, and I cried in the taxi because I could not find the address of the temporary apartment in my email.The driver waited while I searched. Then he handed me a packet of tissues without comment.It was a good introduction to the city: a small disaster, followed by an ordinary kindness.My editor, Marianne, had arranged a few days for me to settle in. I bought groceries, found a doctor for my follow-up care, and walked to the office once so I would not be late on my first morning.At night, I called Mia.“Have you eaten?” she asked before saying hello.“Yes.”“Something you had to chew?”I held up a piece of toast to the camera.“Needs work,” she said, “but I’ll allow it.”The canceled wedding had made a few society sites in New York. There was a photograph of the welcome screen and several unpleasant guesses about who had betrayed whom.Dante’s statement was brief. He took responsibility and

Chapter 8

The first sketch was awful.“It looks like a haunted laundry room,” our art director, Inès, said.I looked at the floating gown on the screen and laughed. “All right. Too much movement.”“Too much everything.” She pulled her chair beside mine. “Start with the sleeve.”We worked through lunch, although she made me eat half her sandwich. Instead of gowns hovering in front of Paris landmarks, we used a simple studio set: pale plaster, strong side light, fabric arranged on concealed supports.A sleeve curved as though an arm had just left it. Pleats held the shape of a turning body. Inès found a way to show the structure without making the clothes look abandoned.I wrote the accompanying copy and suggested the title, After the Figure.At two thirty, we had six mock-ups, a revised shot list, and a production estimate that stayed within the existing budget.At three, we took them to Maison Varenne.Their creative director, étienne, frowned at the first image.“We sell clothes to women. We ca

Chapter 9

Dante was already at the café when I arrived.He stood so quickly that his knee caught the table. The cup beside him rattled against its saucer.“Clara.”“Sit down.”He did.There were no men hovering behind his chair. If he had brought security, they were out of sight. He looked thinner, but he was still Dante: immaculate coat, expensive watch, the instinctive stillness of a man accustomed to being watched.I ordered tea.For a moment, neither of us spoke.“You look well,” he said.“I’m getting there.”He nodded, as if the distinction mattered.“I read your feature. About the embroiderer.”“Thank you.”“And I saw the Varenne work. I didn’t know you could do that.”“You didn’t ask much about my work.”His eyes dropped to the table.“No. I didn’t.”The waiter brought my tea. I let it steep. A bicycle bell sounded outside, followed by someone laughing at the crossing.Dante took a small leather case from his coat.My stomach tightened before I could stop it.“I brought this,” he said, th

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