“Oh honey, it’s perfect.” My mother’s reverent words startled me from my trance.

To humor her, I’d tried on pink tulle, head-to-toe gold sequins, and one dress covered in a beaded peacock feather mosaic. This dress was entirely opposite of everything she’d selected. I was stunned when she didn’t dismiss it with hardly a look.

“I figured you’d think it was too plain,” I stuttered.

“It’s not plain. Its beauty is in its simplicity, and sometimes that makes the greatest statement.” She gazed at me warmly as my brows creased in dismay.

Who is this woman and what did she do with my mother? Did I step into some alternate dimension?

“Alright, you can stop looking at me like I sprouted a second head. I know I had you trying on things you’d never pick, and maybe that was me being a little selfish. All my baby girls are grown up, and I couldn’t help myself. But this one screams your name, so before I get teary, get in there and try it on.”

I fell into my mom’s arms, hugging her in a way I hadn’t done in a long time. All I’d ever wanted for my family was a closeness that was always just out of reach. In these rare moments when I connected with one of them, it filled my heart with joy. If only our exchange had been the standard rather than the exception.

The dress fit beautifully, so we finished the purchase and made our way to lunch. Mom had her heart set on a French restaurant not far from where we’d been shopping at Saks on Fifth Avenue. We called her driver to pick us up and took the short trip to the restaurant, leaving the dress in the car for safekeeping.

La Grenouille was a beautiful upscale bistro bursting with fresh floral arrangements and authentic retro-French décor that made you feel as if you had flown straight to Paris. It was a bit over the top for my taste, but my mother loved the place. We were quickly shown to our seats, and I had no more than picked up the menu when my mother greeted someone just behind me.

“Oh! What a pleasant surprise! Sofia, look who’s here.” Her voice sounded thin and a touch higher than normal.

I narrowed my eyes at her before turning around to greet the newcomer. I couldn’t have been more stunned if I had turned to see Santa Claus himself followed by his merry elves. Nico Conti stood towering over me, arms clasped behind his back, lips curved in an easy smile.

He was the last person I would have expected to find at La Grenouille.

My mouth dropped open, but nothing came out—no words, no air—my lips simply parted like a fish stranded ashore. Not just at the shock of seeing him, but also at how much he’d changed. Nico wasn’t the sixteen-year-old boy I’d last seen. At well over six feet and solid muscle, he was a fully developed man. He wore a white button-down shirt that stretched tight over his shoulders and biceps, testing the strength of the fabric. His hair was trimmed close on the sides, and his long waves on top were styled back, tamed with product to stay in place. My eyes slowly traced over each of his features, taking him in as if I was trying to memorize every square inch of him. When my gaze landed on his, I realized that his body might have changed, but his eyes were still that same deep blue I lost myself in so many years ago. I was no longer a fish gasping for air. Now, I was drowning in the raging waters of his oceanic gaze—fathomless, turbulent, and totally consuming.