Chapter 102 Clashing Styles
POV Maya:
Two weeks later
My life is chaos. I deluded myself into thinking it would be enough to come to El Soledad, meet the Moretti brothers, and boom—I’d be their fiancée. But that’s not how it’s been at all. Of the five brothers, I only know the name of one. David refused to tell me their names. He said getting to know them had to be genuine, which at first I agreed with, but now I see it was a terrible idea. I should have forced him to tell me.
Opening my flower shop was madness. I was using it as a front to get closer to the cowboys, but now I’ve realized it’s actually a very profitable business in a town that didn’t have one. Before my flower shop, if people wanted flowers, they had to order them from the neighboring city or buy them at the local market—and even then, they were artificial. So La Belle stopped being a front and is quickly becoming the second most frequented establishment in town. And because of all this success, I haven’t had time to socialize with Dominic, much less time to come up with a new excuse to go to the ranch and formally meet the other brothers.
The few times I saw Dominic when he came to deliver my fertilizers and nutrients, he barely looked me in the face. The man is a wellspring of sympathy and charisma. He didn’t let me start any conversation, so my patience ran out and I asked for another brother to handle my deliveries.
“Thank you, come back anytime.” I hand the change to the woman and sigh, thinking about what I’ll do to get closer to the Morettis.
“You can count on it—I will.” She smiles and hands the flowers to the strong man in a hat beside her. “Look how beautiful they are, my love.”
“They are. Anything to see that smile on your lips.”
Awwww, how cute.
“We’d better go. You know how those boys get when they come back from the fields and lunch isn’t ready. Luca is the most—”
The couple leaves the shop, and I take the opportunity to put up the closed sign. I need to take a break to eat something and check on Louis. As soon as I turn around, something on the floor catches my eye. I see the glint of a small bracelet. I bend down and pick it up. I notice something written on it, and when I read it, I smile. I’ve finally found the perfect pretext to go to the Moretti ranch.
For Norah Moretti, with all my love.
...
I stop the car a few meters from the main house and sigh in relief for having managed to get here without the caveman seeing me. If Dominic had seen me, he wouldn’t have let me get this far. I hold Louis in my arms and adjust his little bow tie. Today my baby came dressed in his best outfit—he wants to make a good impression, just like I do. With determined steps, I walk to the door, rehearsing everything I’m going to say to make sure I don’t make any mistakes. I raise my hand to knock, but the door opens, and standing in front of me with a murderous expression on his face is Dominic Caveman Moretti.
I’m screwed.
(...)
POV Dominic:
Everything has a limit, and I’ve been pushing mine for a long time over these past two weeks. The reason? It has a name, a killer body, and a personality that makes me want to wrap my hands around her neck and strangle her to death. Maya George—or, as I like to call her, a stone in my shoe. Maya is the town’s new resident and our new client for organic fertilizers, nutrients, and whatever else she needs for her flower shop.
Her arrival was the talk of the small town for days, as was her flamboyant way of being. The first time I saw her, I swore I was standing in front of a Christmas tree—even though Christmas had been over for more than ten days. I don’t like her, much less her dog, whom she treats like a son. His name is Louis Vuitton. Who names their pet that? When I asked why, those sinister blue orbs stared at me as if she were about to commit murder. Her shocked scream nearly left me deaf.
“How can you not know the most famous brand in the world?”
She’s strange, and her habits are even stranger. Like now. I’m unloading her fertilizer order while she stands in the doorway with green goo on her face, a bunch of pink trinkets in her fiery hair, wearing a fucking tiny pink pair of shorts that could blind me if I look again, and a green little top that reads: Today I am an enemy of fashion. What the fuck does that even mean?
“Lou, Mommy already told you not to get dirty.” Her voice behind me makes me huff. I don’t know why, every time I come here, she makes a point of watching me work. “We don’t want to disturb Dominic.”
“It’s fine. I’m almost done.”
Why the hell did I say that? The brown ball of fur appears in my field of vision, wagging his tail. I stare in shock at the poor animal, who has a few shiny stones glued right in the middle of his head. Just what I needed. The poor thing suffers from this woman’s craziness.
“Dominic, what do you guys do for fun around here? Ever since I arrived, I’ve been insanely busy and haven’t even had time to go out, but today nothing and no one is going to stop me.” I take a deep breath. There’s no reason for me to be rude.
“There’s Celeste’s bar. For a town this small, Celeste’s is the busiest place around,” I say without looking at her. “But I don’t know if it’ll be your kind of place.”
“Why?” I notice the irritation in her question, and for some reason, I smile.
“Well, I believe you’re used to going to places—” I glance over my shoulder, seeing her wearing high heels with pink feathers, and hold back the urge to laugh. “—that match your style.”
“And what is my style?” she asks, her face red. She looks angry. “Could you tell me?”
I finish stacking the last bag of fertilizer and stand up with the purchase slip in hand. I just want her to sign the receipt so I can leave already. Her dog sniffs my boots and wags his little tail. I swallow the curse before it can escape my mouth.
“Here’s the receipt.” I offer it to her, but she doesn’t move. She’s standing there staring at me. “I need you to sign.”
“And I need to hear the answer to my question,” she shoots back, pouting.
“Your style doesn’t fit this town,” I say honestly. “I think you chose the wrong place to open your flower shop.”
In slow motion, I see her laugh, shake her head in denial, pick up her dog, puff out her chest, and look at me with her nose in the air.
“So my style doesn’t fit this town?” she asks, swinging her leg. “And what about your style—does it fit?” She rakes her gaze over my body. “Because, honestly, I don’t think it does.”
I laugh, refusing to listen to her and her madness.