Page 4 of The Ruin I Chose
“Then why are you tired?”
I shook my head, knowing she wouldn’t let it go. I filled the tub and sank into the warmth. My muscles relaxed, and I let out a soft sigh as my head rested against the tub.
His scent returned uninvited, and I didn’t know why his scent lingered in my memory. Or why it made me ache in places I’d forgotten existed.
“So…” she coaxed.
She perched on the toilet lid, legs crossed, eyes gleaming with mischief. My cheeks flushed as I spilled everything. Watching her eyes widen with sparkle.
“Did you get his name at least?”
I shook my head.
She threw her hands up. “Then how the fuck are we supposed to find him?”
“I didn’t say I want to find him.”
She grinned. “You need spice. Imagine bumping into him again. I want to see this hunk who stole your breath—literally.”
I rolled my eyes, laughing. She lived for drama, and I loved her for it.
Right on cue, her phone buzzed. She kissed me goodnight and vanished.
I curled into bed and clutched my cardigan, where his warm, defiant scent still clung, wrapping me in a moment he didn’t even know he’d given me.
Tomorrow was going to be a long, tiring yet exciting day.
Recce day.
CHAPTER 2
ROXANNE
The next day began with surgical precision.
Our first stop was the Louis Vuitton showcase—Objets Nomades and Trunks Collection. It was an immersive experience—innovative furniture and design pieces blending heritage craftsmanship with contemporary aesthetics, all embodying Louis Vuitton’s Art de Vivre. Each piece felt like a manifesto in form. Beautiful and ordered. Unlike me.
The venue, Palazzo Serbelloni, was a marvel in itself. The beauty of the Palazzo lay in its details. From frescoed ceilings to marble finishes, and light-filled halls that reflect centuries of Italian history. Once a palace, it currently housed the brand’s limited-edition luxury furniture and décor during the fair.
I moved through the space with practiced ease, scanning for proportion, texture, and emotional resonance. This was the one place I still felt in control.
I didn’t just see objects as they were—I saw placements and moods. I pointed out pieces to Ritu, shooting off ideas with quiet authority.
“That cocoon swing by the Campana Brothers,” I said, gesturing. “It needs to anchor the entertainment area. Not just a statement, like an invitation.”
Ritu nodded, already visualizing it suspended like a secret waiting to be told. I snapped photos of the dinnerware, noting the interplay of matte and gloss finishes.
“This set,” I murmured, “is perfect for our setting. We’ll pair it with brass cutlery and smoked glassware. It’ll ground the space.”
After the walk-through, we returned to the pavilions at Fiera Milano. I’d already mapped out the stores—first, those worth trying furniture in, then those to browse for inspiration. My tote was heavy with swatches, sketches, and annotated floor plans. Every dimension curated. Every placement imagined. Structure here felt like a balm—something my own life sorely lacked.
The fair buzzed with curated chaos. Designers, collectors, clients swirled through the halls of Salone del Mobile. I was in my element walking beside Ritu, selecting finishes and furniture for the duplex. I paused often, touching surfaces, flipping tags, murmuring combinations under my breath.
“Velvet for the lounge,” I said. “But not jewel tones. Slate or olive. Let the art do the talking.”
We bumped into friends and colleagues—quick hugs, faster updates—before heading to a lighting installation curated by my friend Vaibhav Sethi.
The space held a quiet, reverent stillness. Sculptural lights hung like suspended poetry—crafted from banana fibre, cork, and handmade paper. Each fixture breathed.
