Chapter 7 - This Time, Everyone Stood
One year later, three hundred people returned to the Windmir Grand Ballroom.
But the room looked different.
There were no giant portraits of celebrities.
No slogans about charity.
Instead, sketches covered the walls.
Unfinished work.
Student designs.
Fabric experiments.
Names nobody in Boston fashion had heard before.
Yet.
Billy stood backstage wearing a simple black dress she had made herself.
Deardra rolled up beside her.
“You're hiding.”
“I'm preparing.”
“You're hiding.”
Billy sighed.
“Three hundred people are out there.”
“You faced three hundred people covered in wine.”
“That wasn't voluntary.”
Deardra smiled.
“Neither was raising you.”
Billy laughed.
Rafe appeared in the doorway.
Black tailored suit.
Open collar.
Dark tattoos visible along his neck and hand.
Still unmistakably mafia.
Still terrifying to almost everyone except the two Ror women.
“You're late,” Billy said.
“I own the hotel.”
“That doesn't make you punctual.”
Deardra pointed at him.
“I told you she would get worse.”
Rafe nodded.
“You were right.”
Billy walked toward him.
“Nervous?”
“No.”
“Liar.”
He smiled.
“Maybe a little.”
“About the event?”
“No.”
He glanced at Deardra.
“About what I'm doing after it.”
Billy frowned.
“What are you doing?”
Deardra suddenly became fascinated by a nearby floral arrangement.
Billy looked between them.
“Mom?”
“I know nothing.”
“You're terrible at lying.”
“Runs in the family.”
Marisol entered.
She was now the Windmir's banquet director.
“Billy. They're ready.”
Billy took a breath.
Then walked toward the ballroom.
The doors opened.
A year earlier, she had entered that room carrying wine.
This time, she entered carrying nothing.
And everyone stood.
Not because Rafe ordered them.
Not because she was wealthy.
Not because she had become famous.
They stood because the Ror Initiative had funded forty-two emerging designers in its first year.
Because twelve had already secured professional placements.
Because every participant retained ownership of their work.
Billy reached the stage.
She looked at the crowd.
“My father once created something beautiful.”
She paused.
“Someone powerful convinced him that because she had the platform, the beauty belonged to her.”
The room remained silent.
“He died without seeing his name attached to his work.”
Billy looked toward Deardra.
“My mother kept the proof.”
Then toward Marisol.
“My coworkers gave me the courage.”
Finally, she looked at Rafe.
“And one extremely stubborn hotel owner gave me a room big enough to tell the truth.”
Laughter moved through the ballroom.
Rafe folded his arms.
Billy smiled.
“So this program has one rule.”
Behind her, the screen changed.
Three words appeared:
YOUR WORK. YOUR NAME.
Applause erupted.
Later, after the final presentation, Billy found Rafe alone in the same corridor where he had entered the ballroom one year earlier.
“You disappeared.”
“I was waiting.”
“For?”
He took her hand.
Billy immediately understood why her mother had been behaving strangely.
“Oh, no.”
Rafe almost smiled.
“That's not the response I wanted.”
“Rafe Santangelo.”
He removed a small velvet box.
“Billy Ror.”
“You're not doing this in front of three hundred people?”
“No.”
“Thank God.”
He opened the box.
Billy stared at the ring.
Rafe's voice softened.
“You spent years making yourself invisible because you thought it was the only way to survive.”
Billy looked at him.
“You don't need me to rescue you. You proved that before I met you.”
He paused.
“But if you'll let me, I'd like to stand beside you for everything that comes next.”
Billy swallowed.
“That's suspiciously romantic for a mafia boss.”
“I had help.”
“My mother?”
“Mostly.”
Billy laughed through sudden tears.
Rafe looked at her.
“So?”
She deliberately waited.
Five seconds.
Ten.
Rafe narrowed his eyes.
“Billy.”
She smiled.
“Yes.”
“That's cruel.”
“You'll survive.”
He slipped the ring onto her finger.
Billy touched his tattooed hand.
“One condition.”
“Name it.”
“No pouring wine at the wedding.”
Rafe laughed.
“Agreed.”
From behind the doorway came Deardra's voice.
“I told you she'd say yes.”
Billy spun around.
“Mom!”
Deardra rolled into view, followed by Marisol.
Billy stared at them.
“You were listening?”
Deardra shrugged.
“I waited four years for my daughter to stop sewing her mouth shut. I'm not missing the ending.”
Billy looked at Rafe.
Then at her mother.
Then through the open doors toward the ballroom where young designers stood beside work bearing their own names.
A year earlier, Billy Ror had been kneeling on that marble floor while three hundred people watched.
Now she walked back into the same room holding Rafe Santangelo's hand.
This time, she wasn't carrying anyone's tray.
This time, nobody told her where she belonged.
She had decided that for herself.
And when the ballroom saw Billy and Rafe together, everyone stood again.
Billy leaned toward him.
“Don't get used to this.”
Rafe looked at her.
“Too late.”
May you like
She laughed.
And together, they walked forward.
