Lanterns line a path of rose petals that disappears around the bend.
“Santo?” I call softly, my voice catching.
No answer, just the gentle guidance of lights and petals. I follow the path, my heels crunching softly on the frozen ground.
As I round the corner, my breath leaves me in a gasp.
The large magnolias with the bench underneath—our favorite spot where we sat countless times, spilling our secrets as we got to know one another, is draped in thousands of twinkling lights. Candles in glass lanterns flicker, casting golden light across the frost. And there, standing beneath it all, is my husband.
My husband.
Santo’s face is illuminated by the soft glow, his eyes reflecting the lights like stars. His hair is slightly tousled, like he’s run his hands through it nervously.
Santo Amato.Nervous.
My heart thrums against my ribs as I approach him, drawn like a tide to shore.
“What is all this?” I whisper, overwhelmed by the beauty surrounding us, by the intensity in his gaze, by the love in it.
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he takes my hands in his, warming them instantly. His thumbs brush over my knuckles, and I notice the slightest tremble in his touch.
“Dea,” he says, his voice low and rough with emotion. “I’ve given you many things since we met.”
I nod, unable to speak past the lump forming in my throat.
“But I never gave you something you deserved from the beginning.”
Before I can ask what he means, he lowers himself to one knee before me, still holding my hands in his.
My heart stutters.
“Santo,” I breathe, my voice barely audible.
“Vasilisa,” he says, and the way he says my name makes tears spring to my eyes. “When we married, it wasn’t your choice. It wasn’t a moment of joy or celebration. It was strategy. Alliance. Control.”
A tear escapes down my cheek, and he reaches up to brush it away with his thumb.
“I stole that moment from you,” he continues, his voice rougher now. “I took that choice, made it my own. Made it a formality when I gave you my mother’s ring. And you never held it against me. You never asked for what you deserved.”
He removes a small velvet bag from his pocket, opening it, he pulls out—thering.
My ring.
My palm flies to my mouth. My eyes sting instantly. “You,” My voice cracks, a small sound escaping me. “You…you had it?You had it the whole time?”
He nods once, jaw flexing, eyes warm and soft in a way that makes my knees weaken. “I had to, Dea,” he murmurs. “I needed to have it engraved.”
A tiny, disbelieving laugh breaks from me, choked and shaking. “Oh my god… I thought I lost it forever.”
“Stay with me, Dea… trulychooseto stay. Vasilisa Nova Amato… will you choose me? Will you stay my wife—not for alliance, not for duty… but for love?”
“Yes,” I breathe instantly, the word tumbling out of me like it’s been waiting at the edge of my mouth for years. “Yes. Of course.Yes.”
I can’t help bouncing on my heels, excitement bubbling through me.
He lifts the ring toward my hand.
But I catch his wrist, tearful and smiling all at once. “Wait,” I whisper. “What did you engrave?”
