Oh…
Oh.
It all clicked with a sickening, elegant logic.
After Natalia and Trevor broke up in college –because of Gìo meddling– Natalia had still been the oldest sister. Carmen couldn’t have been arranged before her. That was tradition.
Now, Natalia was married. And a mother. Tied to the Sus.
And suddenly, the two strongest Italian families in New York – the Morettis and the DeMones – were meant to merge their bloodlines.
I leaned subtly into Matteo’s side, grounding myself as the realization settled heavy in my chest.
It was almost insulting how perfect it was.
Why hadn’t it happened earlier? Why not Gìo and Natalia back then, before Trevor was ever in the picture?
My mind flickered to that afternoon years ago – when I was supposed to meet Natalia at her dance class…
But ended up running into Gìovanni instead.
In the halls of Juilliard of all places.
Coincidence, I’d thought. After he made up some bullshit excuse.
Now? Nothing felt accidental anymore.
Not with Carmen Moretti in the picture –Prima Ballerinaand Julliard graduate.
I remembered laughing months ago, when Natalia called GìoCupid.
Now, I scoffed.
More like Cupid from Hell.
We left my parents’ mansion a little after four in the morning, the party still roaring behind us – music spilling into the gardens, laughter echoing off marble and glass like the night refused to end without us.
Matteo drove east, the G-Wagon cutting through the quiet Long Island roads while the world slowly softened from black to blue. I kicked my heels off somewhere between the driveway and the highway, my wedding dress pooled around my legs, tulle and silk catching on everything. Matteo laughed once, low and fond, and reached over to hold onto my thigh.
I’d always wanted to see Montauk Lighthouse at sunrise. Ever since I watchedWhat Happens in Vegasfor the first time – the way the ending felt like choosing love when the chaos settled. I’d told myself I’d come here one day when my life finally made sense.
We parked just as the sky began to open, the horizon brushing itself with pale pinks and molten gold. Thelighthouse stood tall and quiet, a witness to everything and nothing at all.
We stepped out into the cold salt air, and I laughed softly at the beauty of it.
Matteo took my hand, and we walked down the beach together. The ocean breathed steadily, endless and patient.
We stopped at the shore.
Matteo slipped his arms around me from behind, solid and warm, his chin resting against my temple. The sun crested the horizon slowly, like it was taking its time just for us – light spilling across the water, igniting it into fire.
I closed my eyes.
For a moment, I just felt – his chest against my back, the warmth of the sun on my face, the salt in the air, the quiet hum of a world that didn’t need anything from me.
I leaned my head back into him, fitting perfectly, like I always had.
I felt safe.
