The night had settled fully outside, deep and crisp, the air tasting faintly of snow and pine. I stepped through the heavy front doors, my breath curling into the dark like pale silk.
The driveway glowed with a soft amber sheen from the overhead lamps, the heated system beneath keeping it clear despite the thin dusting of snow at the edges.
My knee-high boots clicked rhythmically as I made my way down, the cold air biting the exposed skin above them.
At the far end of the drive, the unmistakable silhouette of Matteo’s G-Wagon gleamed under the light. He was already there, about to get in.
“You sneaked out without saying goodbye?”
“What are you doing out here?” His breath fogged in the cold between us, dissolving just as quickly.
“Getting my underwear back. Obviously…” I hesitated, wrapping my hands around myself.
He chuckled. “Donna, I will die clutching onto those red, lace panties of yours before I hand them back.”
“Matteo–”
“Not happening. Now why don’t you tell me why you’re really out here?”
I exhaled slowly, the words leaving my mouth before I could stop them. “You know, I was thinking, and… I think it’s best I just handle the wedding myself.”
That earned me a small pause. The wind caught his coat, tugging it open just slightly. His eyes – those dark, unshakable eyes – held mine for a moment longer than necessary.
“Francesca – ”
“I’ll see you next Sunday,” I cut in, giving him a polite smile that felt almost like armor. “Goodnight.”
Before he could reply, I turned and walked away.
The soft crunch of melting snow followed me back up the glowing drive, the mansion’s warm light spilling golden across the front steps. I didn’t look back, but I could feel his gaze on me – the weight of it, steady and unreadable –until the heavy door closed behind me and the world outside vanished.
Chapter 19
Present
Upper East Side, New York City
February First. Sunday.
The room was quiet in that sacred, suspended way – like the air itself knew something permanent was about to happen.
I stood in front of the tall mirror, hands resting lightly at my waist, and stared at the woman looking back at me. She didn’t feel like me. Not entirely.
The dress was beautiful, a vision of white silk and soft structure, fitted through my bodice and exploding into layers that pooled around my feet. It felt heavy, important. The kind of dress meant for history books and whispered legends. My peony bouquet sat on the small table beside me, full and lush, ivory petals blushing faintly at the edges. My hair was straight and smooth down my back, perfectly done, my makeup flawless – soft eyes, steady mouth, nothing out of place.
Too perfect.
I lowered my gaze to my hands.
The red-flower hair clip rested in my palm, its deep crimson petals impossibly vivid against all that white. Matteo had bought it for me two months ago in Hawaii.
And now, when I walked down that aisle, he would be the one waiting for me.
The thought sent something sharp and unfamiliar through my chest. I hadn’t talked to him since that night in my parents’ driveway.
I inhaled slowly. Then again. I was nervous. I had done far scarier things than this, and yet…
My fingers trembled as I tucked the clip into my hair, hidden just enough to be mine alone.
