She drags me — literally drags — into the next store and fills a basket with:
New shampoo. New conditioner. Body wash. Lotion. Perfume. Hair masks. Skincare. Things I’ve only seen in magazines.
“Pick what smells like you,” she says, softer now.
So I do. And with every bottle I choose, my chest feels lighter. Like I’m slowly washing away every piece of the girl I was forced to be.
The car ride back to the house is loud. Or rather— Gia is loud.
She chatters the entire way, legs tucked under her, talking with her hands, planning our next outing like she’s already decided she’s adopting me into her world.
“Next time, we’re doing makeup. You need to try a bold lip, Elena — you’ll look incredible. And shoes. God, shoes. And jewelry. And we need a jacket, that leather one we saw? Nico, remind me to—”
Nico grunts like he’s heard this a thousand times before.
Gia keeps talking. And talking. But I don’t hear a word. I’m lost in my own head. In the soft fabric of the top I chose myself. In the smell of the hair products I picked because I liked them. In the echo of my own laughter — strange, hopeful, unfamiliar. How… how did this become my life? Just yesterday I was in myfather’s house, living by rules that were never mine. Now I’m here. Married. Shopping with a Moretti. Smiling. Choosing.
It feels like stepping into someone else’s dream. And dreams don’t last. When will the other shoe drop? When will everything go wrong? When will Alessandro show the ruthless side I know exists? The part of him that earned a position as the Don’s second-in-command? No man gets that kind of power by being gentle.
And part of me is terrified that one day…He’ll turn that ruthlessness on me. So I cling to today—to the clothes, the smells, Gia’s bright laughter—Because I don’t know how long I’ll be allowed to keep them.
“Earth to Elena?” Gia waves her hand in front of my face.
I blink. “Sorry.”
“You okay?”
I nod, even if it’s only half-true.
Gia doesn’t push — which I appreciate more than she knows. Before I can overthink anything else, the SUV turns into the driveway.
We're home. My stomach flips as I step out of the SUV wearing:
Jeans. Soft, comfortable denim that moves with me. My first pair ever.
And a deep red flowing top — rich, warm, bold — a color that makes me feel like I have a pulse.
The front door opens. Alessandro stands there. And he stops breathing. Literally stops.
His eyes drag down my body slowly — not in a way that makes me feel exposed, but in a way that makes me feel… seen.
His gaze lingers on the jeans. Then the top. Then my face. Heat floods my cheeks. He walks toward me with measured steps, slow and deliberate, like he’s trying not to scare me.
When he reaches me, his fingers find the hem of my sleeve — a feather-light touch — and then trail up my arm until his palm cups my shoulder.
“Elena…” His voice is rough, quieter than usual. “You were already beautiful.”
My breath catches.
He steps closer, lowering his forehead toward mine until I feel his warmth.
“But right now,” he murmurs, “you’re gorgeous.”
“Why?”
The word falls from my lips before I can stop it. A whisper. A plea.
He brushes a strand of hair behind my ear, and I swear his hand trembles.
