“Right,” he drawls. “Just like she was craving KFC at three in the morning?”
I shrug. “Growing girl inside me. Now please, can we move? I have pregnancy ankles, Matteo.”
“Have I told you that you have the sexiest cankles I’ve ever seen in my life?”
I snort. “You need help.”
“Probably,” he agrees easily, guiding me forward with careful precision. “All right, we’re almost there. Watch each step.”
“You’re supposed to watch them for me,” I grumble.
“I got you, bella. I always do.”
The wind shifts. I catch the scent of pine, then something soft and floral under it. My feet feel steady, but my heart is thudding like I’m walking toward something big, something only he could pull off.
This man has given me more than I ever imagined. And in the last three months, he’s blindsided me in ways that still overwhelm me. He registered a fashion house in my name. Gave me a business to build after the baby comes. Always pushing me forward, telling me to aim higher, to take up space.
“Okay, a few steps up,” he murmurs, his breath brushing the back of my neck. “Good. Just like that.”
We walk a little more until we stop entirely.
“Are we here?”
“Yes,” he says. He lets go of my hand only long enough to untie the blindfold behind my head. “Open your eyes, amore.”
I do.
Sunlight floods in, and it takes me a moment to adjust. I blink hard, rub my eyes, wondering if what I’m seeing is real—because it looks impossible.
“Oh wow… this is beautiful.”
In front of me stands a contemporary estate—no, a mansion—like something out of a period drama. Pale stone walls. Terracotta roof. A wraparound terrace draped with white linen curtains drifting in the breeze. It’s less a house and more a modern-day castle.
“Welcome home, Beatrice,” Matteo murmurs against my ear.
My hand flies to my mouth. When I turn to him, he’s already watching me, searching my face for every reaction. I press my palm against his chest, but nothing comes out at first, just a rush of emotion that blurs my vision. I blink fast, fighting for composure.
“Matteo…”
He steps closer, sliding his arm around my waist. “It’s ours. A place to raise our family. Quiet. Safe. A yard for the kids. A pool for summers. A lake nearby for weekends.”
I look up at him through stinging eyes. “You did this for me?”
His gaze softens in that rare way he reserves only for me. “I did this for us. I was planning to rebuild the family estate for years, but after we married… I knew exactly who it should be for.”
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a key.
“Would you like a tour of your new home, Mrs. Davacalli?”
I nod, unable to speak as the tears finally spill.
We walk inside hand in hand. Crossing the threshold feels like stepping into a promise, one we never said out loud but both understand.
“Wow,” is all I manage.
Warm wooden floors. Sunlit walls. The scent of lavender mixed with pine. I trail my fingers along the linen couch, thenthrough the archway into a kitchen that looks straight out of a dream—marble counters, copper pans that catch the light like something curated just for me.
Every detail feels intentional. Things I mentioned months ago, in passing, things I never expected him to remember—he built them into the walls.
