The dinner is perfect—good food, excellent wine, and conversation that flows easily from topics as light as her classes from her return to in-person classes at Columbia to as serious as our plans for expanding operations into new territory. What strikes me most is how naturally we complement each other, how our minds work together to solve problems and build strategies.
“You know what I was thinking about today?” she says over the main course, twirling pasta around her fork.
“What’s that?” I ask, barely able to focus, let alone eat. My own plate has been barely picked at.
“How weird it is that we work so well together. Like, on paper, we shouldn’t make sense. You’re this established don with years of experience, and I’m, well, barely out of my teens,” she sets down her fork and smiles at me. It makes my heart skip severalbeats. “You think everything through carefully, and I tend to act on instinct. You’re patient, and I want immediate results.”
“And yet?” I’m not really sure where she’s going with this thought.
Her smile is soft, thoughtful. “And yet somehow we balance each other out perfectly. Your patience keeps me from being reckless, and my instincts keep you from overthinking everything. When we plan operations together, we come up with solutions neither of us would have found alone.”
Well…damn. I never thought of it that way. We truly do seem like we are made for each other.
“You make me better,” I tell her honestly, my heart in my throat. “Smarter, stronger, more complete than I ever was without you.”
“Same here.” She reaches across the table to take my hand. “I never understood what people meant when they talked about finding their other half. It always sounded like bullshit to me, like people just convincing themselves they needed someone else to be whole.” Her fingers intertwine with mine, softly squeezing them. “But now I get it. You don’t complete me because I was incomplete before. You enhance everything I already am and make it better.”
The sincerity in her voice, the way she’s looking at me like I’m the center of her world—it’s time. I’ve been waiting for the right moment and it’s finally here. My heart starts racing as I signal the waiter for the check.
“Dessert?” he asks.
“Just coffee,” I manage, not trusting my voice for more complex sentences.
The coffee arrives with small almond biscotti, and Bianca settles back in her chair with a contented sigh. “This was perfect. Thank you for bringing me here.”
“Actually,” I say, reaching into my jacket pocket, “the evening isn’t quite over yet.”
Her eyebrows rise in curiosity as she plucks a piece of biscotti off the plate and brings it to her mouth. “No?”
“No.”
I pull out the ring box, my hands surprisingly steady despite the adrenaline coursing through my system. Her eyes widen as she realizes what’s happening, her biscotti freezing halfway to her lips.
“Bianca,” I begin, opening the box to reveal the diamond and sapphire ring that catches the candlelight. “I’ve been carrying this around for weeks, waiting for the perfect moment. But today I realized that every moment with you is perfect.”
The biscotti falls to the table. Her hand flies to her mouth, tears already gathering in her eyes as she stares at the ring.
“I love everything about you,” I continue, my voice gaining strength as the words pour out. “Your intelligence, your strength, your capacity for both tenderness and ruthlessness. I love how you can command a room full of dangerous men and then get on the floor to play with toddlers. I love how you challenge me, support me, and make me want to be better than I ever thought I could be.”
“Alessandro,” she whispers, but I’m not done yet.
“I want to wake up beside you every morning for the rest of my life,” I’m babbling, but I don’t care. “I want to build an empirewith you, raise a family with you, grow old with you. I want to be your partner in everything—business, life, love, whatever comes next.” I take a shaky breath. “Bianca DeLuca, will you marry me?”
For a moment, she just stares at me, mouth agape, eyes wide. Then she launches herself across the table, not caring about the coffee that spills or the other diners who turn to stare.
“You absoluteasshole,” she sobs against my neck as I catch her in my arms. “Saying all that sweet stuff about me. I hate you so much.”
This wasnotthe reaction I was expecting, and I’m hoping she’s just so overwhelmed she hasn’t had a chance to answer me.
“So, is that a yes?” I ask her.
She pulls back to cup my cheek, mascara tracking down her cheeks. “Yes,” she laughs. “Of course it is. A thousand times yes.”
Oh thankfuck. The ring slides onto her finger like it was made for her, which I suppose it was. She holds her hand up to admire it, the diamonds catching the light as she moves.
“It’s perfect,” she breathes, her voice a little shaky. “It’s absolutely perfect.”
“Like you,” I tell her, meaning every word.
