I tried to speak, but the words caught in my throat, drowned by emotion.
“You… you…” I managed weakly.
Enrico smiled, discreetly squeezing my hand as he guided me toward the small podium in front of us.
“The journalists are waiting, love,” he said calmly, kissing my forehead once more before positioning himself beside me.
He took a deep breath and faced the room.
“I apologize for that,” he said, his tone steady and decisive. “But I believe you’ll agree the idiot had it coming. We won’t be discussing our personal lives right now. Any answers you want regarding what you just witnessed will be provided later today by my personal press office. This moment is reserved for the Clara Ferrara Institute. I ask that you respect that. Anyone who violates this will be removed from the press conference and will not receive the information previously promised. Without further delay—the president of the Clara Ferrara Institute, my wife, Valentina Ferrara.”
Polite applause filled the room.
Inside, my heart was still in complete turmoil as I stepped forward, fighting to regain my composure and begin the presentation I had prepared so carefully.
The press conference passed in a blurred haze.
Every word I spoke felt distant, disconnected from myself. The bitter taste of tension lingered, the fear that Enrico might explode at any moment and shatter all the happiness we’d fought so hard to rebuild.
When we finally got home, the silence felt heavier than ever.
I watched Enrico closely, searching for any sign of anger, resentment, or doubt—but he simply moved calmly, removing his jacket and loosening his tie.
My heart still raced as I gathered the courage to speak.
“I’m going to pack,” I said quietly, trying to sound firm—but my voice trembled.
Enrico frowned, confused.
“Pack?” he repeated slowly, as if he hadn’t understood.
I exhaled deeply, the knot in my throat tightening.
“I know you pretended to be okay to avoid a scandal. To protect Clara. I understand that, Enrico. You don’t have to pretend with me. I don’t want to drag this out any longer than necessary.”
Enrico laughed—softly, unexpectedly.
He stepped closer, cupped my face in his hands, and instead of answering, he kissed me.
His lips moved over mine with absolute tenderness, radiating a trust that felt impossible after what had happened earlier.
Each second of that kiss slowly dissolved my doubts and fears, replacing them with a deep sense of safety and love.
When he pulled back, we were both breathless.
I stared at him, stunned.
Then—to my complete shock—Enrico dropped to his knees in front of me, holding my hands gently, his gaze locked onto mine.
“Valentina, I never got the chance to say my vows to you—and that’s unforgivable. Will you marry me?” His voice was steady, sincere. “I don’t need explanations. I trust you. I know whateverhappened was not with your consent or participation. Nothing else matters now—only that you say yes to me, to our life, to our family. Please say yes, Valentina. I don’t know how to live a life that doesn’t include you.”
Tears flooded my eyes as I looked at him, my heart beating strong and sure.
“But… we’re already married.”
He laughed softly.
“I know. But I did it wrong the first time. I want the chance to do it right. Will you marry me again? With everything—church, celebration, honeymoon, all of it?”
