Speckled sunlight shined on the balloons that floated tied with bows to chairs around an extra long wooden table in my parents’. Olive trees framed the yard, silver leaves swaying in the wind. My mother was bringing out ornate dishes filled with food, plates of cheeses and perfectly crafted savory pastry bites. She had fused all day over having every single one of my favorite foods to celebrate my birthday today. After the final race of the season, Gianna and I had flown back on Alexander’s private jet. He arranged a personal car to pick us up from the small local airport and everything. Being back home was wrapped up in some complicated emotions. It was so amazing to be back, the county breeze pushing my hair along with the wind, the endless rows of vineyards around my parents’ stone-covered house. But being back in my childhood room, the same room all those hard months after having Gianna, held heavier emotions than I had expected. This morning, I had been sitting on the bed, the familiar floral pink sheets under my legs, when my mom had walked in, a worn apron tied around her waist, leaning against the door frame.
“You know, my love, you have done all your growing here. I am proud of the woman you are, the mother you are, the person you have grown to be.” She smiled her warm smile. Tears glimmered in her eyes. And I was starting to understand it now, being a mother. The days stretched on, but the years breezed by. Gianna was already almost three years old, her birthday not far from my own.
Today I was twenty-nine years old. I had an amazing daughter, a full life, a dreamy boyfriend, friends who I considered family. I was proud of myself too. Proud of not giving up, of finding myself again in this new version of life.
“The boys get in in a few days, yes?” she asked. I nodded. I was sad to not have them here for my birthday, but they were busy with end of season things. And my mother, ever the planner, had gone all out and made more food than the four of us could ever eat on our own, tied balloons to the chairs, and cut fresh flowers from the garden, placing them in different colored glass vases.
The golden glow of the afternoon bathed the vineyard as my father stepped into the garden, Gianna perched in his arms. Her tiny hands were full, one clutching a fistful of wildflowers, the other wrapped around the plush bunny Alexander had given her. My heart squeezed. It had only been a week since we’d come home, but I already missed it—the hum of the track, the friends who had become family, the thrill of it all. But I also loved this. The quiet. The familiarity. I craved both.
“Tanti auguri, principessa,” my father greeted, his voice warm. He pulled me into a side embrace, Gianna giggling between us.
“Tanti auguri, Mama!” she chirped, thrusting her flowers toward me.
“Grazie, my love,” I murmured, accepting them with a kiss to her curls.
“Shall we eat?” My mother’s voice carried across the garden, a knowing glint in her eye as she placed the last dish on the long wooden table. The spread was beautiful. Sun-kissed dishes painted with yellow daisies, a pitcher of wine, glasses filled to their brims. But something tugged at me. Seven plates, when there were only four of us. My phone buzzed,
Alexander
That dress is a knockout, angel.
“Mama, why are there—” The iron gate creaked behind me.
A chorus of voices rang out, “Tanti auguri!”
I spun around, already knowing before I saw him.
Alexander.
Matteo got to me first, sweeping me into a tight hug before ruffling my hair like I was ten again. I shoved him with a laugh just as Gianna let out a delighted shriek.
“MONTY!”
She wiggled free from my father’s arms, barreling toward the golden retriever, who wagged his tail so hard his whole body moved. Nicola barely had time to steady herself before Gia crashed into her legs.
Matteo clutched his chest in mock pain. “Damn, that stings.”
Nicola grinned, victorious. “Hey, kid,” she greeted Gia warmly.
And then?—
“Hey, angel.”
That voice. Smooth, warm, laced in my favorite British accent.
I turned, smirking. “Hey, hotshot.”
Alexander kissed my cheek, his touch easy, familiar, but I wasn’t satisfied with that. I pulled him into a hug, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath my hands.
A throat cleared.
We turned to find my father watching us, expression unreadable. Alexander straightened instinctively, extending a tattooed hand.
“Hello, sir.”
A pause. Then, my father shook it, his lips curving ever so slightly. “Alex. Welcome back. Got your place all settled?”
I blinked.His place?
