“More like a shooting star. Brief and messy.”
“Messy?”He had clutched his chest.“You wound me, baby. I’ll have you know my star gets rave reviews.”
“From who? The nonnas?”
He’d barked out a laugh then and tossed his embroidery aside before proceeding to show me why his star absolutelyisa celestial phenomenon.
But the best part? The nights in Tuscany, when the sky is so dark and deep it feels infinite, and the stars seem to stretch forever, like scattered glitter across the black velvet of the sky.
They feel so close like I could reach out and pluck one from the heavens. Those nights, lying with the guys on blankets under that endlessness, are magic and a reminder of how far we’ve come, of how lucky we are. Of how, even when things were at their darkest, I found a way to the light.
And now, Rosalee has her own piece of it too.
Koen had hired people, experts—the best, because that’s what he does—to bring Rosalee’s remains to Tuscany. She now rests on a hill just beyond the villa, between two cypress trees that seem to touch the sky. It overlooks the rolling green fields and the vineyards, the perfect slice of peace.
The first time he’d shown me, I couldn’t breathe. There, nestled between the trees, was the small stone in the form of a rose with her name on it.
My sister is there now, in the place we dreamed of. No longer in Phoenix, no longer tied to the tragedy of the past.
She’ll be with me forever.
“I thought she’d like the view,”Koen had said simply, and I couldn’t stop the tears or the way I threw myself into his arms.
I’d already loved him so much, but in that moment, I think my heart stretched so I could love him even more.
Now, every other evening, I head up the hill to sit with her. Sometimes, it’s only Rosalee and me, talking about everything I missed doing with her or telling her about the things I wished she could’ve seen. Sometimes, one of the guys will join me, holding my hand or pulling me into their lap as they listen intently to the memories and wishes I share with my sister.
Koen brushes my hair from my face, his soft caress settling me. “You okay?”
I turn my head to smile at him. “I am.”
Koen thrives in Italy too. There, he’s not the famous mentalist, the Lane twin who everyone thinks they know. Nobody stops him on the street, whispers his name, or asks for a selfie. He’s just Koen. He’s free to be whoever he wants to be, and he’s taken to it like he was born for this new, simpler life.
He bought a Ferrari because, of course he did, and he treats it like a proud parent. He spends hours driving it through the winding streets of Tuscany from one little town to the next. Every time he comes back, he’s bursting with stories about something new he’s discovered. A hidden restaurant with the best gnocchi, a vineyard tucked away in the hills that grows grapes he swears taste like summer, a tiny bakery where they know him by name now and have a fresh loaf waiting for him when he visits.
When he’s not cooking or scouting out the best food and wine, he’s with Nicholas, their renewed friendship stronger than ever as he helps with the parkour classes. The kids love Koen almost as much as they love Nicholas, and I think Koen loves them back just as much.
Shortly after we settled in our new home, Koen wanted to buy me the Mustang he’d promised me and even got close to it, showing me glossy photos with a grin like he’d found the perfect one. And he had, but as he studied my reaction, he tossed the photo to the ground, reading me perfectly in that way of his.
“You don’t need it anymore, do you?”he’d asked as he grasped my face between his palms.
I’d covered his hands with my own and smiled as I voiced that truth.“No. I already have everything I need. More than I could’ve ever hoped for.”
But still, he drives his Ferrari like it’s his mission in life to know every road in Tuscany. Sometimes, we go together, zipping through the hills with the windows down, the sun on our faces, and the air smelling of cypress trees and lavender. We’ll stop in one of those little towns and find a bottle of wine for the cellar or ingredients for pizza and pasta.
And when we’re back at the villa, he makes magic in our oversized kitchen. He tosses dough in the air like he’s performing a trick, and each night, we all crowd around the table to try his latest creation. And more often than not, he plays the guitar afterward, singing for us. Our evenings are full of music, chaos, laughter, and clinking glasses, all highlighted by Sylus stealing bites before the food hits the plates, and Koen rolling his eyes, pretending to be annoyed.
I wouldn’t change a thing.
Koen plants a kiss on my neck, and I shiver, blinking back into the evening as Ace steps up to Oscar’s headstone. I watchas he places a hand on the stone, his shoulders square, standing with his head bowed and the breeze stirring his blond hair.
“I wish you were here.” His fingers curl against the headstone. “But I’ll keep the show going for you.”
Pride and love swell inside me. He’s come so far.
Ace went back to school and got his high school diploma online. Now, he’s working toward degrees in psychology and social work, determined to help people with trauma.
People like us.
