I order a Pellegrino with lime, the bubbles cool and sharp on my tongue.If Dante has his way, I’m already pregnant, and alcohol is the last thing I should be drinking.
He orders a deep red wine.
For a moment I wonder if it came from our vineyard, and I’m surprised by how much I like the idea.Already I’m thinking about the villa and its lands as ours.
When the waiter leaves, he studies me across the table.
“You’re enjoying yourself.”
“I am.”
“That surprises you.”
“A little.”I squeeze another lime into my glass.“To be fair,” I add lightly, “I didn’t expect my honeymoon to begin with an abduction.”
His mouth twitches.“That wasn’t the honeymoon.”
I meet his gaze.“No?”
“No.”
The single word lands between us like a promise—low, deliberate, threaded with the quiet certainty that when we are alone again, he intends to prove exactly what he means.
The waiter returns with food that looks like it belongs in a Bavarian feast hall—golden schnitzel the size of the plate, buttered spaetzle, warm pretzels with dark mustard, and roasted potatoes fragrant with garlic and herbs.
Conversation drifts between us with surprising ease, the kind of slow rhythm that belongs to people who have known each other far longer than a handful of days.
Dante tells me about the villa.
Why he bought it.
How he walked the property for the first time and knew immediately that the land had potential.
“The vineyard rows run along the southern slope,” he explains, tracing the shape of the hills in the air between us.“The soil changes depending on where you dig.Limestone in the upper fields.Clay farther down.Good drainage.Good sun.”
He pauses before taking another sip of wine.
“I bought it with you in mind.”
My fork stills halfway to my mouth.
“That’s impossible,” I say quietly.
“On the contrary.”
Just how long had he been planning to marry me?
At some point during the meal, I realize something startling.
I’ve stopped thinking about escape.
And I hang onto the small glimpses of the future that he keeps painting for us, even though part of me wonders if life could possibly be that perfect.
Dante orders another glass of wine, and the easy warmth of the evening stretches between us as the sun sinks lower in the sky.
By the time the horizon begins to glow gold and pink, Fredericksburg itself seems to soften into lantern light and music.
Once the check is settled, we walk back toward the SUV slowly, the small white bag with the ornament swinging gently from Dante’s hand.
