Three weeks here, and it never once crossed my mind to come up to this level.
The doors slide open into a wide, open space that takes my breath away. There’s a couch tucked into one corner with acoffee table in front of it, a round table and chairs gathered in the center, and along the far side, there are a few lounge chairs. Everything is dressed in the same pale wood tones as the rest of the house, everything except Alexander’s bedroom, which feels entirely like him.
But it isn’t the furniture that leaves me breathless. It’s the flowers.
Planters are lined up all along the terrace.
Vivid red geraniums blaze beside the soft lilac of lavender. Jasmine climbs the trellis behind the couch. Large terracotta pots cradle small lemon trees, their branches bowed with fruit, while low beds spill over with white and violet petunias.
“Angelo designed most of the terrace,” Alexander says, his voice laced with pride. “Except for what I’m about to show you.”
With our fingers entwined, he leads me toward the far corner, behind the lounge chairs. We stop before the largest planter of all, and he doesn’t need to say a word. I see them. Every one of them. The flowers carved into my wooden box.
White lilies. Zinnias in a rain of color. And then the last one, the one I never recognized in the carving. Up close, its petals look hand-painted, a pink that fades into white along the edges. They bloom in clusters next to deep green leaves.They are gorgeous.
I point to it, my hand trembling. “What is that one called?”
“It’s a Desert Rose,” he murmurs.
Alexander releases my fingers only to step behind me, drawing me into his arms and resting his chin over my shoulder. He points to each flower in turn, his voice close to my ear.
“White lilies for good fortune and new beginnings,” he whispers. His finger moves to the brilliant blooms beside them. “Zinnias for friendship and romantic love.”
Then he gestures to the last one. Gently, he turns me in his arms until I’m facing him.
“Desert Rose for purity, strength, courage, and resilience.” His voice roughens. “I searched for a flower that could hold all of that... something beautiful without being fragile. Exuberant in its simplicity. Unbreakable in its survival.” His thumb brushes my cheek. “And she was my choice.”
Tears slip free and trail down my cheeks. Alexander leans in and kisses them away with so much tenderness.
“I planted them myself. A few weeks after I sent you the box.” His eyes shine with emotion he doesn’t try to hide. “For years, I barely remembered it was even there. I never imagined giving it to anyone, not even when I once believed I’d marry someone else.” His gaze holds mine. “Not until you walked into my life.”
My hands rest on his biceps with trembling fingers.
“When my father gave it to me, he said I would know when the time was right.” His forehead rests close to mine; our eyes drift closed. “And I did. I knew I couldn’t walk away. Not when I finally had a chance to have you, or at least to try. Whatever happened afterward, I didn’t want that box to belong to anyone else.”
I wrap my arms around him and press my face into the curve of his neck. “Thank you,” I whisper.
He kisses the crown of my head, pulling me closer, holding me like he understands. He knows my thank you isn’t only for his words or the gift. It’s for him not giving up and being who he is. But more than anything... it’s for choosing me when it wasn’t easy.
When I pull back, I tangle my fingers into his hair and bring his mouth to mine. We kiss with a desperate intensity until the world outside fades away.
When we part, Alexander drags one of the loungers closer to the planter. He sits first, then draws me between his knees until my back fits perfectly against his chest. He folds his arms over my stomach and pulls me closer.
We watch the sun rising, as our hearts fall into the same rhythm. But my gaze stays on the flowers.Our flowers.
As we near the airport, Alexander keeps finding small ways to touch me. Resting his hand on my knee, lacing his fingers through mine whenever he can. His eyes never leave the road, but it’s as if he needs the contact simply to be sure I’m still here.
This time, it’s only the two of us. I think his family understood that we needed this last moment alone.
After we came down from the terrace, he made love to me as if we had all the time in the world. We stayed wrapped in each other’s arms until time gave us no choice but to move. We showered together, dressed, and then spent my final hours surrounded by his family.
They welcomed me the way they always have. Like I already belonged. But it was bittersweet.
There’s a tight knot in my throat that refuses to loosen, but I eat a little of what they prepared with such care. I talk and laugh, soaking up every last minute with them.
When it’s time to leave, I hug each of them and thank them for everything.
The hardest part is saying goodbye to the children, especially Cella and Bianca. I sink down in front of them, and they throw their arms around my neck at the same time, begging me not to go. My heart splinters a little as I promise we’ll see each other again. I tell them I’ll remind their mothers to tell them I said hi whenever I call.
