Changing the subject before the longing swallows us whole, I ask about the blog posts she’s publishing this week. I let her voice fill the empty corners of my room as she gestures, animated, describing layouts, color choices, and the photos she selected. I love the way her eyes light up when she speaks about things she’s passionate about.
I don’t interrupt and keep listening, focused on the way life seems to glow through her voice.
Morning light pours through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my office at Santoro Marmo’s headquarters in Milan.
I trace a finger along my computer screen, reviewing yield reports from one of the quarries. Calacatta extraction remains consistent, yet the transport route to the port of Livorno has become a choke point, bleeding thousands of euros from the company every week.
Sighing, I run a hand through my hair.
The office door opens without ceremony. I don’t need to look up to know who it is. Only one person walks into my office like that.
“If you keep frowning like this, you’ll need Botox before you’re forty-three,” Cesare says, closing the door behind him as he drops into the chair across from my desk.
“And if you ever learned to knock,” I reply without lifting my eyes from the screen, “I might start believing you actually work here.”
Cesare chuckles and tosses a blue folder onto my desk. As Director of International Operations, he’s my right hand and, more inconveniently, the one man on the payroll who knows me too well.
“Dubai is set,” he says, crossing one leg over the other as he adjusts the lapel of his suit. “The jet’s cleared for takeoff in two days. The preliminary contracts with the hotel group are in that folder. They want exclusivity on the lot we discussed for the resort, just as we anticipated.”
I pick up the folder and scan the pages. “Exclusivity has a price, Cesare. Make sure they understand that.”
“They do,” he replies easily, flashing a satisfied grin. “That’s why they’re paying almost double what the others offered. But prepare yourself. They’ve scheduled dinners, inspections, negotiations… They want every detail walked through with the CEO himself before they sign anything.”
I close the folder. Deals in the Middle East are never rushed. By now, I’m more than used to the whole routine.
“Good. Then we’ll give them exactly what they want.”
Cesare stops talking for a moment, studying me with the same analytical intensity he usually saves for hard negotiations. “How are things in New York? With Cecilia?”
I exhale, tipping back in my chair and rolling the pen between my fingers. “They’re good,’ I say. ‘We talk every day. Sometimes twice, whenever the time difference allows it.”
“And the distance?”
“It’s harder every day,” I admit, without trying to dress it up for him. “Sometimes, when I end a call, the penthouse feels too large, too empty.”
He nods, his usual teasing expression changing into something more serious. “But you’re not giving up, are you? The distance, her past, and everything that stands in the way.”
“Never,” I cut in. “If anything, I’m using this time. Preparing for what comes next.”
My gaze moves to the discreet photograph on my desk, not visible from his side, meant only for me. In it, Cecilia is laughing on the terrace in Arienzo, her white dress brushing her thighs, her hair tangled and glowing in the sunlight, after I asked her to smile like she truly liked the man behind the camera.
She smiled in a way I had never seen before.
“Cecilia wants a future with me too,” I continue. “She’s made that much clear. But I won’t rush her. I need to show her, to prove to her, that this isn’t some illusion. I need her to see that her life there and mine here can meet in the middle. And more than anything...” I glance back at the photo. “I want to be worthy of the trust she’s giving me.”
Cesare smiles. “Then let’s close this deal in Dubai,” he says, pushing himself to his feet.
He pats my shoulder before leaving my office, while I keep staring at Cecilia’s photo with a smile on my face.
November
Cecily
“Wow, this isreallygood. Almost as good as an orgasm,” Felicity declares with her mouth full, making me choke on my coffee.
She bursts into laughter, and I shoot her a look, resisting the urge to roll my eyes.
I’d brought Alicia along to visit Hazel, Aurora, and Nicolás, and used the excuse to drop off the souvenirs I brought back, along with a batch of the cookies Nonna had taught me how to make. And she hadn’t lied. Everyone falls in love with biscotti al limone on the first bite.
