“Yeah,” he says, his voice thick.
Alicia puts a movie on and dims the lights. She and Dad take one of the couches. I stay on the one where I’ve been sitting and lean back, making myself more comfortable.
The whole time, I feel his gaze drifting toward me. Like he needs to check that I’m still here.
Nothing is going to change overnight. But I’m willing to start trying.
For Mom. For Alicia. And, if I’m honest with myself… for me, too.
Epilogue 01
Months later
May, Milan
Per sempre
Cecily
I breeze past reception, greeted with the usual welcoming smiles, and return it with a smile of my own. Even once I’m inside the elevator, the doors sliding shut, the smile hasn’t left my face.
The last few months have been everything I didn’t know I was missing. And now... I can’t imagine my life any other way.
Alexander and I began the year with a week in Istanbul, a dream, in every sense of the word. But the moment we returned to New York, I couldn’t ignore the knot I felt in my chest: the irrational fear that once the holidays were over and the honeymoon phase ended, reality would reclaim its place. I wasn’t wrong. Things did change.
Just not in the way I feared. It was a change for the better.
Alexander fit into life in New York with disarming ease. He gradually handed most of his travel responsibilities to Cesare and his VP, limiting his trips to those that truly required hispresence, or the rare clients who insisted on that personal touch only he could offer.
When I asked if he was doing it to reassure me, his answer was simple and sincere. Yes, one of the advantages was being close to me. But the truth was, he’d been considering stepping back for a long time. I had merely given him the right reason to finally do it after all this time making his work a priority.
During the Santoro Marmo anniversary, Alexander turned into something of an advocate for my work. He spoke less about marble and milestones and more about the article I’d written. Even now, whenever the moment allows, he brings it up, or one of the other pieces I’ve published in recent months. I know he keeps physical copies in all his offices. At home, too.
It always catches me off guard, how openly proud he is. He says my words are one of the parts of me he loves the most. And every time he does, something inside me feels seen... complete.
Things at home have fallen into a rhythm that’s just as natural. He and Alicia have been growing closer, without forcing or hurrying anything. Alexander joins us for dinner three or four times a week, and without exception, he takes over the kitchen. He accepts help only for the simplest things: setting the table, tossing a salad, chopping herbs.
To my complete surprise, Alicia, deep in her contrarian pre-teen era, once allergic to anything that even resembled a chore, always offers to help when he’s cooking. And when Ethan is with us, it becomes the three of them moving around the kitchen together. I usually end up at the island with a glass of wine, watching something I didn’t realize I’d been missing come into focus.
Ethan comes whenever he can to spend the weekend with us. He gets along well with Alexander, though I can tell he keeps a careful distance. My mother’s heart feels at ease seeing him try;it shows how much he trusts my judgment. I recognize Ethan’s instinct in my own fears, and I will always respect his choices.
Just like Alicia, he already calls him Alex. Dalila joins him on some visits too, and watching the way her relationship with Alicia has become somewhat more friendly makes me happy for all of them.
Being with Alexander has taught me that restlessness sits at the center of who he is. He doesn’t stay in one place for long. There is always something to adjust, to fix, to make better. Last month, I mentioned, almost offhandedly, that the porch furniture was starting to look worn.
He didn’t suggest replacing it or offer to call someone. He simply decided to restore and paint it himself.
I offered to help. That, as it turned out, was mostly unproductive. Because every time we bumped into each other, brushes were abandoned, and kisses took their place. Many of them.
Of course, not everything is a fairytale. Sharing a life so closely comes with disagreements. Alexander and I have clashed a few times, and looking back, it almost makes me laugh how small the reasons were. Though what stays with me isn’t the argument, it’s the way he handles it.
He doesn’t lash out or turn his back on me. He doesn’t walk out the door and leave me talking to an empty room. We talk. We stay. And then we make love.
If I’m honest, most of the time it’s more of a make-up fuck. Urgent, visceral. There’s nothing sweet or tender in those moments. And I love that he can give me that too. That he can give me both with the same intensity.
Our worst disagreement came when he lost track of time before a dinner we had scheduled with his sister and her father, who was visiting the city two months ago. With every minute he was late, while I worked to keep the conversation goingwith Aurélie and Kevin, my mind kept pulling me backward, toward that dark place where I once spent hours chronologically organizing sheets of location history inside a black binder.
By the time we got home, the insecurity was louder than any rational thought I could have. I asked if it would always be like that. If it really was work that kept him away. He looked at me with a certainty that dismantled the doubt before it could take root.
