He did the same yesterday, when we returned home after spending the entire day wandering the seemingly endless grounds of his family’s estate.
Sam came with us, running freely between the olive groves, workers stopping along the way to scratch behind his ears or say a few words to him as if he were part of the crew.
When one of the men responsible for the fields asked if Alexander wanted to show me how the olive oil is made, he waved it off with a smile.“I’ll admit,”he said lightly, “when it comes to this side of my family’s business, my ignorance is almost shameful. The little I do know comes from my teenage years helping my uncles, but my heart always lived with Santoro Marmo... and with engineering.”
I teased him, telling him he couldn’t possibly be brilliant at everything.
From Antonello, I learned that the family’s olive oil operation was purposely small, a niche operation focused on gourmet, limited-production lines, created especially for restaurants that prized authenticity over scale and sold exclusively within the European market.
When he called it ‘small,’ I glanced around the sprawling room where the oil was produced. Antonello only laughed at my expression and explained that there were operations far larger,some not far from here, including a nearby villa they worked with.
We ended the day having dinner with his family, this time in the formal dining room. One thing I quickly learned about Tuscany in October was that although the days were gentle, even warm at times, the evenings fell cold and fast.
By the time we drove home, I was already drifting in and out of sleep in the passenger seat. Alexander joked that he might have to carry me upstairs, and I reminded him about the elevator he built for his grandmother’s visits.
When we reached my bedroom door, he kissed my cheek and murmured, “Buona notte, Cecilia,”[L]before disappearing down the hall to his own room.
It’s been three days since we kissed in Edinburgh. And although we seek out each other’s touch more easily now—our fingers intertwining when we walk, his lips always touching my forehead or the tip of my nose in fleeting tenderness—he hasn’t kissed me again.
And calling what happened back then a kiss doesn’t even feel right. I wasconsumedby him.
It felt as though my entire body had caught fire, like I wanted to crawl out of my own skin and vanish into his. It’s terrifying to realize exactly how much I wanted him.Want him.
After Colin’s betrayal, I couldn’t even bring myself to imagine kissing someone else. And when Alexander was in New York the last time, I never could have guessed it would feel like this. I couldn’t explain it if I tried.
I glance at the clock. 7:55 a.m. I push the blankets aside and sit up. After making the bed, I head to the bathroom to get ready for the day.
Dressed in jeans, sneakers, a white spaghetti-strap top, and a light wool cardigan, I pull my hair into a loose ponytail and make my way downstairs, catching the smell of coffee and the deepmurmur of Alexander’s voice drifting through the house in quick Italian.
When I reach the kitchen, I notice he’s wearing earbuds, so I just smile, cross the room, and pour myself a cup of the coffee he made.
As I sip, I watch him move between counter and stove, finishing the eggs and bacon with efficient movements. He’s in gray sweatpants and a black T-shirt that shows off every hard line of his torso, and my eyes keep betraying me, drifting again and again to the veins along his forearms as he works.
When the toaster pops, I go to retrieve the slices and put a few more into the slots. I reach for plates in the cabinets, open the wrong door twice before finding the right one, and set them on the other side of the island, where we’d had breakfast the morning before.
Alexander disconnects from his call a moment later, walks over, and kisses my cheek as he says,“Buongiorno, bella.”[LI]
“Buongiorno.”
We sit down to eat, and I ask, “Will there ever be a day when I wake up before you and make the coffee?”
He smiles and shakes his head.
“It’s a habit. I always wake up early. I either run around the property or use the equipment here to work out. It’s the same when I’m in Milan.”
“Was your call about work?”
He nods and takes another sip of his coffee. “Yes. Nothing serious. Just sorting out a few details.”
“Alexander, I don’t want to get in the way of your work. I can manage on my own, exploring the area and—”
“I’ve worked for my family’s company since I was seventeen,” he interrupts gently. “I started at the front desk and learned every part of the business on my way up. And if there’s one thingI’ve learned, it’s how to build a team strong enough to let me step away for days, even weeks, without everything falling apart.”
He rests his hand over mine. “There’s nothing I want more than spending the next few days showing you the wonders of my country.”
I smile, but before I can even get a word out, Sam bursts in from the living room, barking joyfully. He trots right up to me, and I laugh, scratching his head. “He must love having so much space to run.”
“He does,” Alexander says. “And he knows where he can and can’t go. He never leaves the property. That’s why I only take him with me when I’m not traveling for work. I’d rather leave him here with my family, free to roam.”
