I take my place across from her.
The priest speaks. The words wash over me, familiar and hollow. Vows. Duty. Family. God.
I say everything I’m supposed to say and slide the ring onto her finger. When she says I do, the I exhale. Because whatever questions I still have—about Federico, about Europe, about how he knows things he shouldn’t—will have to wait. Today, I become a husband and somewhere, far beyond this church, a woman who holds my heart remains lost to me.
The bells ring louder as we turn to face the crowd.
And I smile.
Because that’s what’s required of me now.
5
Birdie
I stand near the edge of the cliffs, the wind tugging at my jacket as I look down at the water far below. The Adriatic Sea stretches out in impossible shades of blue—deep sapphire near the rocks, bright turquoise where the sun hits just right. Waves crash against the limestone cliffs beneath me, relentless and patient, like they’ve been doing this forever.
It’s one of my favorite things about Polignano a Mare. That, and Teresa’s cooking.
I smile despite myself.
She’s been trying to get me to call herTiti Teresa, just like Dante does, wagging her finger at me every time I hesitate. She feeds me constantly—bread still warm from the oven, olive oil so green it tastes alive, soups that feel like they were made to stitch a person back together. I think she knows I came here broken, even if she’s never asked why.
The town hums quietly behind me. Narrow streets winding between whitewashed buildings. Laundry fluttering like flags of ordinary life. The smell of coffee and salt and something sweetdrifting on the air. People pass me without a second glance, and that more than anything still feels surreal.
Here, I’m notMiss Miller. I’m not a problem to be solved. I’m not the reason men might go to war. I’m just Juliette.
I press a hand to my stomach, where my baby bump is finally starting to show. The wind feels colder suddenly, and I step back from the edge, grounding myself in the solid stone beneath my feet.
Somewhere out there, a world still spins without me. A man who once felt like my whole universe is living a life I no longer fit into. I don’t let myself think about him too much—not his voice, not his hands, not the way he used to look at me like I was something rare. Because here, in this small coastal town perched between sea and sky, I am learning how to exist quietly. To breathe again. To belong to myself.
Teresa will be calling me soon, telling me lunch is ready and scolding me gently for letting the food get cold. I take one last look at the water, committing it to memory, the beauty of it, the danger, the freedom. Then I turn back toward the town and the life I’m building in the shadows.
Teresa and Dante are waiting for me when I return, both seated at the small table near the window. Morning light spills in, turning the dust motes golden. Teresa cradles a cup of coffee between her hands, her posture relaxed. Dante, on the other hand, has nothing in front of him. No espresso. No phone. Nothing to occupy his hands.
That alone puts me on edge.
“I didn’t know you were coming by today,” I say to Dante, leaning in to kiss each of his cheeks.
He’s become someone I trust—maybe because he’s steady, maybe because he doesn’t ask too many questions, or maybe because he’s the only person here who knows who I really am. The only one I talk to about the past I’m not supposed to have.Either way, having him in my corner has started to feel necessary.
He hesitates just a fraction of a second too long.
Every instinct I have snaps to attention.
“What is it?” I ask quietly.
“You might want to sit.”
I do, my smile already fading.
“You know,” I say, trying for lightness and failing, “nothing good ever comes from someone saying that.”
He doesn’t laugh.
That’s when I know.
“Tell me,” I say.
