"There's more?"
"There's a kitchen." He stands and offers me his hand. "I'm going to teach you how to cook without burning water."
"I don't burn water."
"You burned pasta last week."
"The water was involved. It doesn't count."
He pulls me to my feet. The puppy races ahead of us toward the porch, tripping over its own feet twice before making it up the steps.
I look at the house again. At the fence. At the garden waiting to be planted.
At the life waiting to be lived.
"Thank you," I say.
Dante squeezes my hand. "Don't thank me yet. You haven't seen the bathroom. The tiles are terrible."
"Then why did you buy it?"
"Because you said you liked blue." He shrugs. "The tiles are blue."
I stop walking. He turns to look at me, confusion crossing his face.
"What?"
I kiss him again. Softer this time. Slower.
When I pull back, he's smiling. The kind that reaches his eyes and transforms his entire face.
"Come on," he says. "Let's go home."
Home.
The word settles into my chest and stays there.
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CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Amanda
The Casa Aurelia courtyard transforms overnight.
When I left for dinner, it was a quiet stone garden with climbing jasmine and a cracked fountain that didn't work. By seven a.m., it's a full production set. Lighting rigs, reflective panels, garment racks draped in plastic, a catering table with espresso and cornetti that nobody touches because every person here runs on black coffee and nerves.
I love this. Every part of it.
"Amanda, the lighting team needs the shot list for the afternoon setups." Giada, the campaign coordinator, appears at my elbow with a tablet and an expression that says she's already put out three fires this morning.
"Sent it last night. Check your spam folder. The file was too large."
She scrolls. Finds it. Her shoulders drop half an inch.
"You're a lifesaver."
