I hesitate, then the question escapes anyway. “Is Chiara…all right with that? Or is she staying, too?”
Nico straightens, his expression going cool and precise. “Two things. First, Chiara has nothing to do with my personal life. Second, she and I do not share the kind of relationship your question implies.”
Oh.
Is he not sleeping with her?
Or was he, and it’s now over?
I wish he weren’t so maddeningly opaque. I prefer direct. Even blunt. This half-light drives me insane.
I close my laptop because my hands need something decisive to do.
His gaze softens. “You said you’d cook for me.”
“Oh,” I manage.
Brilliant, Alessia. You’re eloquence itself.
“I’ll be staying the night,” he continues. “So I’ll need somewhere to sleep.”
Technically, he’s my husband, and he should stay inmyroom, but the problem is that it’smineand notours. But I also don’t want to say I’ll set up a guestroom for him because that’s what he did to me in Florence, and that hurt.
“I—yes.” I inhale, then exhale slowly. “Where would you like to sleep?”
“Where would you like me to sleep?” he counters.
I close my eyes for a heartbeat, then open them and decide—enough. I don’t do games. I don’t know how. So, I take the only path I trust.
“I don’t know, Nico. You’re my husband, and as such we should share a bed, but…we’re not a normal couple, so I don’t know what to say.”
His expression softens, surprise melting into warmth. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”
I dip my chin, uncertain. “I’ll ask Zoya to put your things in my...the master bedroom.”
I brace myself for rejection. It doesn’t come. Instead, he asks, “You done working for the day?”
He’s confusing me.Entirely. I don’t understand why he’s here now, when he’s been absent for months. I don’t understand what he wants.
Stop lying to yourself, Alessia.
You want him as your husband…for real.
“I’m done,” I tell him.
“Then show me your home.”
“Yes…ah…let’s go inside.” I hold my laptop to my chest like it’s going to protect my heart from myself.
The house isn’t as old as the estate; in fact, it’s less thanten years old, built when the new tasting room was. It’s connected to the tasting area, but only just. Architecturally, it’s part of the same stone structure, yet functionally separate, which was a deliberate choice.
One wing opens to the public-facing tasting room and the chef’s working kitchen, which serves daily visits.
The other turns inward, private, shielded by a low wall and the pergola that wraps around the shared courtyard like a quiet buffer between worlds.
We step through a narrow passage where the sounds of the tasting room and the team closing down for that day fall away, replaced by the softer hush of a lived-in space.
Only I have ever lived here. Before me, it was used for temporary accommodations. Matteo used it sparingly only when he took over the estate in an acting capacity, so he could mentor me properly. The previous winemaker lived in Siena and drove in every day.
