Page 131 of The Ruin I Chose

He slipped the ring onto my finger—a gold band with ornate filigree, delicate and old-world. At its centre sat a deep emerald, flanked by two small diamonds.

I turned my hand, letting the glimmer catch the light. It felt like a vow whispered across generations. It felt like a promise.

Like something ancient and new at once. Like belonging. Like home. I kissed him deep and pressed my hand to his chest.

“Umm… gentle now, amore. We’ll have our time. Soon.”

I smiled, then whispered—barely audible, barely brave:

“I love you.”

Marcello froze. His breath caught like the words had knocked the wind out of him. He looked stunned as though he hadn’t dared to believe I’d ever say it back. Like love, from me, was a miracle he didn’t think he deserved.

“I’ve loved you since Milan. Since that first dinner when you held me close, when that drunk stumbled too near, and you didn’t flinch.

“Since you looked at me like I was something holy. Like I was worth protecting. I didn’t say it then. I couldn’t. I didn’t know my own heart yet. But I’ve loved you ever since.”

He gasped. I kept going.

“I’ve loved you through every fight. Every silence. Every time you walked away and came back bleeding. I’ve loved you through the worst of you. And the best of you.”

I sobbed, “And I didn’t tell you before because—there are parts of me that are still broken. Parts I don’t know how to heal. Parts I don’t want you to ever see. And I feel…”

My breath caught between a sob.

“…if you ever see the fractured parts of me, I’m scared you won’t love me the same.”

Marcello closed his eyes. A tear slipped down from his eye.

“There’s nothing in this world that will stop me from loving you. No scar. No silence. No shadow. And I’m not here to fix you.”

He brought my hand to his lips and kissed it.

“I love you for you—for every piece, every ache, every truth you carry. I want to spend the rest of my life showing you all the ways I’ll learn to love you, without conditions, without timelines.”

He held my hand in his and looked at me with glassy eyes.

“And if you love me even half as much as I love you… That’s enough. That’s everything.”

We held each other and cried. He sniffed and spoke.

“Say it again,” he whispered. “You have no idea what that does to me.”

“I think I do,” I said, brushing my thumb across his jaw—like I could soothe the wreckage in him with touch alone.

Then he smiled, slow and wrecked.

“I love you, Marci.”

He kissed me again.

“Let’s go home.”

We stayed in Kuala Lumpur for two days. Long enough for the doctors to clear him. Not long enough for my heart to unclench.

That week of not knowing where he was or how he was doing had set panic so deep in my bones, I’d braced myself to never see him again. Grief had curled into my spine like a second skeleton. But I was grateful it didn’t stay.

As we stepped into the apartment, Kyra ran to him—arms flung wide, eyes bright, voice cracking with joy. He dropped to his knees, wincing, and held her like she was the only thing keeping him upright.