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The flowers—wild cyclamen and winter-blooming hellebores—thrust defiantly from the vase, their petals trembling in the intermittent breeze that swept across the terrace.

It carried with it the complex symphony of the village below: the rhythmic chopping of a butcher's cleaver, animated old men arguing politics in the square, the clatter of cups from a nearby café.

"This place belongs to a friend," he explained, watching me explore the terrace. "I called ahead."

"Of course you did." I ran my fingers along the rough edge of the table. "What doesn't belong to a friend of yours in Italy?"

His eyes followed my movements as he uncorked the wine. "Not nearly enough."

"Is that why you're so determined to marry me? Another acquisition?" The question slipped out before I could stop it, sharper than I'd intended.

Sebastian paused, the wine bottle poised over a glass. His entire body went still. "Is that what you think?"

I lifted my chin, feigning courage I didn't feel. "What else am I supposed to think? You haven't exactly been forthcoming about your motives."

"My motives." He set the bottle down with deliberate care. The soft clink of glass against wood distinctive. "Always so suspicious, mia piccola americana."

"You haven't given me reason to be otherwise," I countered, heart racing at my own boldness.

"With good reason."

I forced myself not to back away at his slow approach, each step measured. I held my ground despite the instinct to retreat, chin tilted up to maintain eye contact as he closed the distance between us.

"What would you like to know about my motives?"

"E-Everything," I stammered.

"Everything?" A smile played at the corners of his mouth. His eyes darkened as they traced my face. "That's a very broad request."

I dug my nails into my palms to steady myself. "You could start with why you really brought me to Italy."

Sebastian reached out, tucking a windblown strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering against my cheek. "I brought you to Italy because you belong here. With me."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one you're getting today." He stepped back and returned to the table, lifting a glass of wine. "Today is not for questions and accusations. Today is for this."

He gestured broadly, encompassing the terrace, the view, the picnic he'd arranged. The unexpected vulnerability in the gesture disarmed me more effectively than any of his dominant commands ever could.

Sighing, I joined him at the table, accepting the glass he offered. The wine was a deep ruby red, almost purple in the winter sunlight.

"What is it?" I asked, swirling it gently, desperate for something to focus on besides him.

"Montepulciano d'Abruzzo. From a small vineyard just outside the village." Sebastian raised his glass. "To beauty that transcends origin."

My hand faltered, nearly spilling the wine. My breath caught at the echo of my campaign concept for the created diamond line. He'd been listening. Really listening.

"You…you remembered that?" I whispered, unable to hide my surprise.

"I remember everything you say, Sabrina." The intensity of his gaze made me look away.

I clinked my glass against his and took a sip. The wine tasted magnificent, rich and full-bodied, with notes of black cherry that lingered on my tongue. It warmed me from the inside out.

The liquid seemed alive in my mouth, evolving with each second, first the bright burst of fruit, then the darker undertones of leather and tobacco, finally settling into a long finish that carried hints of the volcanic soil where the grapes had grown.

Sebastian opened the basket, spreading out a feast that made my mouth water.

There was a rustic terrine studded with pistachios, thin slices of prosciutto so translucent they appeared to glow in the sunlight, a wedge of pecorino cheese drizzled with honey, olives glistening with oil, and crusty bread still warm from the oven.