He didn’t choose me.
He didn’t in the beginning either. But then he did, and for a moment, I bloomed under it. I felt seen, wanted, claimed.
But the feeling was like a wine opened too early—heady, promising, gone almost as soon as it touched my tongue. It never had time to breathe, to deepen, to stay. And now all that remains is the ache of having tasted it at all.
24
ALESSIA
Night settles over the villa like a velvet cloak.
The lock clicks behind Nico with a sound so soft it feels deliberate, as if even the house is careful not to disturb what’s already fractured.
We trudge to the bedroom, neither of us talking about dinner. I’m not hungry, I doubt he is.
It’s raining slightly. It started while we drove home.
I open the window to let the damp night air from the rain-soaked earth drift in on a breath of wind.
Nico crosses the room with the quiet precision he uses in boardrooms. His spine still straight, still braced—as if Suvereto followed him home.
Jacket comes off. “Are you okay,cara?”
I shrug with an exaggeratedwhat can you do?expression.
His cufflinks catch the moonlight.
“It’s not worth it.” He unbuttons his shirt. “Cesare isn’t going to change.”
It isn’t Papà that I’m unsure about right now, my father I know very well. It’s Nico. He seemed to care about me, and now I’m not sure.
“You survive him by moving with him—or around him,” he continues, voice low, pragmatic.
“This isn’t about Papà.” I cross my arms as I lean against the open window’s frame. “This is about us.”
“What about us?” he challenges as his shirt comes off and muscles ripple.
He looks good in dress pants and nothing else.
I remember when Papà told me I’d have to marry Nico Alarico to get Tenuta Pietra Alta—and that it was the right decision for the company.
I didn’t want to be married off to a stranger like chattel—but Nico?
I’d seen him around.
A handsome man.
Known to be a bit of a playboy, who was always seen with beautiful women on his arm.
I wasn’t sure if he’d marry me, the plain and ugly Alighieri sister—the dull one, with dirt under her fingernails.
It isn’t like I can’t afford the designer duds Alba likes to wear—I’m not interested in them.
I mean, you can’t harvest in couture!
But he married me for the CEO role. He told me we’d never be a couple. He didn’t break my heart then, just added to the many disappointments life had left on my doorstep.
But now….
