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I shake my head and look back towards the sea. “Everyone is coming tonight.”

A soft breeze moves across the balcony, lifting the curls away from my face.

“I chose sunset. I know how much you loved the sunset over Seccagrande.”

Something white moves in the corner of my vision, and I turn my head just in time to see a butterfly flutter across the balcony and land directly on the urn in my hands.

I freeze. “Oh.”

The tiny creature slowly opens and closes its wings while I stare at it.

No. Don't go and become one of those weirdos who sees dead people in everything.

But the butterfly doesn't move. It just sits there, almost as though it's studying me.

I narrow my eyes at it. “Really?”

Nothing. Obviously.

I shrug. “I thought you'd choose an eagle or something. Or a wolf. Knowing you, you'd make damn sure it was something strong and masculine.”

A laugh escapes me, but then something about those little white wings pulls me back to another day.

Our wedding day.

Our parents had wanted us to release two white doves outside the church. Tradition. Something our families had done before us.

But I wanted butterflies. White ones. I had absolutely no idea how we were supposed to make that happen, but Damiano did.

Of course he did.

I can still see him standing beside me outside the church in his suit, looking so fucking handsome while someone opened the box. Suddenly, hundreds of white butterflies were fluttering around us, some landing on the flowers while others floated above our heads. Everyone was laughing and clapping, and I remember turning towards Damiano because I couldn't believe he'd actually managed to pull it off.

But he wasn't watching the butterflies.

He was watching me.

My eyes burn as I look down at the tiny white butterfly still sitting on his urn.

“Well…” I sniff and wipe my cheek with the back of my hand. “Butterfly it is.”

I smile.

It stays for another moment before opening its wings and fluttering away over the balcony. I watch until it disappears against the brightness of the sea, then lower my eyes to the urn.

“Okay, Vita.” My voice shakes. “Let's go.”

I walk back inside.

Chiara is standing in front of the mirror, putting on mascara. She's wearing a simple white summer dress, and when her eyes meet mine in the reflection, she immediately puts it down.

“You okay?”

“No.”

She turns around, and I look at the urn. “But I need to do this.”

Her eyes fill, but she nods. “Okay.”