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Prologue
Present
(Isabella 19 y.o.)
They shaved his hair.
I don’t know why that detail hits me so hard.
Reaching for my husband’s hand, I entwine our fingers and drop my forehead onto the mattress. I don’t know what I hate more—the hospital smell, the beep of the machine next to the bed tracking his heartbeat, or how still he is.
Minutes pass. Maybe hours, I’m not sure.
I almost miss it—the tiny twitch of his fingers in my own. My head snaps up, and I find two dark brown eyes watching me.
“Oh, Luca...” I choke out, then lean over him and place a light, quick kiss on his lips.
He doesn’t say anything, just keeps looking at me, probably wondering how I dared to kiss him, but I don’t care. I was so scared for him, and I needed the stolen kiss to assure myself that he’s alive.
I let go of his hand, sit up straighter in the chair, and wait for him to start giving me an earful. When he speaks, his voice is rough and deep, even deeper than usual, and the words that leave his mouth make me go ice-cold.
“Who are you?”
I stare at him.
Luca cocks his head to the side, regarding me with his intense, calculating gaze. I’m very familiar with this expression, because I’m usually on the receiving end of it when he’s not happy with something I’ve done. But there is one huge difference this time. It’s his eyes. The same eyes that I've hoped for so long would look at me with love instead of indifference. They are gazing at me now without a sliver of recognition.
“I’m Isabella,” I whisper. “Your . . . wife.”
He blinks, then looks away at the window on the other side of the room and takes a deep breath.
“So, Isabella,” he says and turns to me. “Care to tell me who I am?
PART ONE
“Before”
Chapter 1
Three Years Ago
(Isabella 16 y.o.)
“Isa!” Andrea yells my name as her loud footsteps pound up the stairs.
I turn in my chair to see my younger sister running into my room. She’s only two years younger than me, but sometimes behaves like she’s starting elementary rather than high school. By the time she reaches me, she’s out of breath.
“You can’t run through the house yelling.” I point a pencil at her. “You’re fourteen, not four.”
“He’s here!” She grabs my hand and starts dragging me out of the room, a face-splitting smile lighting up her eyes.
“Who?”
“Luca Rossi.”
My heartbeat quickens, just like it does every time his name comes up, and I scurry after my sister, ignoring my own words of warning. We run down the hallway and the big stone staircase. As expected, we get several disapproving looks from the maid and two of my grandfather’s men along the way, but I can’t make myself think about etiquette now. He’s here!
We dash through the front double doors and circle the house until we reach the big azalea bush on the back side, just a fewyards from the French window outside my grandfather’s study. Like we’ve done so many times before, I crouch behind it and pull Andrea down beside me. It’s an ideal hiding spot, with a clear view into Nonno Giuseppe’s office.
