Chapter 9 - Rosa’s Ultimatum
Three weeks later, the atmosphere of the Duca estate shifted from guarded tension to frantic, unapologetic chaos. Rosa Duca had taken over the planning of our official wedding with the tyrannical precision of a four-star general, dragging me through bridal boutiques, tasting menus, and endless seating charts while Lorenzo hid in his office like a fugitive trying to escape jury duty.
“He’s terrified,” Rosa announced triumphantly over a cup of espresso in the sunroom, watching Lorenzo cross the lawn through the bay windows.
“Lorenzo? Terrified of what?” I asked, adjusting my glasses.
“Of losing you,” Rosa said sharply, her dark eyes flashing with sharp intelligence. “Six women walked away because they saw the monster the world painted him to be. They couldn't see past the size, the silence, and the shadow. But you saw the man who kneels down to hold a frightened child, the man who fights for what matters, and the woman who isn't afraid to hit a traitor with a cast-iron skillet.”
Rosa reached across the table and patted my hand, her grip surprisingly strong. “My grandson is a stubborn, complicated fool, Amelia. But you are the best thing that has ever happened to this family. Don't ever let him forget it.”
That evening, after Rosa retired to her quarters, I found Lorenzo standing out on the expansive rear terrace, staring out across the rolling lawns under a blanket of brilliant stars. The night air was cool, carrying the promise of autumn.
I slipped my woolen shawl tighter around my shoulders as I stepped through the glass doors, walking up quietly behind him. Without a word, Lorenzo shrugged off his heavy wool blazer and draped it gently over my shoulders, wrapping his arms around me from behind to pull me back against his solid, warm chest.
“Rosa has been plotting again,” I murmured, leaning back into his embrace, feeling the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart against my spine.
“She threatened to disinherit me if I didn't wear a proper boutonnière,” Lorenzo replied dryly, resting his chin gently against the top of my head.
“You should listen to her. She’s terrifying.”
“Not as terrifying as you when you hold a skillet,” he countered, a low rumble of laughter vibrating in his chest.
I turned around within his embrace, wrapping my arms loosely around his neck, looking up into his shadowed, handsome face. The moonlight caught the silver threads in his trimmed beard and the deep, unwavering warmth in his dark eyes.
“Are you scared, Lorenzo?” I asked softly, the question hanging delicate between us. “About the wedding? About what people will say? About what kind of life this is?”
Lorenzo’s hands tightened around my waist, his expression turning fierce, absolute, and completely devoid of doubt.
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“I spent my entire life building walls to keep the world out, Amelia, because I believed nobody could ever stand beside a man like me without breaking,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “Then you tripped over a rug, grabbed my tie, and wrecked every single wall I built. I am not scared of the world, Amelia. The only thing I have ever been scared of... is waking up and realizing you were just a dream.”
I smiled, pulling him down toward me, sealing our words in a slow, deep kiss that swept away every remaining shadow of the past.
