Chapter 16 - One Last Dinner with the Morettis
“I’m not marrying Luca.”
Alessandra looked offended.
“You just said you love him.”
“I do.”
“So?”
“So we have been officially dating for approximately six weeks.”
“Your generation wastes time.”
I laughed.
She did not.
“I’m serious.”
“That’s what frightens me.”
We sat in the mansion’s morning room beneath enormous portraits of dead Morettis who all looked disappointed in modern society.
Alessandra poured tea.
“I made mistakes with Luca.”
The abrupt confession surprised me.
“What kind?”
“I confused family loyalty with obedience.”
She looked toward the snowy garden.
“When my son died, I feared Luca would abandon everything.”
“The company?”
“The family.”
“Would he have?”
“Perhaps.”
She smiled sadly.
“I thought forcing him toward marriage would anchor him.”
“With Isabella.”
“With anyone appropriate.”
“That sounds awful when you say it aloud.”
“It was worse living it.”
I respected her honesty.
“Why are you telling me?”
“Because I don’t want you to think I expect something from you.”
That surprised me more.
“I spent Christmas trying to put you into another role.”
“Grandmother-approved future wife?”
“Essentially.”
“And now?”
She took my hand.
“Now I want Luca to understand family is where he is loved, not where he is controlled.”
My eyes stung.
“You should tell him.”
“I will.”
“When?”
“Tonight.”
Of course.
One more Moretti dinner.
That evening, the entire family gathered.
No Rinaldis.
No board members.
No strategic guests.
Just family.
Luca sat beside me.
Under the table, his fingers rested against mine.
Alessandra stood after dessert.
Everyone immediately became nervous.
“I owe this family an apology.”
Julian looked toward Sofia.
“Are we dying?”
“Quiet.”
Alessandra looked at Luca.
“I spent years telling myself I was protecting what your grandfather built.”
Her voice trembled slightly.
“In reality, I was protecting my fear.”
Luca watched silently.
“I feared losing the company. Losing our traditions. Losing you.”
She took a breath.
“And so I tried to control you.”
Nobody moved.
“I was wrong.”
Luca’s face softened.
“Grandmother.”
“Let me finish.”
She smiled.
“You inherited stubbornness from me. Unfortunately.”
Julian laughed.
“So did you.”
“Julian.”
“Sorry.”
Alessandra continued.
“Your father believed marriage would stabilize you.”
“He was wrong.”
“Yes.”
Everyone stared.
She rarely criticized her dead son.
“He was.”
She walked around the table.
Stopped beside Luca.
“You never needed someone who would make you easier to control.”
Her eyes moved to me.
“You needed someone who would make you honest.”
My throat tightened.
Then she touched Luca’s cheek.
“I release you from every expectation I placed on your life.”
His eyes closed briefly.
When they opened, they were bright.
“Thank you.”
It was quiet.
But I understood what it cost.
Alessandra kissed his forehead.
Then immediately ruined the tenderness by looking at me.
“That said, I would still like grandchildren.”
Everyone laughed.
I nearly choked.
Luca rubbed his forehead.
“Grandmother.”
“What? Freedom has limits.”
Dinner became warm after that.
For the first time, I understood what the Moretti family might have been without all the strategy.
Loud.
Funny.
Difficult.
Loving.
Julian told humiliating childhood stories.
Sofia showed me photographs of Luca at fourteen with terrible hair.
Luca attempted to confiscate them.
I protected the evidence.
Later, Isabella stopped by.
She and Carlo were rebuilding their relationship slowly.
She had accepted a position in London.
Her own choice.
Her own future.
“I owe you,” she told me.
“No.”
“You changed things.”
“So did you.”
She hugged me.
When she left, Luca and I returned to the staircase where everything had begun.
The Christmas decorations were finally being removed.
Workers carried garlands away.
The enormous tree was gone.
Only faint marks remained where it had stood.
“Strange,” I said.
“What?”
“How different this looked that night.”
“I remember.”
“You terrified me.”
“You hid it well.”
“I was considering pushing you down these stairs.”
“That I noticed.”
I smiled.
He stood one step below me so we were nearly eye-level.
“Emma.”
“What?”
“Do you regret it?”
“The fake dating?”
“Yes.”
I thought about everything that followed.
The scandal.
The board.
The threats.
The lies.
The trust.
The pain.
Then I thought about the diner.
His birthday.
His grandmother apologizing.
The way Luca now asked instead of assuming.
“No.”
His expression softened.
“Neither do I.”
“But I would not recommend it as a relationship strategy.”
“Why not?”
“Low success rate.”
“Ours seems successful.”
“We barely survived.”
“But we did.”
He kissed my hand.
I looked at him.
“You know, for someone who claimed one fake date would solve everything, you caused an extraordinary amount of chaos.”
“I underestimated the variables.”
“Business language will not save you.”
“What will?”
I smiled.
“Keep asking.”
“Asking what?”
“For what you want.”
His eyes searched mine.
“Then I want tomorrow.”
My chest tightened.
“With you.”
I squeezed his hand.
“That one you can have.”
“And next week?”
“Probably.”
“Next year?”
“Getting ambitious.”
He smiled.
“Always.”
I leaned down and kissed him.
No audience.
No announcement.
No strategy.
But as I stood there with Luca in the house where our lie began, I realized something.
We were no longer trying to convince anyone.
Not his family.
Not the company.
Not ourselves.
May you like
And that was exactly why the next choice would matter more than all the ones before it.
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