Page 39

LUCIA

Speckled sunlight shined on the balloons that floated tied with bows to chairs around an extra long wooden table in my parents’.

Olive trees framed the yard, silver leaves swaying in the wind.

My mother was bringing out ornate dishes filled with food, plates of cheeses and perfectly crafted savory pastry bites.

She had fused all day over having every single one of my favorite foods to celebrate my birthday today.

After the final race of the season, Gianna and I had flown back on Alexander’s private jet.

He arranged a personal car to pick us up from the small local airport and everything.

Being back home was wrapped up in some complicated emotions.

It was so amazing to be back, the county breeze pushing my hair along with the wind, the endless rows of vineyards around my parents’ stone-covered house.

But being back in my childhood room, the same room all those hard months after having Gianna, held heavier emotions than I had expected.

This morning, I had been sitting on the bed, the familiar floral pink sheets under my legs, when my mom had walked in, a worn apron tied around her waist, leaning against the door frame.

“You know, my love, you have done all your growing here. I am proud of the woman you are, the mother you are, the person you have grown to be.” She smiled her warm smile. Tears glimmered in her eyes. And I was starting to understand it now, being a mother. The days stretched on, but the years breezed by. Gianna was already almost three years old, her birthday not far from my own.

Today I was twenty-nine years old. I had an amazing daughter, a full life, a dreamy boyfriend, friends who I considered family. I was proud of myself too. Proud of not giving up, of finding myself again in this new version of life.

“The boys get in in a few days, yes?” she asked. I nodded. I was sad to not have them here for my birthday, but they were busy with end of season things. And my mother, ever the planner, had gone all out and made more food than the four of us could ever eat on our own, tied balloons to the chairs, and cut fresh flowers from the garden, placing them in different colored glass vases.

The golden glow of the afternoon bathed the vineyard as my father stepped into the garden, Gianna perched in his arms. Her tiny hands were full, one clutching a fistful of wildflowers, the other wrapped around the plush bunny Alexander had given her. My heart squeezed. It had only been a week since we’d come home, but I already missed it—the hum of the track, the friends who had become family, the thrill of it all. But I also loved this. The quiet. The familiarity. I craved both.

“ Tanti auguri , principessa,” my father greeted, his voice warm. He pulled me into a side embrace, Gianna giggling between us.

“Tanti auguri, Mama!” she chirped, thrusting her flowers toward me.

“ Grazie , my love,” I murmured, accepting them with a kiss to her curls.

“Shall we eat?” My mother’s voice carried across the garden, a knowing glint in her eye as she placed the last dish on the long wooden table. The spread was beautiful. Sun-kissed dishes painted with yellow daisies, a pitcher of wine, glasses filled to their brims. But something tugged at me. Seven plates, when there were only four of us. My phone buzzed,

Alexander

That dress is a knockout, angel.

“Mama, why are there—” The iron gate creaked behind me.

A chorus of voices rang out, “Tanti auguri!”

I spun around, already knowing before I saw him.

Alexander.

Matteo got to me first, sweeping me into a tight hug before ruffling my hair like I was ten again. I shoved him with a laugh just as Gianna let out a delighted shriek.

“MONTY!”

She wiggled free from my father’s arms, barreling toward the golden retriever, who wagged his tail so hard his whole body moved. Nicola barely had time to steady herself before Gia crashed into her legs.

Matteo clutched his chest in mock pain. “Damn, that stings.”

Nicola grinned, victorious. “Hey, kid,” she greeted Gia warmly.

And then?—

“Hey, angel.”

That voice. Smooth, warm, laced in my favorite British accent.

I turned, smirking. “Hey, hotshot.”

Alexander kissed my cheek, his touch easy, familiar, but I wasn’t satisfied with that. I pulled him into a hug, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath my hands.

A throat cleared.

We turned to find my father watching us, expression unreadable. Alexander straightened instinctively, extending a tattooed hand.

“Hello, sir.”

A pause. Then, my father shook it, his lips curving ever so slightly. “Alex. Welcome back. Got your place all settled?”

I blinked. His place?

“Yes, sir,” Alexander replied smoothly.

“Good.” My father gave a nod before turning toward my mother, who had already begun fussing over Nicola, pulling her into a long embrace.

Nicola shot me a look over my mother’s shoulder, a bit panicked. I grinned. My mother had more love to give than space in her arms. By the time we were all seated, passing plates and wine around, I leaned into Alexander.

“What were you talking about with my dad?” I asked, keeping my voice low.

“Hmm?” He feigned innocence.

“Your place? Are you not staying here with us?”

“You’ll see.” A smirk tugged at his lips.

I narrowed my eyes. “Alexander Wright, I hate surprises.”

“You liked me showing up early,” he countered.

“Well, yeah, but you can’t just drop something like that and not tell me what it is!”

He leaned in, pressing a kiss to my cheek. “Be patient, angel. I know you’ll love it.”

I grumbled, knowing he wouldn’t budge. There weren’t any houses for miles, just rolling hills and sprawling vineyards.

The meal passed in a blur of laughter and warmth. My heart felt full, surrounded by my people, my family. The sky had begun to melt into gold and lavender when Alexander touched my arm.

“I want to take you somewhere,” he murmured. His voice was soft, intimate.

I glanced toward Gianna, who was happily playing with Monty as Nicola and Matteo looked on.

“She’s having a sleepover with Nicola,” Alexander assured me with a grin. “And Monty, of course.”

“A sleepover?” My brow lifted.

“She’s very excited about it. Now, say your good nights. I’m stealing you away for the night.” My heart thudded.

After thanking my family for the wonderful meal and pressing a kiss to Gianna’s curls, I followed Alexander to the cobblestone driveway, where a sleek black Alfa Romeo awaited. He opened the door for me before sliding into the driver’s seat, and soon, we were gliding down the winding road. I let my hand drift out the window, fingers dancing in the cool night air.

We drove for a while, the familiar landscape slipping past, until Alexander slowed, turning onto a side road I didn’t recognize. A large iron gate loomed ahead. He pressed a button on the call box, and with a creak, the gates parted.

“Alex…” My voice trailed off.

“Few more minutes, angel.”

The car rolled up a newly paved road, twisting through the hills. And then?—

A house came into view.

It sat perched atop a hill, glowing in the dimming light. Tall windows reflected the fading sunset, stone walls softened by warm wooden inlets. It was stunning, breathtaking, but more than that—something about it felt familiar.

“Alexander,” I whispered. “Where are we?”

He turned to me, smiling. “Home.”

My heart lurched.

“I closed on the land last summer,” he explained. “It’s the lot next to your parents’. I worked with a local architect and designers to have it ready by the end of the season. There’s a lit path through the vineyard to your parents’ place—we can add a road later if we want to. There are extra rooms, an office, a wraparound porch in the back where you can sit and read.” His fingers fidgeted together as we approached the front door. “I-I started adding things, maybe unconsciously, for you and Gianna. I want to get some animals, make this a real home. Every other place, none of them ever felt right. Nothing did until I started spending summers here. This is where I want to be, where I want to raise a family one day.”

Emotion thickened my throat as he unlocked the door, revealing a breathtaking entryway that opened into a cozy living space. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined one wall, framing an oversized, impossibly comfortable-looking couch. Warm light pooled from vintage sconces, the scent of fresh wood lingering in the air.

Alexander rubbed the back of his neck. “Your mum helped with the decorating.”

I laughed, blinking back tears. “That explains why it feels like home.”

We wandered through the house, my mind spinning with images—baking cookies with Gianna in the sunlit kitchen, curling up on the porch swing with a book, movie nights snuggled under blankets.

Three years ago, I had driven through the night, pregnant and terrified of the future. I never could have imagined that summer would change everything—that I’d find a family, love, a place where I truly belonged.

And yet, here I was.

Later, we opened a bottle of wine and settled onto the porch’s swinging daybed. The stars burned brilliantly above as we talked about it all, how I could visit as often as I wanted during the season with the private jet, how he wanted me and Gianna to move in when I was ready.

“I’ll build or change anything you want,” he promised, his voice thick with sincerity. “I just want to make it perfect for you.”

I curled against him, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

It already was.