Page 89 of Luca

"Sofia, this is amazing. You're amazing."

"I wake up every morning and decide what to do with my day," she says, settling onto the small couch. "I choose what to eat, what to wear, whether to work late or read a book or just sit by the window and watch people. Do you know how incredible that feels after twenty-five years?"

I do know. It's the same feeling I get every time I drive my little blue car somewhere without asking permission first.

"I have something for you," I say, pulling a fat envelope from my jacket. "From Luca."

Her face changes, becoming more guarded. "What is it?"

"Money. He wants to help support you financially."

She doesn't even open the envelope. "I can't accept that."

"Sofia, it's not charity. He feels responsible—"

"I'm not his responsibility." Her voice is firm, stronger than I've ever heard it. "I'm finally not anyone's responsibility except my own. That's the whole point."

I study her face, seeing echoes of my own stubbornness reflected there. "You're sure?"

"I make enough at the gallery to afford this place and food and everything I need. It's not much, but it's mine. I earned it." She sets the envelope on the coffee table without opening it. "I've never earned anything before, Gabby. I've never had money that came from my own work, my own choices. I can't give that up now."

"He's going to be disappointed. He honestly wanted to help."

"Then tell him the best way to help is to take care of you and let me take care of myself."

A knock at the door interrupts us. Three soft taps, then two more. The pattern we'd agreed on.

"That's him," I say.

Sofia takes a deep breath, smoothing down her sweater. "How do I look?"

"Like someone who doesn't need rescuing."

When she opens the door, Luca fills the frame in his expensive suit and perfectly polished shoes. He looks completely out of place in this bohemian building. His expression is careful, respectful.

"Sofia." He inclines his head slightly. "Thank you for agreeing to meet."

"Luca." She steps back to let him enter, and I watch the awkwardness settle between them.

This is the man she was supposed to marry. The man she fled from in terror. The man who's now married to her sister.

Awkward doesn’t begin to describe the situation.

"Please, sit," Sofia says, gesturing toward the small seating area.

Luca perches carefully on the edge of a chair, looking around the apartment with sharp eyes that take in every detail. The art supplies, the modest furniture, the evidence of a life built from nothing.

"You look well," he says finally.

"I am well." Sofia's chin lifts slightly. "Better than I've ever been."

"Good. I’m glad to hear it."

The silence stretches until I can't stand it anymore. "He brought you something," I say, nodding toward the envelope.

Sofia's gaze flicks to it, then back to Luca. "Gabriella told me. I appreciate the gesture, but I can't accept it."

"It's not a small amount," Luca says carefully.