Chapter 12
August
ghosts of my past
Cecily
I catch my reflection in the glass doors.
I’m wearing a silky sage-green blouse, tucked into dove-gray, high-waisted trousers that fall just right.
The lightweight blazer and my taupe block-heeled sandals are the same tone as the structured tote hanging from my shoulder.
I gathered my hair into a low ponytail, kept my makeup light, and chose only tiny stud earrings and a slim gold necklace.
I don’t even know what went through my head when I said yes to Alexander. Maybe that’s what happens when you speak from instinct—you end up stepping into things you’re not entirely sure you’re ready to handle.
I draw in a breath and move toward the revolving door.
At the reception desk, the moment I give my name, the receptionist smiles and rises as she rounds the counter. “This way, Ms. Sterling. Mr. Santoro instructed me to take you to the private elevator. You’ll go straight up to the executive floor.”
She taps a card to unlock the elevator, then presses it into my hand. I thank her and step inside.
The ride up feels endless—and somehow much too fast. When I notice I’m nearing the top floor, I turn toward the mirrored wall, adjusting my ponytail and makeup. The doors slide open faster than I expect, and my eyes catch Alexander’s reflection in the mirror.
I take him in.
A navy suit, perfectly cut, defines his broad shoulders. His light-blue dress shirt and darker blue tie add to his imposing figure, and his hair is neatly styled.
He looks every bit the man who belongs on the top floor of a building like this.
Self-assured. Controlled. And yet, when his amber eyes meet mine through the glass, something much more tender crosses his expression.
I watch his reflection as he extends a hand.
I turn toward him, taking it as I step out of the elevator.
When he leans in to kiss my cheek, it’s impossible not to breathe him in. By now, I know his fragrance by heart.
We step back, and he says, “Benvenuta alla Santoro Marmo, Cecilia.”[XXXVII]
The way he says Cecilia hits me like it did the very first time—and every time since.
“Good morning, Alexander. Thank you,” I say belatedly.
“You look beautiful. As always.”
A laugh escapes me. “And you,” I tease, “are charming. As always.”
“Come,” he says. “Let’s start in my office.”
He takes my hand. As much as I try to prepare myself for the shiver that runs through me whenever he touches me, the effect seems stronger every time.
When we step into his office, I take the place in.
It’s so Alexander.
Floor-to-ceiling windows with the Manhattan skyline in the background. The space is wide and meticulously organized. Dark walnut shelves line the wall, filled with architectural books, marble samples, and a few personal pieces—a Carrara sculpture, a vintage drafting compass, family photos.
His desk is a slab of dark stone, imposing and elegant, facing two gray armchairs over a textured rug.
Along with the scent of marble dust, there’s a faint trace of cedar and sandalwood… his scent.
I turn and find him watching me from the half-open door behind him.
With a small smile, I say, “If I ever had to guess what your office would look like... it would be this.”
He just looks at me and then says, “It’s almost a replica of my office in Milan. It was my father’s before mine... and my grandfather’s before his. I think you understand the idea.”
I nod. “Another piece of your legacy brought to this side of the ocean.”
Alexander smiles, agreeing. “I was thinking,” he says, “would you rather look at the project first or tour the company?”
I take a moment to consider. “The project first. It might help me know what to look for during the tour.”
He nods. “I thought you might say that.”
He picks up a tablet from his desk, then places his hand at the small of my back, guiding me toward a couch.
We spend the next half hour going through the fifteen-year anniversary project, with a comfort and ease that feels nothing like the top floor of a corporate building in the heart of Manhattan.
It feels more like sitting on the couch in his home.
“Can I be completely honest?” I ask Alexander the moment we step out of the elevator and back onto the executive floor.
He opens the door and lets me walk into his office first. “I wouldn’t accept anything less from you.”
Alexander has just shown me the entire company, introducing me to employees and explaining the inner workings of each department.
The tour felt like it went on forever, not because of distance, but because of the sheer number of layers I never imagined existed inside a company of this size.
Every department head and associate greeted him with a level of respect that was impossible to overlook, and each time he walked me through a new area, that same pride was evident in his face and tone.
Now, back on the top floor, it’s clear this company isn’t just his family’s legacy—it’s a living piece of him.
Walking each corridor beside him let me see more than the executive.
It let me see the man underneath it all, someone carrying the story of generations on his shoulders, yet guiding me through everything with a patient, intimate ease, as if he truly wanted me to understand what matters to him.
Seeing this new side of him drew me closer in a way I wasn’t prepared for.
I set my bag on his desk and turn back to him with a smile.
“You talk about your work with so much passion and pride... but what struck me most was seeing that same pride mirrored in your employees. It’s not just about maintaining the image of a socially responsible company.
You’re actually building the environment you claim to value. ”
Alexander leans back on the edge of his desk, hands slipping into his pockets.
With that lopsided smile that’s becoming far too familiar, he says, “I’m glad you picked up on that without me having to brag about my employees.
” He tilts his head. “So... does this mean you’re on board with the proposal I made? No last-minute change of heart?”
He’s teasing, but I meet his eyes, showing no doubt in mine. “If anything,” I say, “I’m even more excited to write about Santoro Marmo’s story now.”
He smiles, and we hold each other’s gaze until it’s too much, too intense, and I have to look away. I walk toward the glass wall behind his desk, letting the skyline swallow the heat rising in me.
“So this is how the CEO of Santoro Marmo sees Manhattan from up here...” I murmur.
His reply comes from just behind me. Close enough that I feel him before I fully hear him. “Not in this headquarters. In New York, the CEO title belongs to Henry. I can introduce you before lunch, he’s in a meeting right now.”
I turn, my back touching the glass.
Alexander hasn’t moved. But the space between us feels smaller. Charged.
He reaches for the end of my ponytail resting over my shoulder, wrapping it around his fingers with a careful gentleness that makes my breath catch. When he lifts his eyes to mine, I can’t stop the instinctive flick of my gaze to his mouth.
I look away, just for a heartbeat, before he draws me back in.
He releases my hair, fingertips brushing upward until his hand cradles my cheek. The tenderness of it undoes something in me, keeping me rooted to the spot. He steps closer... and I hold my breath.
“Alexander...”
His eyes drop to my lips. My hand rises on instinct, brushing the front of his shirt just as he leans in.
He’s so close I can feel the heat of his breath... and then the door swings open, snapping us back to reality. We jerk apart, turning toward the door in sync.
“Oh my God—Alexander, I didn’t realize you were in here.” A brunette woman stops dead in the doorway, clutching a folder to her chest. “I thought you hadn’t finished the tour. I just came to drop this off for you to sign later.”
Alexander steps farther from me, creating a polite distance between us as he takes the folder from her hands.
“It’s all right, Lilian. I can take a quick look at it now.”
The woman, Lilian, steps forward and offers her hand to me with a sincere smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Sterling. I’m Lillian, the CEO’s assistant, and Alexander’s, whenever he’s in the city.”
I match her smile as best I can, steadying my breath as I shake her hand.
“Nice to meet you, Lillian.”
Alexander calls her over, asking something about one of the contracts, and I can’t stop myself from taking her in.
She’s young, late twenties or maybe early thirties. Brown hair, elegant posture. Professional clothes that manage to flatter her figure.
I watch the way they interact. It looks strictly professional. Lilian stands close enough to point something out on the document, but not close enough to accidentally touch. Their movements are efficient, nothing suggestive in the slightest.
A bitter taste rises in my throat the moment I realize what I’m doing.
I reach for my bag on his desk and force my voice to sound normal. “Alexander, I should go. I just realized that if I don’t cross the bridge soon, I’ll be late for another appointment.”
He immediately sets the papers aside and turns fully toward me. “But what about our lunch?” he asks, disappointment and concern plain on his face.
“I’m sorry... I didn’t plan for traffic,” I say, and I hate myself a little for lying to him.
He looks at me for several seconds, searching, but doesn’t say a word.
“I’ll come back later to pick up the documents and—” Lillian starts, but I cut her off before I can overthink it.
“No, please. Go ahead. I’m already leaving.”
I turn to Alexander. “Thank you for showing me the company. It’ll definitely help with the article.” Then I give Lillian a small nod. “It was nice meeting you.”
I start walking toward the door when it hits me that I haven’t said goodbye. I stop, glance back over my shoulder.
“Goodbye, Alexander. We’ll talk later.”