Epilogue 01
Months later
May, Milan
Per sempre
Cecily
I breeze past reception, greeted with the usual welcoming smiles, and return it with a smile of my own. Even once I’m inside the elevator, the doors sliding shut, the smile hasn’t left my face.
The last few months have been everything I didn’t know I was missing. And now... I can’t imagine my life any other way.
Alexander and I began the year with a week in Istanbul, a dream, in every sense of the word.
But the moment we returned to New York, I couldn’t ignore the knot I felt in my chest: the irrational fear that once the holidays were over and the honeymoon phase ended, reality would reclaim its place. I wasn’t wrong. Things did change.
Just not in the way I feared. It was a change for the better.
Alexander fit into life in New York with disarming ease. He gradually handed most of his travel responsibilities to Cesare and his VP, limiting his trips to those that truly required his presence, or the rare clients who insisted on that personal touch only he could offer.
When I asked if he was doing it to reassure me, his answer was simple and sincere.
Yes, one of the advantages was being close to me.
But the truth was, he’d been considering stepping back for a long time.
I had merely given him the right reason to finally do it after all this time making his work a priority.
During the Santoro Marmo anniversary, Alexander turned into something of an advocate for my work.
He spoke less about marble and milestones and more about the article I’d written.
Even now, whenever the moment allows, he brings it up, or one of the other pieces I’ve published in recent months.
I know he keeps physical copies in all his offices. At home, too.
It always catches me off guard, how openly proud he is. He says my words are one of the parts of me he loves the most. And every time he does, something inside me feels seen... complete.
Things at home have fallen into a rhythm that’s just as natural.
He and Alicia have been growing closer, without forcing or hurrying anything.
Alexander joins us for dinner three or four times a week, and without exception, he takes over the kitchen.
He accepts help only for the simplest things: setting the table, tossing a salad, chopping herbs.
To my complete surprise, Alicia, deep in her contrarian pre-teen era, once allergic to anything that even resembled a chore, always offers to help when he’s cooking.
And when Ethan is with us, it becomes the three of them moving around the kitchen together.
I usually end up at the island with a glass of wine, watching something I didn’t realize I’d been missing come into focus.
Ethan comes whenever he can to spend the weekend with us.
He gets along well with Alexander, though I can tell he keeps a careful distance.
My mother’s heart feels at ease seeing him try; it shows how much he trusts my judgment.
I recognize Ethan’s instinct in my own fears, and I will always respect his choices.
Just like Alicia, he already calls him Alex. Dalila joins him on some visits too, and watching the way her relationship with Alicia has become somewhat more friendly makes me happy for all of them.
Being with Alexander has taught me that restlessness sits at the center of who he is. He doesn’t stay in one place for long. There is always something to adjust, to fix, to make better. Last month, I mentioned, almost offhandedly, that the porch furniture was starting to look worn.
He didn’t suggest replacing it or offer to call someone. He simply decided to restore and paint it himself.
I offered to help. That, as it turned out, was mostly unproductive. Because every time we bumped into each other, brushes were abandoned, and kisses took their place. Many of them.
Of course, not everything is a fairytale. Sharing a life so closely comes with disagreements. Alexander and I have clashed a few times, and looking back, it almost makes me laugh how small the reasons were. Though what stays with me isn’t the argument, it’s the way he handles it.
He doesn’t lash out or turn his back on me. He doesn’t walk out the door and leave me talking to an empty room. We talk. We stay. And then we make love.
If I’m honest, most of the time it’s more of a make-up fuck. Urgent, visceral. There’s nothing sweet or tender in those moments. And I love that he can give me that too. That he can give me both with the same intensity.
Our worst disagreement came when he lost track of time before a dinner we had scheduled with his sister and her father, who was visiting the city two months ago.
With every minute he was late, while I worked to keep the conversation going with Aurélie and Kevin, my mind kept pulling me backward, toward that dark place where I once spent hours chronologically organizing sheets of location history inside a black binder.
By the time we got home, the insecurity was louder than any rational thought I could have. I asked if it would always be like that. If it really was work that kept him away. He looked at me with a certainty that dismantled the doubt before it could take root.
“I would have left the meeting halfway through, if I could,” he said. “You know I would. You also know I don’t let anything get in our way. And when you calm down, I know you’ll understand.”
He cupped my face with his hands, his thumbs brushing my cheekbones. “I know where this is coming from,” he murmured. “So let me remind you of this. I love you. For real. True love. I’m not him. I will never betray you.”
He kissed my forehead, the tip of my nose, my lips... then went to take a shower.
While the water ran, I had time to breathe and think. To let the past loosen its grip. When he came back, the first thing I did was apologize. For making him pay for crimes he didn’t commit. For letting old wounds bleed into our present, even if only for a few hours.
Alexander pulled me against his bare chest and asked me to tell him everything that had been in my head. And I did.
The same thoughts come to the surface from time to time, but I don’t let them grow beyond what they are. Intrusive thoughts. I examine them, reduce them to nothing, and let them go.
Then there’s Colin.
Things have regressed with him. We’re back to cold, strictly functional communication.
Short texts, nothing more. I couldn’t say I’m surprised.
He’d been growing increasingly curt since Alexander and I made things official, and I never tolerated disrespect.
I knew he wouldn’t take our relationship well, much less the fact that Alicia and Ethan get along well with Alexander, and that he’s living in the house across the street.
But nothing has changed between him and our children, and that’s what matters. How he feels about my relationship doesn’t change anything for me.
The chime of the elevator pulls me back to the present.
Alexander and I came to Italy for just a few days.
To take care of urgent matters and entrust even more responsibilities to Cesare and Genaro, his VP.
We fly home tomorrow, but we’ll be back in a month for Nonna’s birthday, this time bringing Alicia and Ethan.
Both of them already counting down the days until they can see the villa and explore a few countries of their choosing with us.
“Ciao, Amara,” I say as I approach Alexander’s assistant.
“Ciao, Cecily,” she replies, rising to kiss my cheek.
“Is he free?” I ask in Italian.
She nods. “You can go in.”
I knock twice on the wooden door. When that deep, commanding ‘Avanti’ [LXXVII]answers, I open it just a crack and lean in, a mischievous smile playing on my lips.
“Do you have room in your agenda for a last-minute appointment?”
Alexander looks up from the papers spread across his desk, and a predatory smile curves his mouth. He stands as I step inside and close the door behind me.
I don’t make it two steps.
He crosses the room and presses me back against the door. The kiss is searing, possessive. His hands grip my waist, his fingers digging in as he pulls me in until there’s no space left. I taste espresso on his tongue, the urgency in the kiss loosening my knees as my hands slide into his hair.
When we finally break apart, he rests his forehead to mine, both of us breathing hard. “Missed you,” he murmurs.
I smile, catching my breath. “We saw each other less than nine hours ago.”
“Too long.” He steals another lingering kiss, then pulls back to look at me. His gaze sweeps over me, darkening as it trails down. “Have I told you how much I like you in pants?”
He takes my hand and turns me, using the motion as an excuse to squeeze my ass. Unapologetic. His mouth brushes my exposed shoulder before he leans in to murmur into my ear, sending a shiver straight through me. “And you wear them just to torture me.”
I’m wearing tailored off-white trousers—mid-waist, straight cut—paired with a light green spaghetti-strap top and flats. Nothing extravagant. Yet the way he looks at me, I might as well be in nothing but fancy lace.
Laughing, I turn back to him and wrap my arms around his neck.
“I came to pick you up so we can have pizza at that place nearby, the one with live music you love,” I say. “After that... you can take me home and show me exactly how much you enjoy seeing me in these trousers.”
Alexander closes his eyes and drops his forehead to mine, a deep groan tearing from his throat.
“You’re going to be the death of me, Cecilia,” he says, his voice rough.
I smile and kiss him again. “The best kind,” I murmur.
We step out of the elevator in a tangle of limbs and laughter, the doors sliding shut behind us as urgent, messy kisses swallow our words.
The living room is dim as Alexander’s hand closes around mine, tugging me forward, but I stop, planting my feet until my spine collides with the cool wall.
“I want you here,” I gasp, my tone filled with need.