48. Valaria
Valaria
I’ve never believed in quiet endings.
But this one tastes like peace.
Pietro is barefoot on the patio, shirtless, sun-bronzed, slicing lemons for something strong and unnecessary. He’s humming. Off-key.
He doesn’t see me watching from the doorway.
I love him more each day.
Later, on the beach, I hand him a small box.
He arches a brow. “Shouldn’t I be the one with the surprise?”
I smirk. “This isn’t a proposal. It’s a promise.”
He opens it.
Inside: two silver bands.
Simple. Engraved.
We choose. Every time.
He swallows.
Then slides one onto my finger.
“Every time,” he whispers.
We sit in the sand, hands linked, waves kissing our toes.
The beach towel wrinkles spilling sand on our calves when he wraps me in his arms.
We just sit.
It’s quiet.
Just the sound of the sea and the heartbeat I’ve memorized.
“Will you still want me when I’m sixty-four?” I ask.
My throat tightens.
“Always.”
The future is ours whatever it brings.
Undeniable.
Unbreakable.
“I love you.”
The words that were once impossible for me to say.
I kiss him like it’s a vow.
Because it is.
“I love you, too.” His voice is rough and broken and real.
At the crack of dawn, I wake and reach for him.
He’s not there.
I snuggle under the covers.
Every morning, he surfs the waves of clear water.
I sleep until he kisses me awake with sea salt on his lips and fire in his blood.
The End