Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
Zara
Verona, the city of lovers.
That’s what I’ve heard, anyway.
The home of Romeo and Juliet, where star-crossed teenagers died for love, and tourists flock to touch a statue’s breast for good luck in romance. I thought it would feel like a theme park, a caricature of passion, something manufactured and hollow.
But standing in the Piazza delle Erbe, watching the afternoon sun paint the ancient buildings in shades of gold and orange, I understood why Lorenzo had brought me here.
The city breathes romance. It’s in the cobblestones beneath my feet, worn smooth by centuries of footsteps.
It’s in the laughter of couples at outdoor cafés, the clinking of wine glasses, the distant melody of a street musician playing something classical and heartbreaking.
It’s in the way Lorenzo’s hand rests on the small of my back, possessive and tender, guiding me through the crowd.
“You’re staring,” he said, not looking at me.
“Maybe I like what I see.”
He turned, lips quirking. “Careful, Mia Moglie. You might make me believe you’re actually falling in love with me.”
“Too late.”
The words slipped out before I could stop them, and my cheeks flushed.
But I don’t take them back because they were true.
In the last two weeks, my feelings have shifted—what began as practicality now feels real.
At first, the arrangement felt cold and necessary: Lorenzo needed to secure his family’s legacy and avoid an arranged marriage, and I just needed to survive.
But between the signatures, the promises, and that devastating intensity I still can’t fully understand, I found myself genuinely falling for him.
Hard.
Besides me, Lorenzo’s dark eyes searched mine, looking for something, and I don’t know what he finds, but whatever it is, it makes his expression soften in a way that cracks something open in my chest.
“Come,” he said, taking my hand. “There’s somewhere I want to take you.”
We slipped through the streets, leaving the crowds behind, winding deeper into Verona’s maze.
The buildings pressed closer; the alleys twisted.
I have no idea where we’re headed. But I followed.
That’s the scary part. I trusted him. Even after that night on the boat, I trusted every word he said.
I knew he meant it when he said he wouldn’t hurt me, nor would he let me go.
He stopped in front of an unassuming archway, ivy crawling up the stone, and turned to me with an expression I couldn’t read.
“Close your eyes.”
“What?”
“Trust me.”
I hesitated. Then, slowly, I let my eyelids fall.
He took my hand and lead me through the archway. I heard my footsteps echo differently—a wider space, an open courtyard. The air smelled different here. Fresher. Sweeter.
“Okay,” he said, his voice low. “Open.”
I opened my eyes.
And almost instantly, my breath caught. For a second, I forgot how to breathe.
The street opened up into a hidden courtyard, tucked away from the tourist trails and the noise of the city. It was lined with ancient stone walls, climbing with roses—hundreds of them, red and pink and white, their petals catching the golden light of the setting sun.
Flickering candles lined the path ahead, nestled in glass jars, casting warm shadows across the cobblestones. They lead to a small fountain in the center of the courtyard, where more roses float on the water’s surface, and a blanket is spread on the ground with a bottle of wine and two glasses.
It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“What is this?” I whispered, trying to wrap my head around what was happening.
The whole scene felt like something out of a dream, a fantasy I never let myself have because I never believed I deserved it.
But Lorenzo didn’t answer. He just watched me, his eyes soft, his hands clasped in front of him.
“I love you, Zara.” His voice cracked on my name. “I didn’t think I knew what love was. I thought it was a weakness, a liability, something to be avoided. But you—Dio, you’ve undone me. In two weeks, you’ve made me a better man. You’ve given me something I didn’t know I was looking for.”
I was crying. I didn’t remember when I had started, but tears were streaming down my face, and I couldn't breathe, my heart was so full it felt like it might burst.
“Ti amo,” he said, and the Italian rolling off his tongue like honey.
“I love you, Zara. I want to spend the rest of my life proving it to you. I want to wake up next to you every morning. I want to fight with you, make up with you, have children with you, and grow old with you. I want to be your husband—not on paper, but here.”
He pressed his free hand to his chest, over his heart.
“And here.” He reached out, touching my chest, right where my heart was hammering.
“What’s going on?” I asked, my voice shaking. “Lorenzo—”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box before dropping to one knee.
“Will you marry me, Zara?” he continued, opening the box. “Again? For real this time?”
I looked at the ring.
It was bigger than anything I’d ever seen.
A massive diamond, flanked by smaller stones and set in platinum.
The stones caught the candlelight, throwing sparks across the courtyard.
It was absurd. It was excessive. And It was so Lorenzo that I probably would have laughed if I weren’t sobbing.
All I can focus on was the man on his knees in front of me, his eyes wet, his voice raw, offering me everything I never knew I wanted.
“We’re already married,” I choked out, because apparently my brain had short-circuited and I could only state the obvious.
“That was an agreement,” he said again, patient, unwavering. “This is a choice. Your choice.”
I let out a watery laugh. “Even if I said no, you’d never let me go.”
“Cazzo.” He laughed too, a broken sound. “You’re right. I wouldn’t. I’d still spend the rest of my life trying to make you happy, trying to earn your love, even if you never said yes.”
I looked at the ring, at the candles, at the roses someone labored hours to arrange, and at the man who tracked my phone, crashed my date, tied me up, and ravished me until I lost myself—then cooked dinner and held me while I wept.
He was chaos. He was obsessed. He was the most terrifying, wonderful, infuriating thing that’s ever happened to me.
And I loved him.
“Of course,” I whispered. “Of course I’ll marry you. Again.”
Lorenzo’s face broke into a smile I’ve never seen before. Pure, unfiltered joy, lighting up his dark features, making him look younger, lighter, free.
“I want you to be my wife until the end of time,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “And beyond. I want to find you in every life, in every universe, in every version of existence. I want to love you until the stars burn out and the world goes dark.”
I’m crying again. “That’s—that’s so cheesy.”
“I know.” He grinned, standing up, pulling me into his arms. “Blame the romance of Verona.”
He kissed me. Soft, tender, tasting of salt from our tears and the promise of everything to come. I melted into him, my hands fisting in his shirt, the ring heavy and grounding on my finger.
“Surprise!”
I broke the kiss, spinning around to where my sister was standing at the courtyard entrance. My sister, who I haven’t seen in almost a year. And who was supposed to be in college in California.
Behind her was my brother, Kai.
And next to them, grinning like an idiot, was Marcus.
“What—” I looked at Lorenzo, then back at them, then back at Lorenzo. “What is this? How—”
“I flew them in,” Lorenzo said, his hands on my shoulders. “I wanted them to be here. You deserved to have your family here with you.”
“On a damn PJ, Zara!” Marcus added in.
My knees went weak. I feel dizzy, overwhelmed by it all.
“Zara!” Rowen ran forward, throwing her arms around me. “Oh my gosh, I can’t believe this. You’re engaged! Wait, didn’t you already—”
“It’s complicated,” I managed, laughing and crying at the same time.
“You’re so screwed,” she says, pulling back to look at me.
Her eyes were wide, flickering between relief, disbelief, and something almost like hurt.
“You never told us. You never mentioned a fiancé. About a husband. About any of this!” Her voice cracks a little, and I could see the questions building behind her expression—worry, confusion, maybe even a little anger that I’d kept this whole world from her.
For a moment, she looks as if she wants to hug me again or shake me.
Guilt twists in my stomach, sharp and unexpected.
The joy from the proposal dims, replaced by shame for keeping secrets.
For a moment, my happiness shifts into anxiety—maybe I was afraid they’d judge me, or see how desperate things really were.
I missed them so much, but letting them in meant admitting what I’d been hiding and how alone I felt.
I worry I’ve damaged something fragile by keeping my distance, as emotions swing from joy to uncertainty.
“I know. I’m sorry. It’s—it’s a long story.”
Kai approaches, hands in his pockets, looking awkward but pleased. “I have so many questions,” he says, glancing at Lorenzo. “But he let me drive his R8 here, so I guess he’s alright.”
I glance at Lorenzo, who’s watching all of this with a smug, satisfied smile. His cousin Costa is there too, congratulating him while sneaking looks at my sister.
“You did all this?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
“I would tear the world apart for you, Zara.” He stepped closer, cupping my face. “Flying your family here was the easy part.”
I kissed him again. Harder this time, pouring everything I can’t say into the press of my lips against his.
“Alright, alright, break it up,” Marcus called out, clapping his hands. “Drinks! This calls for a toast. Where’s the champagne?”
I pull back, laughing, and look at the ring on my finger again. It glints in the candlelight, beautiful and impossible.
Two weeks ago, I was drinking alone in a bar, heartbroken and lost.
Now I’m in Verona, surrounded by roses and candles and the family I thought I’d lost, engaged to a man who looks at me like I’m the only thing in the world that matters.
Love, I think, isn’t something you go searching for. It finds you when you’ve stopped believing you’re worthy of it. When your heart is bruised and guarded, and exhausted from surviving. It slips into the cracks, anyway.
For so long, being loved felt fragile to me. Temporary. Like standing on thin ice and waiting for the first crack beneath your feet. I learned early that people leave. Those promises disappear. That if you leaned too hard on someone, eventually they’d let go and watch you fall.
So I made myself smaller. Easier to leave. Easier to disappoint.
Then Lorenzo found me.
Not when I was confident or whole or ready for something beautiful. He found me heartbroken and dragging a suitcase through a bar, convinced I was too damaged to deserve more than scraps of affection and temporary attention.
And somehow, impossibly, he loved me like none of those things mattered.
Not carefully.
Not halfway.
Completely.
He loved me in a way that forced me to confront every ugly thing I believed about myself. Every wound. Every fear. Every quiet voice inside me that whispered you are too much to keep and never enough to stay for.
Lorenzo silenced those voices without even realizing it.
Not because he saved me.
Because he looked at me—really looked at me—and treated me like I was worth protecting. Worth choosing. Worth loving without conditions attached.
I looked up at him then, at the man who had turned my entire life upside down. The man who could be possessive and terrifying and impossibly tender all at once. The man who made me feel seen in ways I didn’t know I’d been aching for.
“Thank you,” I whispered softly.
His expression immediately softened as he brushed his thumb across my cheek. “For what?”
“For teaching me that I deserved to be loved.”
Something vulnerable flickered through his eyes at that.
Then he leaned down and pressed a slow kiss against my forehead, holding me close enough that I could hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my ear.
“Always, Tesoro,” he murmured quietly. “Always.”