Epilogue
EPILOGUE
MATTEO
One Year Later
T he past year hadn’t been easy, but I wouldn’t have traded it for the world. I’d learned that I could handle anything life had to throw at me as long as Ari was by my side.
And by my side she was.
I’d come to the realization that my wife was the most beautiful woman in the world—inside and out. Every time I looked at her, I felt like the luckiest man alive.
I brushed my fingers against her strands of hair, moving them off her forehead. She leaned into my touch and I couldn’t help but smile. It was always like this with us, a magnetic force pushing us to each other.
The gentle breeze swept through the open windows while the sound of the waves crashing against the shore of the Sicilian villa mixed with my wife’s soft snores. We were in the villa my pa bought Mom, enjoying our second honeymoon.
My gaze fell to the letter I’d written for my wife. It’d become sort of a tradition, and I had to admit, seeing Ari melt against me after reading each one was addictive.
“I love you, baby,” I murmured softly. More than you’ll ever know.
I pressed a kiss to her cheek, placed the letter on her nightstand, and slipped out of bed to prepare her breakfast.
Today we’d visit Nonno’s grave where he was laid to rest next to the love of his life—Nonna—and his daughter. I couldn’t wait to share the news with him.
He would have loved this.