CHAPTER 52
Edoardo
“Con, why on earth do we have to stop in Carmel before flying to the Alps?” Caroline frowns, tugging her jacket tighter as we walk. “We literally live here. We can drive to Carmel whenever we want.”
Connor flashes that infuriatingly innocent grin. “Because I want to see a new property. And you know how rare it is for one to hit the market here.” He waves us forward. “Come on, slowpokes.”
Caroline groans, then pivots toward her parents. “And you are not planning to buy here, right? I want my own place someday. You can visit, obviously, but I don’t want us owning neighboring houses like some sitcom family.”
Her parents exchange a look and shrug, suspiciously noncommittal, then keep striding ahead.
“Here it is.” Connor checks his phone, pushes open the gate, and scans the driveway. “Huh. No agent. Where the hell is she?”
Celina points to a small metal box by the door. “Key lock. Password. Half the time they don’t even show up anymore unless you specifically ask for a showing.”
“But these places are worth millions,” Connor mutters, still scanning the yard like a realtor might leap out from behind a tree at any second.
A few minutes later we’re inside, sunlight spilling across polished floors, the air faintly salted and warm with cedar. We tour quickly, then head back out.
“I like that one,” Charles, Caroline’s father, says, falling into step beside Connor, his stride still light and athletic. “But let’s see the other.”
If no one told me Connor was Caroline’s best friend, I’d swear he was their son. The way they move together, the teasing, the ease, the quiet affection. It’s family, no question.
Connor checks his watch and leans toward Caroline, voice low but not low enough. “Quick, Cara. Did Edoardo wear you out so badly you forgot how to walk?”
He barely finishes before she punches him in the arm.
“Ow! Assault!” he yowls, clutching himself.
Celina lifts her hands, laughing. “Hey, I’m not with him. Aim properly.”
I can’t help smiling. The neighborhood is hushed, only our footsteps and the distant crash of waves filling the air. I fell in love with this town the first time I came over a year ago, when Stefano dragged us here, back when he and Gigi had just gotten together.
I remember wondering what it would feel like to live here for a while. Weeks, maybe months. A quiet pocket away from Milan, from London, from the constant hum of everything.
And after I met Caroline, I wanted to bring her somewhere that felt like ours. Somewhere the world couldn’t quite reach us.
“Here we are,” Connor announces.
“Wow,” Celina breathes. “This is gorgeous.”
“Charming,” Liz, Caroline’s mother, says softly.
“Spectacular,” Charles exhales, as if the view fills his lungs.
We wander through the house, and Caroline, my Cara, moves like she’s under a spell. She trails her fingers along the banister, pauses at the windows, steps onto the porch overlooking the sea, then back inside, eyes bright with wonder.
We’re all a little stunned.
Connor whistles. “Beautiful. I’d buy it myself if none of you do.”
“How much is it?” Caroline murmurs, still half lost, circling the room again. “God, look at that view. It’s like living inside a painting.”
She laughs, shaking her head. “I used to say I hated quiet. I take it back. I could live here.”
“Should we check the price?” her father asks.
“Yeah, where’s the info? Con, where’s the booklet?”
“There.” Connor steps in from the balcony, pointing to an envelope on the marble table.
Caroline walks over and picks it up.
My heart slams so hard it hurts. My throat dries. My palms turn slick. My pulse roars in my ears like surf.
God. I might actually pass out.
“What’s this?” she frowns, flipping it over.
“What does it say?” Connor calls, still facing the ocean, arm draped around Celina.
The instructions mention a dresser upstairs.
Caroline reads, puzzled. “That’s… weird. I’ve never seen a listing set up like this.”
Connor gestures toward the staircase. “Go on, Cara. We’re right behind you.”
She turns to me, eyes narrowing slightly. “You okay?”
“I’m good,” I say quickly. “Let’s get coffee after. Come on.”
She studies me one beat longer, then heads upstairs. I follow, every step echoing inside my chest.
We enter the master bedroom, stunning view. It’s empty except for an antique, blue chest of drawers. Caroline walks toward it.
“That’s funny,” she says. “Almost looks like the one we liked in that little shop in Naples, Edoardo.”
She opens the top drawer and pulls out a box. Inside is a smaller one.
“Oh, there’s a key.” She smiles. “That’s cute.”
She opens it.
And freezes.
That’s when I drop to one knee. I take the box gently from her hands, my voice somehow steadier than I feel.
“Cara… will you marry me?”
She stares at the key. Then at the ring. Then at me. Then back again, as if her heart needs a second to believe what her eyes already see.
Her breath catches. And suddenly she’s crying, tears spilling fast, bright, unstoppable.
She cries. I wait. The longest seconds of my life.
“Yes,” she whispers, voice trembling. “Yes, I’ll marry you, Edoardo.”
Relief hits me like a wave breaking. Somewhere behind us there’s cheering, laughter, someone grabbing my shoulders but the world narrows to her face, her shaking smile, the way she keeps nodding like she’s afraid I might disappear.
“I love you,” I say, pulling her into a kiss. “I love you so much.”
“I love you too.”
We laugh and cry at the same time, dizzy with it.
Her parents wrap me in fierce embraces. Charles squeezes me hard, voice thick. “I’m so happy for you both. Welcome to the family.”
Liz hugs me next. “Take care of my girl, okay?”
I nod, because there’s nothing else to say. I will. Always. For the rest of our lives. I know that in the deepest corner of my heart.
Connor pulls me into a hug. “Congratulations, man.”
“Couldn’t have done it without you,” I tell him.
“You owe me,” he grins. “I just nudged. You did the hard part.” His voice grows quieter, “and I cannot believe you got engaged before me.”
We burst out laughing, half hysterical, half euphoric. Celina, teary-eyed, hugs Caroline, then her parents. All six of us are a tangled emotional mess.
A beautiful, perfect mess.
For a moment the world feels suspended, like the ocean itself has paused just beyond the windows, holding its breath with us.
The house, the town, the years behind us and the years ahead fold into a single incandescent point where nothing exists except her hand in mine and the quiet certainty blooming in my chest.
I think about every version of us that led here.
The almosts.
The missed chances.
The stubborn silences and reckless returns.
Love, for us, wasn’t gentle at first. It was a rainstorm we kept walking back into, soaked and laughing, daring the thunder (or Michael!) to try again.
And somewhere along the way, we learned the quiet parts too. The patience. The staying.
Caroline wipes her cheeks, still smiling through tears, and I realize this is the face I want to memorize forever - the way joy softens her, the way she looks when it finally feels safe to land.
Thirty minutes later we walk into a little restaurant in the center of town and get immediately tackled by Stefano and Gigi, then Megan, Adam, Deba, Ethan, Michael, Mikey - everyone who refused to let us give up on each other. They’d been hiding all morning, waiting.
The next day we fly to Milan, where my parents, Elena (my fierce, stubborn little sister who bridged me and my parents after months of distance and cold shoulders), Xander, Clive, and half of London and boarding school greet us with cheers loud enough to shake the walls.
Anton beams, fingers laced with Charlie’s in that quiet, tender way that says everything.
I pull Caroline closer, resting my forehead against hers, even as the celebration swells around us.
There will be ordinary mornings and impossible days.
Fights about nothing, laughter about everything.
Long flights, longer nights, homes we build and maybe break and build again.
Life, in all its messy, breathtaking sprawl.
And through it all, it will be us, choosing each other over and over in a thousand quiet ways that matter more than any grand gesture.
Caroline squeezes my hand, the ring catching the light, and I feel that steady pull that has always led me back to her.
Not obligation. Not luck.
But choice. Our choice.
So, here’s to the life waiting beyond this moment. To mornings we haven’t woken up to yet. To arguments that will end in peace when we hold each other. To homes filled with friends and love. To the years that will carve deep lines into our faces and deeper roots into our hearts.
Here’s to loving each other when it’s easy. And when it’s hard.
Here’s to us.
To our messy, beautiful, ridiculous life.
To hard heads and soft hearts.
The journey is only beginning.