36. Chloe
Chapter 36
Chloe
“ O h, donzella ,” my mum whispers, dabbing the corners of her eyes. “ Sei Bellissima … like the princess I’ve always known you to be.”
Her words, a mixture of Italian and English, wrap around me like a warm embrace, filling my heart with a quiet, unshakable joy.
“Thank you, Mamma.”
I turn to face the mirror as my fingertips lightly brush over the fabric of my wedding dress, grounding me in this dream-like moment. The gown exudes an enchanting, sophisticated charm, and I genuinely feel like the princess my mother claims me to be.
The strapless sweetheart neckline glitters with shimmering crystals and intricate beadwork, catching the light whenever I move. The bodice fits like a second skin, and the voluminous tulle skirt cascades effortlessly to the floor, its hemline adorned with delicate lace appliqué. My veil is weightless and trails down my back, its edges skimming the floor with a quiet, graceful elegance.
For a brief moment, everything fades as I inhale a deep breath. I don’t just see a woman about to marry the love of her life. I see someone transformed, glowing with the promise of a brand-new chapter, ready to embrace her happily ever after. An ending, I thought, eluded me.
“You look so happy, baby girl. I can’t begin to tell you what that means to me.”
I glance at my mother over one shoulder. “I’m deliriously happy,” I reply, smiling softly. “Are you happy, Mamma?”
“ Si, si . I’m right where I always dreamed I’d be. Being with you and your Papa again is all I’ve ever wished for.”
I have so much to be grateful for. Alexander didn’t just give me my life back; he also gave me my family. My parents have somehow found their way back to each other, picking up where they left off, putting old grudges aside, and simply cherishing the time they lost. It’s as if the years of separation and hurt never happened.
My attention moves to the door when someone knocks. “Come in,” I say.
When the door opens, I see it’s my father, flanked by Dante who’s looking very dapper in his tux. Given his similarities to Alexander, it’s a sneak peek at what I can expect when I exit the house and walk down the aisle to marry my future husband.
Just the thought has the nerves taking flight in my stomach.
Dante’s eyes slowly travel down the length of my body, and he lets out a low whistle before his gaze flickers back to my face, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips.
“My brother hesitated to send me in here, so I promised him I’d be on my best behaviour.”
“You might want to try a little harder,” my father says, chuckling.
“Honestly, I’m just glad he’s found happiness with you, Chlo. I never thought I was the marrying type, but seeing you two together makes me want something like that.”
“I hope you find that one day,” I say.
He nods sharply as he clears his throat. “Thank you for everything you’ve given him. I’ve never seen him happier. He deserves it after what he’s been through. The last one really did a number on him.”
“Sophia?”
“Hmm … her,” he mumbles, clearly unimpressed. “I wish my brother had let my father handle it when the truth came out, but I understand why he didn’t.”
“He did it for his son,” my mother says. When I side-eye her, she adds, “I was around when all that happened. It was a dreadful time.”
I often have to remind myself that she was part of this family years before I came along.
“Anyway,” Dante murmurs, clearing his throat, “Alexander asked me to give you this.” He hands me a small, wrapped gift. He lightly grasps my shoulder, kisses both of my cheeks and then steps back.
“Welcome to the family, little sis.”
My arm is linked through my father’s as we step outside, the soft crunch of gravel beneath our feet as we head towards the ceremony that awaits us on the cliff’s edge, overlooking the endless horizon at the rear of Alexander’s father’s estate. The salty breeze brushes my face as the quiet anticipation simmers in my chest.
I’ve sensed Alexander’s mixed emotions since we arrived in Italy. An undercurrent of nostalgia tied more to his past than to this moment. I have no doubt where his heart lies. He’s made it clear that he’s eager to take me as his bride.
I glance down at the antique ring on my right hand that was carefully wrapped in the small gift Dante had brought me. Delicate and timeless. It belonged to his grandmother before being passed down to his mother. The handwritten note tucked alongside it carried words that made my heart pause:
An heirloom for you to hand down to our daughter.
Alexander xx
It’s more than a ring; it promises a legacy, family, and a future we’re building together.
The sentiment behind it lingers in my mind, and a sigh escapes me as my hand drifts over my flat stomach. I hope to fulfil that wish for him one day.
Alexander asked me to stop taking my birth control a few weeks ago. He’s eager—almost desperate—for us to start a family. I know it’s not just about our future. It’s his lingering fear of Sophia’s return and the thought of her taking Giovanni away from us. It’s as if he’s trying to build a family of our own to solidify everything.
It’s heartbreaking.
That firm, strong, stubborn, and sometimes pigheaded man, at his core, is someone who’s just longing for the love he so freely offers to the people he cares about.
I hope to be that person for him.
As my father and I round the corner, I fill my lungs with air as we pause at the edge of the red carpet that has been laid out for me.
Just ahead, Alexander stands at the arbour we helped build earlier today. The elegantly twisted and painted matte black wrought iron arches are breathtaking—bold yet graceful. White roses, peonies, and tulle weave through the structure, softening it with a romantic touch. With the stunning backdrop of the sea, it is a spectacular sight.
When Andrea Bocelli’s “The Prayer,” featuring Celine Dion, begins to play—the song I chose for this moment—Alexander straightens. The instant our eyes meet, he gives me one of his devastating smiles, and my heart overflows with love for him.
As I take my first step, I know I’m walking toward something we both long for. He’s changed my life in ways I could never imagine.
He slips his hands deep into his trouser pockets and rocks back on his feet as his gaze briefly drops to the grass beneath his feet. When he looks up at me again, I catch the glisten in his eyes, and a tight knot forms in my throat.
Giovanni’s sweet, smiling face turns from mine and glances up at his father standing beside him. When he notices the emotion on his face, he instinctively wraps his little arms around Alexander’s leg in a gesture of comfort. The sight blurs my vision with tears.
These two have become so important to me.
As soon as I’m close enough, Alexander reaches for me, wrapping me tightly in his arms. “ Smi togli il fiato ,” he whispers.
“You look pretty, Chlo. Like one of those princesses on the Disney channel,” Giovanni adds, joining in by wrapping his arms around my legs, but his tiny body gets swallowed up by the layers of fabric in the skirt of my dress.
“She’s no princess … she’s my queen,” Alexander states. “Always and forever.”
I smile through my tears. “ Ti amo tanto ,” I tell him.
“Your love is all I’ll ever need, bella . L’amore vince sempre. ”
He’s right; love does conquer everything.
“ Luna Mezzo Mare ”, sung by Patrizio Buanne , blares through the speakers. Our hands are clasped in the air as we move around in a circle, smiling, singing, and dancing. I’m pretty sure we’re all a little tipsy—everyone except Giovanni, who’s still as sharp as ever.
The wine and food flowed freely at our wedding reception all day, and the atmosphere has been pure joy. The happiness I feel in this moment is euphoric.
My wedding has far exceeded anything I could have ever dreamed of. Just a year ago, I was barely holding on, struggling to stay afloat, going through the motions of each endless, miserable day, feeling like there was no future to look forward to.
Now, here I am, back in Italy, standing on the pristine grounds of a castle overlooking the Ionian Sea and living my best life. It feels almost unreal.
I look around at the people I love, and I can hardly believe it, but it’s true.
Alexander slides his arms around my waist and spins me effortlessly. “Are you happy, Mrs Mancini?”
I’m still trying to wrap my head around the reality of being Mrs Alexander Mancini .
“So happy, Mr Mancini,” I reply, cupping his face and pulling him in for a kiss.
He smiles against my lips, his voice low and full of warmth. “ Sei un sogno diventato realtà. ”
You are a dream come true.
And he is mine, too.
I feel a slight tug on my dress and glance down to find Giovanni looking up at me. His eyes are wide and full of curiosity. “Chlo,” he says, his voice soft but serious. “Now that you’re married to my dad, does that mean you’re my mum?”
My heart skips a beat, and I smile down at him, feeling the weight of his question settle in my chest. The love and tenderness in his eyes overwhelm me.
“Kind of,” I say softly, glancing up at Alexander with a questioning look. He smiles back, his gaze full of warmth as I crouch down to Giovanni’s level, my heart swelling. “Your real mum will always be your mum,” I say gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. “But now that I’m married to your dad, I am technically your stepmother.”
Giovanni nods slowly, processing my words with a seriousness that feels much older than his years. A bright smile spreads across his face, and before I can react, he launches himself against me, wrapping his little arms around my neck so tightly that I almost lose my balance. But Alexander’s quick to steady me, his hand warm on my back.
“I love you, Mummy,” he whispers in my ear, his soft but sincere voice catching me off guard. My heart swells as I hold him close and give myself a moment to let those words settle in.
How will we survive when it’s time to give him back?
We only have three more days left in Italy before returning home. I’m going to be sad to leave this place, but Alexander assures me we can come back any time we like.
My parents are visiting family while we are here. Antonio and his wife flew back to Australia last week. Dante has been coming and going regularly—where he goes, I have no idea—but the way Alexander frowns whenever he leaves the house tells me it’s not somewhere good .
Alexander, Giovanni, and I are on our way to meet Sophia. I’m not sure how I feel about it. When we arrived, Alexander texted her a couple of times, but we didn’t hear back until yesterday.
He wanted to do the right thing, allowing her to see her son while we were here if she wanted to. I know he’s doing this for Giovanni, but it doesn’t make it any easier.
Alexander’s been quiet the entire drive, so I can only guess he’s as uneasy about this as I am.
I glance into the back seat at Giovanni, watching him fiddle with his seat belt. “Are you excited to see your mum?” I ask gently.
He shrugs his little shoulders, the uncertainty evident in his eyes. “Yeah … but I’m coming home with you and Dad, right? I don’t have to stay with her?”
Before I can answer, Alexander’s voice cuts through the air, low and firm. “You’re coming home with us,” he growls, his tone leaving no room for doubt.
I can feel the tension in the car, the air thick with unspoken words, so I reach over to rest my hand on Alexander’s leg, silently offering my support. He’s doing this for all the right reasons, wanting to give Giovanni the chance to see his mother, but I hate the position it’s putting him in. She is so unpredictable, and the unknown scares me most.
I gently squeeze his leg, hoping it’ll reassure him, even if just a little. He doesn’t say anything, but I feel him relax slightly under my touch.
We’ll get through this together.
When we reach the address she gave us, I’m taken aback. It’s not a hotel or a home. It’s a small stone church sitting idly in the middle of nowhere. There’s nothing around but a few weathered signs.
“Why would she tell us to meet her here?” I ask, confusion lacing my voice .
The whole situation feels off, and I can’t shake the sense that something isn’t right. Alexander’s grip on the wheel tightens, his jaw clenched as he scans the area, no doubt thinking the same thing.
He exhales sharply. “I don’t know, but I’m giving her ten minutes, and if she doesn’t arrive, we are leaving.”
Unfortunately, a few minutes later, a car pulls up in front of us. We both stare out the windshield at the battered vehicle, weathered by time and neglect. Its faded paint, once a bright shade of red, is now dull, with patches of rusted metal underneath that has started to show through. The once-chrome bumper is also tarnished and pitted, with spots of rust.
I swallow thickly when Sophia steps out of the passenger side, and my breath catches in my throat. She’s wearing a barely there red dress that clings to her curves, cut so low it leaves little to the imagination, and sky-high heels that click loudly as she strides towards us.
I’m not usually one to judge, but she looks like she’s heading out for a night on the town—or worse, to work a street corner—rather than trying to reconnect with her son.
Alexander removes his seat belt and exits the car, rounding the vehicle to meet Sophia as she approaches.
A younger man eventually climbs out of the driver’s side of the other vehicle, lights a cigarette, and begins walking toward them with a purposeful stride. My first instinct is to get out as well.
He doesn’t look threatening—though, in reality, my husband could snap him like a twig without breaking a sweat—but my protective instincts are already on high alert.
I turn to Giovanni, who’s watching with wide eyes, unsure of what’s happening. “Stay in the car until I come to get you, okay, sweetie?”
“Okay, Mummy,” he replies, his voice soft but steady .
The word hits me in a way I’m still getting used to. As much as I love that he sees me as a mother figure, there’s a flicker of worry in the pit of my stomach. I hope he doesn’t refer to me as that in front of Sophia. That woman already hates me with a passion, and hearing Giovanni call me “Mummy” would probably send her into a rage.
As I step out of the car and approach them, I can feel Sophia’s gaze before I even see it. The look she gives me is cold and lethal, like she’s sizing me up, deciding just how much she despises me at this moment. It doesn’t faze me in the slightest because, I can assure you, the feeling is mutual.
“What is she doing here?” she spits, her words sharp like daggers.
“She’s my wife,” Alexander replies firmly, his voice calm but edged with finality. “She comes with me wherever I go.”
Sophia scoffs, her voice laced with bitterness. “You never took me with you when I was your wife.”
“That’s because I married Chloe by choice …”
He lets the sentence hang in the air, unspoken words lingering between them. The meaning is clear … he never wanted to marry her, and she knows it.
Alexander’s gaze then moves to the guy standing beside her. “And if you want to keep those teeth in your head, I’d appreciate it if you stopped looking at my wife like that.”
His hands shoot up defensively in front of him, and as he retreats a step, Sophia’s arm comes out to whack him in the chest. “Are you serious right now, Luigi?” she whines. Her gaze hardens, her lips curling into a sneer when she turns back to face my husband. “Where is my son?”
I reply before Alexander can, trying to keep my voice calm despite the rising tension. “He’s in the car.”
“I didn’t ask you, puttana, ” she growls, her tone dripping with contempt .
Before I can say anything else, Alexander advances, his patience clearly running out, and even the guy standing beside her senses it because he retreats another two steps.
“I’ve warned you about calling her that.”
The heat in his voice is unmistakable. I can feel the fury radiating off his body, like a quiet storm about to erupt. His muscles are tense, and his jaw is clenched tight. I reach out instinctively, placing my hand on his arm.
Sophia lifts her chin, unbothered. “Get my son so we can go.”
“Go where?” Alexander asks.
“Luigi and I are taking him out to lunch.”
“In that piece of shit?” my husband asks, flicking his chin towards the car they arrived in. “We didn’t agree to that.”
She stabs her claw-like finger in the air in his direction. “He’s my son … I am his mother. I don’t need your permission.”
“Where are you taking him?”
“There’s a place not far from here.”
“What’s it called?”
“Trattoria Angelo,” she says without missing a beat. “I haven’t seen my kid in months. We didn’t drive all this way for a quick hug. I want to spend some time with him and talk to him about school. I’ll bring him back when I’m done.”
I don’t like this one bit, but there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
“Why are you so interested all of a sudden? Not once have you even bothered to ask.”
“Like I told you, I’ve been busy … today I’m not.”
“Text me the restaurant’s address, and I’ll come and get him in two hours.”
“Fine. ”
Alexander reluctantly opens the back door and helps Giovanni out of the car. As soon as she sees him, Sophia’s face softens, and she crouches down, arms wide in a false display of affection. “My baby,” she coos, her voice sickly sweet; it makes me cringe.
I have to turn my head away. Not only do I want to avoid the scene—because I can’t stomach watching her try to play the doting mother after everything—but her dress is so short that I’m likely to catch a glimpse of what she had for breakfast. I bite my lip, pushing the image from my mind, my stomach turning.
Sophia’s manipulation is as transparent as her outfit, and it’s hard not to feel disgusted by her.
“Say goodbye to your father,” Sophia demands, her voice sharp as she holds Giovanni by the shoulders.
Giovanni’s eyes widen, his face contorting with confusion and a flicker of panic. He looks up at his father as if searching for reassurance. “You said I was coming back with you,” he whispers, his tiny voice trembling.
Alexander’s expression softens, but there’s a quiet frustration in his tone. “You are, buddy,” he replies, crouching to meet his son’s eyes. “Your mother’s just going to take you somewhere for lunch. Chloe and I will come and get you soon.”
“Okay,” Giovanni mumbles, but the dejection in his voice tugs at my heartstrings, making it harder to stay composed.
He hugs his father, holding on longer than necessary, like he’s afraid to let go. When he finally pulls away, he turns to me, and the hint of sadness in his eyes tears me up inside. “Bye, Mummy.”
My heart aches at the sound of those words, but before I can respond, Sophia’s shrill voice cuts through the air. “What did you just call her?” she shrieks, her hand shooting out to roughly grab Giovanni’s arm, tugging him toward her with a force that makes me flinch.
“Hey!” Alexander roars, fury in his voice as he steps forward, his eyes burning with anger. “Don’t you dare grab him like that.”
Sophia’s eyes snap to him; she says nothing, but her gaze is full of venom. When her attention returns to Giovanni, she spits, “That woman is not your mother.” Her words are dripping with hatred. “Don’t you ever let me hear you call her that again.”
Giovanni shrinks back from her, but it’s like a knife twisting in my chest. Her words cut deep, not just for me, but for him.