32. Athena
THIRTY-TWO
ATHENA
T he picturesque town of Ischia on the island of the same name in the Campania region of southern Italy was surrounded by the Tyrrhenian Sea. Its vibrant colors blended with the azure colors of the sea, and I’d never seen anything so beautiful. Locals were busy working their shops, chatting animatedly with their neighbors.
We’d been walking the town’s cobblestone streets for hours, Manuel’s men making trips back and forth to the car with our shopping bags.
“Why do I need so much?” I asked for the hundredth time as we stopped in front of yet another store. “Your closet was already stocked with new clothes for me.” A thought occurred to me and I stiffened. “Unless those were meant for someone else.”
“They’re all meant for you. I had Signora Fiore make arrangements when we left the clinic last night.” He chuckled, his arm hooked casually around my shoulder, guiding me inside yet another store. “ Buon giorno, Signore Gioiello .”
The salesman rushed over to us, a charming man with graying hair. He took Manuel’s free hand and shook it enthusiastically, smiling widely while a string of rushed Italian left his mouth. Manuel responded in Italian, but I caught only one word. Inglese.
The salesman turned to me with wide eyes.
“Ahhh, inglese ,” he said, studying me with open interest. “Of course, we speak inglese . What can we do for you?”
“Athena, this is Signore Gioiello, the store owner.”
I smiled, extending my hand. “Nice to meet you.”
The store owner took my hand, shaking it just as enthusiastically. “So happy you chose our store today.”
Manuel pulled me toward a glass display filled with jewelry. One ring caught my eye straightaway—a green emerald set on a platinum gold band, surrounded by black diamonds that reminded me of onyx eyes. For a single moment, I let myself imagine what it’d look like on my finger, how Manuel might look as he slid it on.
“Why are we buying jewelry?” I whispered under my breath, my eyes darting between him, the glass case, and Signore Gioiello.
A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he leaned against the counter.
“We’re getting wedding rings.”
My mouth dropped open. “W-wedding rings?”
He smiled proudly, like he just scored the jackpot.
I blinked, trying to clear my head from the rush of blood in my ears. He turned his attention to the glass display. “I like this one.” I followed his gaze to the beautiful emerald wedding band. It felt like a moment suspended in time. Out of all the rings on display, he’d homed in on the very one I’d been admiring. “Of course, you can have anything you want.”
“Ha! Sure,” I huffed. “Why don’t you just tell him to bag it all up?”
Without missing a beat, he turned to the store manager. “You heard my fiancée. We’re buying it all.”
“ Manuel ,” I hissed. Then, looking at the clerk, I stuttered, “N-no. Scusi . I was joking. He’s joking.” I arched a brow at Manuel.
“Ship it to the house.”
I brought a palm to my face and heaved a long sigh. “Jesus Christ.”
Signore Gioiello’s head followed our exchange with wide eyes. “Bag it, Gioiello.”
He moved around the counter, opened the glass cabinet, and started setting thousands— millions probably—of dollars’ worth of jewelry into their delicate boxes while I stared in shock.
“Stop, please just stop,” I said in an exasperated tone. This would have been funny, even somewhat romantic, if it were happening in the pages of my books. But this was real life. “I never even agreed to marry you. As a matter of fact, you just decided we’d get married but haven’t even asked.”
The words rushed out of me, my eyes burning with emotion. It was only earlier today that I admitted to him I didn’t want to have a baby out of wedlock. It wasn’t exactly asking him to marry me, but what if he felt… trapped?
“I think we’re beyond grand gestures, amore mio .” His voice was rough, the vehemence of it touching my skin. “But you’re right; I haven’t made myself clear.” His eyes softened. “I want you to choose us . For our baby.”
“I never imagined this was how my proposal would go.”
His eyes flashed with darkness and he reached for the ring I’d been eyeing, then lowered down on one knee.
“Athena Kosta.” He took my cold hand between his warm fingers. “Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
My heart stopped. “Why?”
“Why?” he repeated, his jaw clenching.
“Yes, why?”
“Because I love you.” My heart expanded in my chest. “I think I fell for you the first moment I saw you.”
“You don’t mean that,” I breathed.
Love hurts. Love is painful. My mother’s words rang in my ears. I’d felt nothing but giddiness and butterflies and want since meeting Manuel. I felt… comfortable with him. My heart made funny little flips, but it was always a welcome feeling.
But my experiences, let alone my mother’s, had taught me to question love at every turn. Not sex, because when it was all said and done, that was a physical act. But love … That was something entirely different. I’d seen my mother and her men fall in and out of love too easily and it made me question the sincerity of it all.
I wanted to believe that Manuel loved me, but fear and doubt were stronger.
We stared at each other, silence and vehemence in his eyes consuming me.
“Nobody falls that fast,” I rasped.
“I did.” The tenderness in those two words brought a rush of tears to my eyes. I’d written this very scene countless times, never expecting it might happen to me in real life one day. “I know you’re scared of being disappointed, but I promise to never let you down. I’ll always make you laugh, and you’ll have my unquestionable loyalty, because you deserve it all. You deserve a love that calms your heart, mind, and soul—a love that will never hurt you or disappoint you.” My chest trembled at his words. It was too perfect; it couldn’t be true. And yet… I found myself leaning into him, into the future he was painting for us.
“I—I don’t know,” I murmured.
“I vow to you, amorina , I’ll make you love me too.”
Maybe… maybe I’d fallen for him too? Except, shouldn’t I care about him to the point of pain? That was all I’d ever known—with my mother, my girlfriends.
My heart dipped and squeezed in disappointment. I wanted to love him so desperately that I ached. The thing I was most afraid of and wished for more than anything was staring back at me. Would it be bad to snatch it for myself?
“Be mine, for better or for worse,” he repeated. “Mine alone.”
I reached out and gripped his hand, deciding on this day, under the heat of the Italian sun, with a new life growing inside of me, that I would take a leap of faith. That I would throw caution to the wind and hope I didn’t fall. “Okay,” I whispered, smiling softly. “Let’s do it. I want to marry you.” He wasted no time slipping the ring onto my finger, his own grin threatening to take over his entire handsome face. “But if we do this, you’ll be my property too, paparino .”
His coal-dark eyes were alight with steady conviction: he would make me love him.
But what if I wasn’t capable of it?