Chapter 36
Cora
I think I’m dating my ex-husband.
Lily
Are you happy?
Saar
Sounds like a chick-flick plot twist.
Celeste
Shut up and pay, van den Linden.
Was there a bet going on?
Celeste
No
Saar
Of course
Lily
I didn’t participate but I’m glad you’re giving yourself a second chance.
Saar
She’s giving him a second chance. One he doesn’t deserve.
Yet.
Celeste
Oh, playing hard to get.
Protecting my heart at all costs.
Saar
How is that going for you?
Failing miserably.
Saar
Make him grovel, but for what it’s worth I believe you belong together.
I thought you bet against us.
Saar
Only because I hate his guts for the pain he caused.
I love you all.
The shy winter sun seeps through the window, the curtain billowing. I left the window open last night, and now I don’t want to get out from under the soft, warm covers.
I don’t have to.
The thought stretches the corners of my mouth into a smile. For years I had been waking up with a frown, a jolt of anxiety, and a rush. Always catching up, always late, always hurrying.
I guess Tuscany is my new paradise. A place where I can shut down the outer world, the responsibilities, and just let my work ripple out to the world with passion.
Fuck, I’m happy.
I grin like an idiot, replaying the past two weeks in my head. The man is dating me. No kissing. No holding hands. No sex.
Only attention, care, laughter, companionship. It’s like we’re rediscovering pieces of who we were together, but at the same time we dance around it, too afraid to fully dive in.
Okay, I’m the one that’s scared, and unlike before, he’s just standing beside me, waiting for my cue. For my heart to trust again.
Because let’s face it, my body has been onboard, and if the man kisses my hand one more time, I may just combust.
Xander has been respectful.
There is a part of me that is holding back, waiting for the reveal of another manipulation. Everything suggests he learned the lesson, but everything seemed perfect before as well.
Because it fucking was perfect, minus the origin story.
I slide out of my bed and take a long, warm shower. As I go through my morning routine, I spend half the time smiling as I replay our recent encounters, and the other half frowning and deliberating on where we go from here.
I’m so mad at him for what he did to us.
I’m so in love with him at the same time.
I make a cup of coffee and cut a small piece of pistachio Danish and bomboloni from yesterday. Because yes, after that first dinner, Xander started sending both every morning.
I told him to stop sending them, because as much as I love the pastries and the gesture, I don’t want to deal with the consequences of this overindulgence.
As every day, right at ten, the delivery truck pulls up to the front, I take my coffee out to greet him.
“Buongiorno, signorina.” He shuts the rear door and carries a bunch of sunflowers to me.
“Grazie.” I take the flowers from him, balancing them in one hand, waiting for the white box that always comes with them.
The delivery guy salutes me and walks back to his truck.
I stare down at the sunflowers, still cradled in the crook of my elbow, their golden heads brushing my collarbone.
No pastries today.
Just flowers.
He listened.
No pastries.
The small absence carries more weight than all the white boxes before it.
It’s not about sugar or calories or restraint. It’s about him. About Xander Stone—the man who once steamrolled his way into my life like everything could be bought, solved, or seduced—pausing.
Listening.
Respecting what I asked for without turning it into a debate. Without teasing. Without testing my resolve.
It feels like trust. Or maybe the beginning of it. And it scares me how much that means.
I glance down at the sliver of leftover Danish on my plate and push it aside, my appetite suddenly dulled by something heavier. Something softer.
This version of him—the man who stopped sending pastries, who holds back when he used to push—is quieter. But no less intense. If anything, the restraint makes it worse.
Because now I can’t pretend it’s all charm and impulse.
He cares. He sees me. He knows me.
And I fucking miss us. Him.
Not the pastries. Not the grand gestures.
Him.
My phone rings, pulling me out of the endless loop of thoughts, pros-and-cons lists, and emotional swings.
“Andrew.” I sit down on the porch swing.
“Cora, sorry to interrupt your vacation,” my agent starts. “I’m calling with good news. I have two formal offers from publishers.”
My heart skips a beat. “That’s… that’s… oh my God, that’s wonderful, Andrew. Two?”
“Yes, I will forward you the details, so we can discuss the pros and cons of each of them. I do have two minor changes to the manuscript. Do you want me to email them?”
More changes? Jesus. “Let me take notes. Just give me a moment.”
“Sure.”
I fetch my pen and grab the sunflower notebook from my purse. Andrew gives me his ideas as I quickly jot them down.
“Oh, that’s nothing major. Let me play with it, and I’ll send you the new version later today.”
We end the call, and I collapse into the chair, smiling. Two potential publishers? This is really happening.
Mindlessly, I play with the corners of the notebook, letting the joy float through. The notebook flops open at the back.
What are these notes?
Own a private island — Tiny. Useless. Mine.
Oh my God, I forgot I made this bucket list one night after I had a glass or two of Zinfandel more than I should have had.
See the Northern Lights wrapped in a ridiculous fur coat.
Eat my weight in pizza in Tuscany. Maybe live there for a while.
Have my stories published.
Finally give up the bistro.
Be held like someone’s first and last choice.
Forgive my mother (maybe).
Fly first class without guilt.
Find a way to matter outside of duty.
I stare at the list, my heart pounding. I own an island. I’m in Tuscany.
Now we eat our weight in pizza. That’s what he said when he brought the cats.
My stories are about to get published. I gave up the bistro. I flew first class. I write, and I oversee C.O.R.A., not out of duty but because I want to, because it matters and fulfills me.
And all of it… because of a man whose first and last choice I have been.
Has he read this list? One I forgot about but he made happen, regardless? Because so often, he knew what was better before I found the courage to face it.
With trembling hands, I open the messaging app.
I got a publishing deal.
Xander
I always knew you’d slay it.
Thank you for the flowers.
Xander
Are you missing the pastries? (winking emoji)
Missing you.
I don’t get any answer, but somehow I don’t worry. I just walk outside and sit on the porch, knowing he’s on his way.
Sure enough, his large, expensive truck pulls up in front of the house shortly after. He practically falls out of it, tripping to get to me.
I don’t even try to stifle my smile, watching him lose all the swagger and grace he usually carries too confidently.
He stops at the base of the steps and looks at me with such intensity, I’m glad I’m sitting.
“I miss you, too, Coraline, very fucking much.”
“Do you want to go for a walk?”
“With you, I would watch paint dry.”
I roll my eyes. “Enough with the poetry, young man; I want to enjoy the sunshine.” I stand up and bounce down to join him.
We grin at each other for a moment, before I recover and hitch my shoulder toward the vineyards.
We walk in silence. It’s kind of comfortable, but also filled with tension. He is giving me space, I know that. I understand the ball is in my court. I just don’t quite know how to serve it.
We climb up the hill and turn to admire the rolling hills. The olive trees rustle in the background, and I inhale the fresh air.
I’m content. Almost completely happy.
Just one thing missing. I turn to Xander, and all my thoughts come to a halt when I meet his intense gaze.
While I was admiring the view, he was staring at me. “Are you okay?”
“I’d really like to kiss you,” he breathes, his voice low, a little rough.
My breath catches.
He’s not assuming. Not leaning in already. He’s waiting. That shouldn’t undo me the way it does.
The air fills with anticipation, but also something else, like we’re worried the kiss may not feel the same. Like it may bring all the damage to the surface. At least, that’s where my hesitation lies.
But we need to leap. I swallow. “Okay.”
He steps closer.
His hand brushes my cheek, fingertips trailing along my jaw like he’s reading me in Braille.
When his mouth meets mine, it’s not urgent. It’s reverent. His lips are soft, his kiss patient—like he’s testing where it will lead us.
And the moment deepens naturally, our bodies sighing in relief.
My hand finds the lapel of his jacket, gripping it as his mouth opens slightly, deepening the kiss. His other arm circles my waist, pulling me flush against him.
I feel the sharp inhalation of his breath against my skin.
And just like that, the space between want and need disappears.
Too fast.
I press my hand against his chest.
“Xander,” I whisper, pulling back just an inch. My lips are tingling, my heart galloping.
He stills immediately, eyes locked on mine, searching.
“I want to take this slowly,” I say, voice quieter now. “Not because I don’t want you. But because… I do, but I’m still waiting for—” I don’t want to say it. I don’t believe he’d break me again, but something in me still resists.
My instincts scream at me to have faith, but Ethan and my father broke that inner confidence. And to a certain extent, Xander did too.
His thumb brushes the edge of my jaw. “Then slow is exactly what we’ll do.”
My chest tightens. With relief. With regret. With the first tender rays of trust.
“Okay,” I breathe.
We walk down the hill holding hands. It’s strange, and completely normal at the same time.
“Are you hungry?” he asks when we reach the estate.
As if on cue, my stomach growls, and we both laugh. “Do you want to walk to the village and eat our weight in pizza?”
He jerks his head, something akin to fear flushing through his eyes.
“You read my list.” I smile, so he knows I don’t mind.
He sighs. “You left the notebook at my hotel’s spa, and it opened, and I…”
I chuckle. “It has that tendency. It just opened randomly for me.”
“I’m sorry.”
I grin. “Thank you.”
He narrows his eyes. “I fucked up with that island.”
“Only because I forgot about that list.”
“Shit.” He laughs. “So you wanted none of it. I did it for nothing.”
“Not nothing.” I kiss his cheek. “You did it for me.”
Again we grin at each other, until my stomach growls one more time.
After our lunch, Xander drives me back to the main house.
“What are you thinking about?” He breaks the silence when he parks.
“It’s so beautiful here. I think I want to stay longer,” I say, overwhelmed by the views and the emotions.
Xander plays with the car keys. “That’s okay. We can stay for as long as you want.”
We?
After a beat of silence, he adds, “I’ll stay in the guest house, of course.”
Don’t.
“You don’t need to go back to New York? What about Merged?” I shift in my seat to look at him.
“I sold my share.” He shrugs.
I blink. “What? Why?”
“After I left the family business, I believed that building my own firm meant freedom. When you came to confront me in my office, I lost precious minutes in a meeting that seemed utterly unnecessary. I don’t want to spend my time doing things that don’t matter.
Much less if they prevent me from being with you when it matters. ”
I had resisted this man.
I had married this man.
I fell for this man.
I hated what he did to me.
I divorced him.
A complete circle on the emotional scale. And here I am with butterflies in my stomach.
Smitten by him. Not just the Xander I grew to know and love. But this humbled version of the man he grew into.
Not just for me, but for himself.
He looks at me through his eyelashes. No smirk—just boyish vulnerability he carries like a man. “I thought I could make you happy with gifts, throwing money around. I don’t want to change that, but I recognize there is more to a meaningful life than that. And you’re a part of that meaning for me.
“I have enough money to last a lifetime. I don’t need to make more, because it would never fill the void in a life without you. But I can use my skills to grow C.O.R.A. or similar programs. One cereal box at a time.”
And it’s like that last piece on the forgiveness puzzle clicks in. Because this might be the first time Xander Stone is not wearing a mask.
The moment grows heavy, and fuck, I need a break from the pent-up, loaded moments. “But then you won’t be an entitled rich asshole anymore,” I tease.
“I’ll still be an asshole.” He winks, leaning into our familiar banter.
I bite my lip, my grin splitting my face by now. “My asshole.”
He lets out a heavy sigh of relief. “Only yours.”