Chapter 12 Meet Me in the Garden
Meet Me in the Garden
The last of the guests slip out into the cold night, breaths fogging in the air as they wave their goodbyes. Luna squeezes me so tightly I feel her earrings brush my cheek.
“Text me when you wake up,” she says, eyes bright. “I want pictures of everything tomorrow.”
“Of my gifts?” I ask with a chuckle.
“Let’s go Luna,” Nico urges, his hand on her shoulder.
Luna shrugs his hand off and grabs me into another hug. “I’m so happy for you.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, hugging tighter because our hugs never feel like enough.
Nico stands behind her, a look of yearning and protectiveness I haven’t ever seen in him before.
I let Luna go and she brushes by Nico and out the door.
“Lock the door behind us,” he reminds me, pointing a stern finger even though we both know Santo’s men are right at the gate.
“Yes, yes,” I laugh, shooing him out. “Goodnight.”
When the door clicks shut, I turn the deadbolt like he said. Then I sag against the door, breath leaving me in one long, tired sigh.
“I am so exhausted,” I groan out loud. “We should take a nice, long bath together. And yes you were right about the boots…my feet are dying.”
I push off the door and wander into the living room to Santo, but the room is empty.
No Santo.
My heart gives the smallest, ridiculous pinch. “Santo?”
Silence.
Then, I spot it.
A single snackcake on the console table… surrounded by rose petals. I blink, step closer, pick it up—and there, half hidden behind the lamp, another snackcake. More petals.
I let out a delighted giggle. “Santo Amato, what is this?”
I follow the trail like breadcrumbs, each silly, sweet, individually wrapped snackcake warming my chest as petals guide me through the room and down the hallway.
The trail stops at the glass double doors leading to the garden.
My coat hangs neatly on the hook beside them.
And beneath it… a note. His handwriting.
Meet me in the garden.
My breath catches.
I place the snackcakes on the table by the note and slip into the coat, fingers trembling just a little, excitement buzzing beneath my skin.
I open the door.
And step into the night.
The cold air hits me, but my heart floods with warmth.
The garden is transformed.
Hundreds of tiny lights twinkle like fallen stars, suspended from branches, woven through hedges, reflecting in the frost-kissed ground.
Lanterns line a path of rose petals that disappears around the bend.
“Santo?” I call softly, my voice catching.
No answer, just the gentle guidance of lights and petals. I follow the path, my heels crunching softly on the frozen ground.
As I round the corner, my breath leaves me in a gasp.
The large magnolias with the bench underneath—our favorite spot where we sat countless times, spilling our secrets as we got to know one another, is draped in thousands of twinkling lights.
Candles in glass lanterns flicker, casting golden light across the frost. And there, standing beneath it all, is my husband.
My husband.
Santo’s face is illuminated by the soft glow, his eyes reflecting the lights like stars. His hair is slightly tousled, like he’s run his hands through it nervously.
Santo Amato. Nervous.
My heart thrums against my ribs as I approach him, drawn like a tide to shore.
“What is all this?” I whisper, overwhelmed by the beauty surrounding us, by the intensity in his gaze, by the love in it.
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he takes my hands in his, warming them instantly. His thumbs brush over my knuckles, and I notice the slightest tremble in his touch.
“Dea,” he says, his voice low and rough with emotion. “I’ve given you many things since we met.”
I nod, unable to speak past the lump forming in my throat.
“But I never gave you something you deserved from the beginning.”
Before I can ask what he means, he lowers himself to one knee before me, still holding my hands in his.
My heart stutters.
“Santo,” I breathe, my voice barely audible.
“Vasilisa,” he says, and the way he says my name makes tears spring to my eyes. “When we married, it wasn’t your choice. It wasn’t a moment of joy or celebration. It was strategy. Alliance. Control.”
A tear escapes down my cheek, and he reaches up to brush it away with his thumb.
“I stole that moment from you,” he continues, his voice rougher now. “I took that choice, made it my own. Made it a formality when I gave you my mother’s ring. And you never held it against me. You never asked for what you deserved.”
He removes a small velvet bag from his pocket, opening it, he pulls out—the ring.
My ring.
My palm flies to my mouth. My eyes sting instantly. “You,” My voice cracks, a small sound escaping me. “You… you had it? You had it the whole time?”
He nods once, jaw flexing, eyes warm and soft in a way that makes my knees weaken. “I had to, Dea,” he murmurs. “I needed to have it engraved.”
A tiny, disbelieving laugh breaks from me, choked and shaking. “Oh my god… I thought I lost it forever.”
“Stay with me, Dea… truly choose to stay. Vasilisa Nova Amato… will you choose me? Will you stay my wife—not for alliance, not for duty… but for love?”
“Yes,” I breathe instantly, the word tumbling out of me like it’s been waiting at the edge of my mouth for years. “Yes. Of course. Yes.”
I can’t help bouncing on my heels, excitement bubbling through me.
He lifts the ring toward my hand.
But I catch his wrist, tearful and smiling all at once. “Wait,” I whisper. “What did you engrave?”
His eyes meet mine; dark, devoted, overflowing with the promise he made long ago.
“It says,” he says softly, “Finché il mondo non cesserà di esistere.”
My breath trembles. “Santo…”
His thumb brushes my knuckles.
“It’s what I told you the night you asked if I would search for you if you ever left,” he says softly. “And it’s still true. I would tear through heaven and hell to find you… until the world ceases to exist.”
My vision blurs. My heart breaks open.
“Put it on,” I whisper. “Please.”
Santo slides the ring onto my finger, my mother-in-law’s ring, the one I thought I’d lost forever.
The silver band catches the twinkling lights around us, and I can’t stop the tears that spill down my cheeks.
“It’s perfect,” I whisper, holding my hand up to admire it, the familiar weight settling back where it belongs. “I was so heartbroken when I thought I’d lost it.”
Santo rises to his feet, pulling me against him. His arms wrap around me, strong and steady as always. “I would never let that happen,” he murmurs into my hair. “I protect what’s mine.”
I laugh through my tears, tilting my head back to look up at him. “By stealing it from me?”
His thumb brushes away the wetness on my cheek, his eyes soft in a way only I get to see. “By making it better. By making it a choice this time.”
“It was always my choice,” I say, pressing my palm to his chest, feeling his heart beat beneath my fingertips.
“Even when it wasn’t, it was. I would have chosen you even if I met you at some Bratva meeting or Cosa Nostra wedding I was forced to attend.
I would have seen you and knew you were meant for me. ”
He leans down, pressing his forehead to mine. “And you were meant for me.”
Something inside me cracks open, like every worry I’ve carried all week finally melts into the snow around us.
I rise on my tiptoes, ignoring the ache in my feet, and press my lips to his.
He responds immediately, his hand cradling the back of my neck, holding me to him as if I might float away.
The kiss is gentle at first, then deepens as his arm tightens around my waist.
When we break apart, I’m breathless, my heart racing beneath my ribs.
“I love you,” I whisper against his mouth.
“I love you too, let’s get you inside before you freeze,” he answers, the corner of his lips lifting in that small smile that’s only for me.
“You were right about the shoes,” I mumble.
Santo chuckles, scooping me off my feet. “Hmm? What was that Mrs. I’m fine Santo, leave me alone, Santo,” he mocks.
I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling. “You were right Santo Amato!” I giggle into the cool air as he walks us back into the warmth of our home.