Epilogue #2
His hand rests at the small of my back as we move through the private corridor overlooking the river, where laughter still drifts up from the dock below.
Behind us, Olivia is still talking loudly enough for half of Chicago to hear.
A smile tugs at my mouth.
Lorenzo notices.
“What?”
“Olivia.”
A low sound leaves his chest.
“That explains nothing.”
“She told Mrs. Abena she was only having one glass of wine, and she is currently on her fourth.”
His mouth twitches again.
That tiny almost-smile still feels rare enough that catching it feels like a prize.
The hallway opens onto a private balcony. Night air catches us, cool against my skin. Below, the city stretches out in glittering traffic and the slow glow of ships moving through the harbour.
His harbour.
Three years ago, that thought would have frightened me.
Tonight, it brings safety.
I move toward the railing and rest my hands on the cold metal.
For a while, neither of us speaks.
Then Lorenzo steps up behind me.
Close.
Not touching yet. But his presence is enough that the awareness of him settles over me
Still, I feel him.
I always do.
“Thank you,” I say.
“For what?”
I glance over my shoulder.
“For this.”
His gaze moves beyond me toward the party below. The family. The children. The life we built from the wreckage of everything that came before.
His expression changes slightly.
Not softer.
More honest.
“I wanted you to have a reason to celebrate.”
A breathless laugh escapes me.
“Lorenzo.”
“What?”
“I know you well enough to know this entire event was your excuse to celebrate.”
His eyebrow lifts.
“Is that so?”
“Absolutely.”
The corner of his mouth curves.
A victory.
I turn toward him fully, letting the wind lift my hair as we simply look at each other.
Three years have passed.
A thousand difficult days.
A thousand ordinary ones.
It is the ordinary days that matter most now.
That is what surprises me.
Not the wealth.
Not the power.
Not the estate.
The beautiful repetition of breakfast, school runs, movie nights, Elsie sneaking cookies before dinner, and Luca falling asleep on Lorenzo’s chest while pretending he is not tired.
The life neither of us thought we would get to keep.
I lift my hand to his jaw.
His eyes follow the movement.
“You know,” I say quietly, “I used to think happiness would feel bigger.”
His hand settles around my waist, drawing me a little closer.
“What does it feel like?”
I look past him at the lights across the water.
Then back at him.
“This.”
The answer leaves me before I can overthink it.
His gaze does not waver.
For one suspended moment, the city, the party, and the rest of the world fall away.
Only the two of us remain.
He leans down, resting his forehead against mine while his thumb brushes my cheek.
“I would burn half this city down for you,” he murmurs.
I laugh softly.
“That is not romantic.”
“It is for me.”
“That is concerning.”
“It should be.”
I shake my head and silence him with a kiss.
It is slow.
Grounding.
No urgency.
No fear.
No desperation.
Only the certainty built over years, not stolen moments.
When we pull apart, his forehead remains against mine while music swells from the deck below and someone cheers.
Almost certainly Olivia.
I smile.
Lorenzo notices again.
This time, he does not ask why.
He already knows.
He studies me for a long moment, as though he has been waiting all evening for the crowd to disappear. Then he takes my hand without explanation. He has never been a man who believed in them.
“Come.”
There is a depth to his voice that sends warmth racing through me before we’ve taken a single step. He leads me farther along the balcony, beyond the last of the lanterns and the distant laughter, until we reach a heavy wooden door tucked behind climbing ivy.
I stop. “You planned this.”
His eyes meet mine. “I plan everything.”
A laugh escapes me, and the corner of his mouth lifts.
Beyond the door, a private terrace overlooks the river.
Lanterns burn low against the stone walls, casting soft amber light across a table laid for two and a secluded seating area draped in linen.
Fresh flowers perfume the evening air while, somewhere below, the music softens into little more than a heartbeat beneath the sound of the water.
No one will come here. This place belongs only to us.
I turn slowly, taking it all in before looking back at him. “You arranged this?”
“I wanted one place tonight that belonged only to you.”
My chest tightens with the overwhelming comfort of being known. “I love you,” I whisper.
His expression barely changes, but I see the response in his eyes. “I know.”
I laugh. “You could at least pretend to be romantic.”
“I reserved an entire section of the pier so no one would disturb us.”
“I suppose that is your version of romance.”
“It is.”
He steps closer until barely a breath remains between us. His hand settles around my waist, and mine smooths the front of his jacket, straightening a crease that isn’t there.
“I love you too,” he says.
“You’ve been watching me all evening,” I murmur.
“I have.”
“You barely spoke.”
His thumb traces a slow circle against my side, a gentle pressure through my dress. “I was waiting until I had you to myself.”
Heat blooms beneath my skin. The sounds of the celebration drift farther away, leaving only the river, the wind, and the steady rhythm of his breathing.
“So,” I whisper, smiling despite myself, “this was your plan all along.”
“It was.” He lowers his forehead to mine.
“Happy anniversary, mia moglie.”
I smile, the remaining tension of the past completely dissolving into the quiet evening air. “Take me inside.”
His gaze lingers on mine for one quiet, endless moment before the corner of his mouth lifts again. “As you wish.”
The lanterns flicker gently in the night breeze as the door closes behind us, leaving the music, the laughter, and the rest of the world outside.
For us, there is only peace.