Chapter 23 Rose
ROSE
Idrift awake. Not all at once, not with panic, but in pieces.
The first thing I register is the steady beep of a machine somewhere near my head. The second is the smell—clean, sharp, unmistakably hospital. The third is the ache. Everywhere, but distant, like it belongs to someone else.
I blink.
White ceiling. Too bright. Too real.
“Hey.”
The voice is right next to me.
I turn my head, carefully, and there he is. Matteo. Sitting in a chair pulled too close to the bed, like he refused to give the space a chance to breathe. His hand is wrapped around mine, tight enough that I know he’s been afraid to let go.
For a second, I just stare at him.
“I'm alive,” I say, because it feels important to confirm.
“I wouldn't have accepted anything less.”
Memory rushes back in jagged flashes—white fabric, Anton’s mouth, the taste of poison, the floor rushing up.
My fingers tighten reflexively around his.
“What happened?” I whisper.
“The doctors managed to drag you back,” he says immediately, like he’s been rehearsing this answer. “You scared the hell out of them. And me. But you’re okay. You’re safe.”
"And Anton?"
"Dead." His expression is neutral. "Made sure of it."
I should feel scared, probably. Terrified that Matteo is admitting to murder so easily in front of me.
But all I can feel is relief.
I close my eyes and let it wash over me. Anton's gone. He won't be coming back for me. Not now, not ever.
I'm safe.
“My cats,” I say suddenly, panic flaring. “Are they okay? Did they kill each other?”
Matteo laughs, soft and incredulous. “They’re fine,” he assures me. “Separate wings of the estate. Wasabi prefers it this way.”
“And Nori?”
A corner of his mouth lifts. “Nori took a liking to my father. Or maybe it’s the other way around. Either way, he’s decided that’s where he lives now.”
The image is so absurd, so right, that a weak laugh escapes me. Tears follow it immediately, blurring everything.
Matteo stands, leaning over the bed, his free hand coming up to cradle my cheek like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he doesn’t anchor me there.
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “For shutting you out. For not trusting you with the truth.”
I swallow. “You were protecting him.”
“And myself,” he admits. “Ever since Marco died, I learned how to survive by never letting anyone see where it hurt. I thought that was strength.” His thumb brushes under my eye, catching a tear. “I should have realized I wanted you to be my strength, too.”
The words settle into me, warm and terrifying and real.
“Rose,” he says, voice unsteady now, stripped of command and certainty. “Marry me.”
The world seems to tilt.
For a heartbeat, I can’t breathe. Can’t speak. All the words I’ve swallowed for years crowd my throat at once, tangled up with disbelief and fear and something so tender it hurts.
“You—” My voice breaks. I laugh weakly, tears already blurring my vision. “You’re serious.”
He nods, eyes shining, like the answer matters more than anything he’s ever fought for.
“I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life.
Seeing you with Anton up on the altar made me realize I never wanted to see you with another man there again.
I want to be the one across from you, saying vows we both mean to keep.
” He squeezes my hand. "And I do mean to keep them. All of them."
My chest aches. I squeeze his hand like it’s the only thing keeping me anchored to the bed, to the room, to the fact that this is real.
“Yes,” I say again, stronger this time, even as tears spill freely. “Yes. I want you. I want this.”
He presses his forehead to mine, eyes closed, breathing me in like a prayer answered too late but still granted.
This time, when he kisses me, it’s gentle. Reverent.
And for the first time in a long while, the future doesn’t feel like a trap.
It feels like a choice.