Chapter 18 - I’ll Prove It to You
Matteo
I can’t believe that she’s coming with me. For three weeks, I’ve been miserable. Heartbroken. Irritable - according to Giovanni, and completely lost.
Now that she’s here with me, everything feels better. My chest feels lighter and even though this is far from over, I know that we'll be okay.
As Sasha disappears into her bedroom to pack, I find myself smiling at the memory of how I found her. It wasn't easy. After days of unanswered calls and emails, I'd grown desperate enough to try something I'd never have considered before - finding her parents.
It had taken Giovanni less than twenty-four hours to locate Anthony and Maria Moretti in a small suburb outside Albany. Without telling anyone my plans, I'd flown directly there, renting a car and showing up unannounced on their doorstep one Sunday afternoon.
The shock on Anthony Moretti's face when he opened the door to find a soaking wet Italian standing on his porch is something I'll never forget. His immediate protective stance - shoulders squared, eyes narrowed - told me everything about where Sasha got her spirit.
"Mr. Moretti, my name is Matteo De Luca," I'd said, water dripping from my hair. "I need to speak with you about your daughter."
"The Italian," he'd responded, recognition flashing across his face. "The one she met after leaving Brandon at the altar."
Those tense moments on the porch had felt eternal until Maria appeared behind her husband, curiosity overcoming suspicion.
"Anthony, for heaven's sake, let the poor man in. He's drenched."
Their living room was warm, filled with family photos - Sasha at various ages smiling back at me from every wall. I'd sat awkwardly on their floral couch, refusing coffee but accepting a towel, gathering my courage.
"I love your daughter," I'd blurted out, abandoning the carefully prepared speech I'd rehearsed on the flight. "I love her, and I've made a terrible mistake by not telling her soon enough."
Anthony had remained standing, arms crossed, but Maria leaned forward, studying my face.
"If you love her, why is she back here crying herself to sleep every night?" she'd asked bluntly.
The question had cut through me. I explained everything - our arrangement, the tabloid article, Brandon's manipulation, my failure to express my feelings when it mattered most. As I spoke, Maria's expression softened while Anthony remained stoic.
"So you flew across the Atlantic, tracked us down, all to find her?" Maria had asked.
"I'd cross oceans, move mountains, do whatever it takes," I'd answered simply. "She's everything to me."
Anthony had finally sat down then, his stern expression cracking slightly. "She's in New York. Her apartment in Greenwich Village."
"But," he'd added, jabbing a finger toward me, "if you hurt my little girl again. You’ll have me to deal with.”
That’s how I found Sasha. She doesn’t know that I had a talk with her parents yet. It’s a surprise in addition to the many things I have planned out for her.
"I can't believe I'm back," Sasha murmurs as we slide into the waiting car at the airport, her fingers lightly tracing the leather upholstery.
"I can't believe you came," I reply, unable to stop myself from reaching for her hand. When she doesn't pull away, relief floods through me.
I've arranged for us to stay at a small boutique hotel in Trastevere rather than my apartment, wanting to give Sasha space and neutrality.
"This isn't your place," she observes as we enter the suite.
"I thought you might prefer somewhere... unattached to memories," I explain, setting her bag down carefully. "Somewhere new for us to begin again."
Her smile, small but genuine, gives me hope.
"I've made dinner reservations," I tell her. "At a place you haven't seen yet. One of Rome's best-kept secrets."
"Let me freshen up," she says, disappearing into the bathroom.
When she emerges an hour later, my breath catches. She's wearing a simple black dress that skims her curves, her hair loose around her shoulders, lips painted a subtle red. She's painfully beautiful, and the sight of her makes my chest ache with longing.
"You look..." Words fail me.
"Thank you," she says softly, a blush coloring her cheeks. "So do you."
The restaurant is nestled in a sixteenth-century palazzo, its courtyard transformed into a dining garden.
"Matteo, this is magical," Sasha breathes as we're led to a secluded table in the corner.
"Only the best for you, mio dolcezza," I reply, pulling out her chair.
We order wine, then food.
"I missed this," Sasha admits after her second glass of wine, gesturing between us.
“I missed you too,” I reply, my voice thick with emotion, “so much.”
"I found your parents," I confess as the waiter clears our dessert plates. "That's how I knew where to find you."
Her eyes widen. "You went to Albany? And met my father?"
"He was... intimidating," I admit with a small laugh. "But they helped me find you. Your mother said you'd been crying yourself to sleep."
Sasha looks down, her fingers tracing the rim of her wine glass. "I was devastated. I thought everything between us had been built on lies."
"Nothing about how I feel for you is a lie," I say, reaching across the table to take her hand. "I should have told you every day. I should have said the words."
"You're saying them now," she whispers.
"Not enough," I counter, standing suddenly and pulling her to her feet. "Come with me."
I lead her through the restaurant, nodding to the ma?tre d' who opens a hidden door to a private terrace I'd arranged earlier. The space is transformed—hundreds of tiny lights strung overhead like stars, white roses in crystal vases, and beyond, the view of nighttime Rome spread before us.
"Matteo..." Sasha breathes, her eyes reflecting the lights above us.
"I need to do this properly," I say, taking both her hands in mine. "No more arrangements. No more pretending."
The city lights shimmer below us as I drop to one knee, still holding her hands.
"Sasha Moretti, I am desperately, completely in love with you. I have been since I sat next to you in your ridiculous wedding dress, more beautiful than anything I'd ever seen. These weeks without you have been the darkest of my life. I never want to experience that emptiness again."
Tears glisten in her eyes.
"Will you be my girlfriend? Officially, truly, with all the world knowing that you're the woman who has captured my heart completely?"
A smile breaks across her face. "Yes," she whispers, then louder, "Yes!"
I rise to my feet, pulling her into my arms and lifting her off the ground. Her laughter fills the night air as I spin her in a circle, my heart soaring. When I set her down, my lips find hers in a kiss.
"I love you," she murmurs against my mouth. "I tried so hard not to, but I do."
"Say it again," I whisper, my forehead pressed to hers.
"I love you, Matteo De Luca. With all my heart."
Back at the hotel, I lead Sasha into our suite, now transformed with dozens of flickering candles and scattered rose petals—a surprise I arranged during dinner.
"When did you do this?" she whispers, taking in the scene.
"I have my ways." I say, my fingers tracing the delicate curve of her jaw, then I kiss her.
It’s gentle but quickly deepens, weeks of separation and longing pouring into the connection. I walk her backward toward the bed, never breaking the kiss, my hands finding the zipper of her dress.
"I've dreamed of this," I confess against her neck, sliding the fabric from her shoulders. "Every night since you left."
The dress pools at her feet, leaving her in black lace that makes my breath catch. "
That night, I take my time worshiping her body, rediscovering every sensitive spot, every curve that fits perfectly against me.
"Ti amo, mio dolcezza," I whisper as we move together, the words falling from my lips easily. "Per sempre."
"I love you too," she answers, her voice breaking on a gasp as pleasure builds between us.