Epilogue Matteo
About Two Years Later – DeLuca Vineyard, Italy
The sun was setting low over the hills of Tuscany, bathing the vineyard in warm, golden light that glinted off the wine glasses, the stone walls, the rows of grapevines swaying gently in the breeze. It was the kind of evening that felt like a dream.
Nicola stood barefoot in the grass just a few feet away, the hem of her linen dress brushing her ankles, hair pulled into a messy knot at the nape of her neck.
She had a glass of red in one hand and was swaying gently to the music playing from the old record player in the courtyard, humming under her breath.
Nearby, Lucia sat on a patio chair with her newest baby girl in her arms—only a few months old, cheeks round as peaches.
Alexander hovered close, stealing glances at both his girls like he still couldn’t believe his life was real.
Gia chased fireflies barefoot, giggling as Nonna called out from the kitchen window that dessert was almost ready.
It was chaos in the warmest, most beautiful way. And all I could do was watch Nicola.
God, I loved her.
“You’re staring again,” she said without turning around.
“I’m allowed,” I said, walking up behind her.
She leaned into me when I wrapped my arms around her waist, resting my chin on her shoulder.
“Are you ever going to let the kids win in the three legged race?” she teased, her voice soft.
It was a family tradition: a day of games, competition.
One of my favorite days, and I’d not be going easy on any of the kids, no matter how cute they were.
Gianna had been my partner this year; at five years old she was a firecracker.
But her little legs moved too slow, so I picked her up and ran us across the finish line.
It was a mixture of cheers and boos this year.
The house was packed with friends. Anna was here with her kids, a few other drivers staying the weekend with their families as well.
The DeLuca Vineyard had expanded, my sister’s passion project.
With all the land, she had cottages built around the vineyard and turned the winery into a mini luxury resort.
During the off-season, we let the drivers have first dibs.
The DeLuca Vineyard was rather popular these days, much to my mother’s happiness.
She loved hosting and had cooked enough food for a small village; a permanent smile etched on her as we all gathered together in the sun.
I had even convinced Nicola’s parents to come down for the day, since it was a very special day.
I looked at Nicola, nerves in my stomach at the box pressed into my jacket pocket. I kissed the curve of her neck. “Only if you’re the one waiting for me at the finish line.”
She turned then, brows raised. “That was dangerously close to cheesy, DeLuca.”
“I’m allowed one cheesy line,” I said, stepping back just enough to reach into my
pocket. “Especially if it comes with this.”
Nicola froze as I dropped to one knee in the middle of my family’s vineyard, dust clinging to my trousers, the sky going pink and gold behind her.
I held up the box and opened it slowly.
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Nicola Moretti, you’re the girl of my dreams,” I said quietly, “I love our life and I want to spend every day with you. On the hard days, the magical ones, the quiet ones, and every day in between. I want a life that starts and ends with you—messy and loud and full of people we love. Will you marry me?”
She didn’t speak at first. Just stared at me like I’d knocked the air out of her lungs.
Then she laughed—one hand to her chest, the other swiping at her eyes.
“You idiot,” she whispered, “Yes. Of course, yes.”
I stood and slid the ring onto her finger. It fit like it had been waiting there all along.
Cheers echoed across the lawn. Lucia stood and handed the baby to Alexander so she could throw her arms around us. Gia shouted, “FINALLY!” like she’d been waiting two years for this exact moment. All our friends and family celebrated with us.
And as Nicola leaned into me, her arms wrapped tight around my shoulders, she whispered against my temple. “I love you, mi amore.”