LOGIN"I am not looking for something flashy."I didn't mean to walk into the shop. I had been pacing the cobblestone streets of Milan, my mind on market projections, and the way Sera looked at breakfast when the window caught my eye. It was an old family establishment tucked away from the main tourist drags. Dark wood and thick glass. I walked past it twice. On the third pass, I stopped. Then, I went in.The jeweller was an older man with silver hair and hands that looked like they had spent a century carving beauty out of raw earth. He didn't rush me. He just waited."I know exactly what she would choose," I said, my voice certain.For the first time in my life, I wasn't buying a symbol of status. I wasn't buying a peace offering. I had been paying attention. I knew she hated heavy, ornate settings. She liked clean lines. She liked the way light moved through a stone when it wasn't crowded. She liked things that were understated but carried a quiet, undeniable power.Just like her."This
"The terms are no longer acceptable, Signora Montague."The words hit the air like a physical blow, cold and final. I sat at the long oak table in the centre of the palazzo, my hands clasped tightly in my lap so the owners wouldn't see the slight tremor in my fingers. Beside them sat a man I hadn't expected a representative from a rival firm who had clearly spent the last forty-eight hours whispering in their ears. The negotiation had turned from a collaboration into a cage match."We had an agreement," I said, my voice steady despite the roar of frustration in my ears."Agreements change when the market moves," the third party interjected, his smile oily.The session lasted another two hours. By the time I walked out, the deal wasn't dead, but it was bleeding. It was injured, limping, and required damage control I didn’t have the energy to calculate. I had spent so long being the strong one, but as I hailed a taxi, I just felt hollow.I went straight to the apartment we were sharing.
"I’ll be in the gallery for three hours, maybe four."Sera didn’t look at me as she adjusted her coat, her eyes already fixed on the historic building across the piazza. She looked different here in Milan. The sharp, defensive edges she wore in New York had softened into something vibrant and certain. This was her city. I was just the man lucky enough to be invited along for the ride."I’ll be at the café on the corner," I said, leaning against the doorway of the hotel. "I have a few fires to put out back home, but I’m not going anywhere."She smiled, a quick, real thing that made my chest tighten. "Good. Don't work too hard, Roman. Act like you're in Italy."She disappeared into her meetings, leaving me to my own devices. I spent the morning at a small outdoor table, my laptop open, and a double espresso cooling beside me. The sounds of Milan swirled around me, the hum of Vespas, the rhythm of Italian, the clink of glass. In New York, I would have been agitated by the delay. Here,
"I’m going to Milan.I didn’t look up from the blueprints spread across my mahogany desk. I could feel Roman standing in the doorway of my study, his presence a heavy, familiar weight. This project was mine. The Milan Foundation was the first thing I had built with my own vision and my own name. I was heading out for a week to finalize the restoration details, and the flight was already booked."Milan," Roman repeated, his voice low. He walked into the room, the scent of his cologne cutting through the smell of old paper. "The foundation project?""Yes. It requires my presence for a week. There are things I can’t sign off on from behind a screen." I finally looked up, meeting his dark, searching gaze. The intensity in his eyes still made my heart skip a beat. He looked like he wanted to offer a jet or a team of consultants, but he held back. He was learning.I took a breath, my fingers tracing the edge of a technical drawing. This was the step forward that felt bigger than any kiss we
"I told her."I spoke the words into the quiet of my new apartment, the phone pressed to my ear as the morning light cut sharp, golden lines across the hardwood floor. I sat at the kitchen island, a cup of black coffee steaming in front of me, but I hadn't touched it. My heart was still doing that strange, heavy thud against my ribs, the one it had started the moment I walked into the Montague garden yesterday."And?" Eleanor’s voice was crisp, even through the speaker. She didn't sound surprised. She sounded expectant."She kissed me," I said, and just saying it made the ghost of her lips burn against mine again. "She kissed me and said she knew.""What does that mean, Roman? In Sera-speak?"I leaned back, looking out at the city skyline. For the first time in my life, the view didn't feel like a scoreboard. It just felt like a backdrop."I think it means yes," I told her, my voice low. "I think it means she needed to hear me say it first. No strategy. No leverage. Just the plain, ug
"You’re scrubbing that plate like you’re trying to erase the pattern, Sera."I startled, nearly dropping the heavy ceramic dish into the soapy water. I hadn't even realized I was doing it. The dinner with Roman had ended an hour ago, his departure leaving a lingering hum of electricity in the air that I couldn't quite shake. Now, it was just me and Rosa in the large, warm kitchen of the Montague estate. The smell of garlic and slow-roasted tomatoes still hung in the air, a comfort I’d leaned on since I was a child.I looked at the woman who had raised me, her hands moving with a practised, rhythmic grace as she dried a wine glass. Rosa didn't look at me; she didn't have to. She knew the cadence of my breathing better than I did. She had watched me grow from a stubborn girl into a woman who had been broken and rebuilt more times than I cared to count."You heard," I said, my voice barely more than a whisper over the sound of the running water.Rosa finally looked up, her dark eyes sh
Sera had been reading for twenty minutes when her phone lit up.Unknown number. She looked at it for one second. Then she set it face-up on the cushion beside her and went back to her page.She knew.She couldn't have explained how. The number was unsaved, clean, nothing her phone recognized. But s
Sera arrived at seven with Dante and knew within ninety seconds that Roman was not yet in the room.She knew the way she had always known things about him, before the information reached her brain. The room felt like a room that had not yet changed. She greeted the hospital director at the entrance
Isabella came home at three thirty to find Roman in the sitting room with no lights on, and the notebook closed on the coffee table in front of him.She set her bag down. Looked at him. Looked at the notebook. "What is that?""Sit down," he said.She sat across from him with the careful posture of
Ada's message came through the internal system at two fourteen.*Roman Ashford in the lobby. No appointment. Says it's important.*Sera read it at her desk. She set her pen down. She looked at the message for four seconds. Then she picked her pen back up and went back to the document she had been r







