LOGIN(Matteo's POV)Three days after our conversation about Sister Lucia, Elena called me, not late at night, not in secret, but in broad daylight, which immediately told me something was wrong."We need rules." No greeting, no introduction, straight to the point. I closed my office door, already exhausted, already knowing where this conversation was heading."Rules.""Yes."I rubbed a hand across my face. "Elena—""No." Her voice remained firm. "If we're going to survive this, we need boundaries." Survive!! not stop, not end, not walk away. Survive. The distinction wasn't lost on either of us."What kind of boundaries?" I asked quietly. Silence, and then: "No more meeting alone during the week." Reasonable. "No more sleeping together." Painful. "No texting constantly." Nearly impossible. "And no finding excuses to see each other every day." That one hurt most, because she wasn't wrong. Lately we had become part of each other's routines, morning messages, afternoon conversations, evening
(Matteo's POV)Sister Lucia cornered me on a Wednesday, not literally, because she was far too subtle for that, which was precisely what made her.I was halfway across the courtyard when her voice stopped me."Father Matteo." Immediately, something in my stomach tightened because Sister Lucia never called people over casually. Every interaction felt intentional. I turned. "Yes, Sister?"She smiled, politely, warmly, completely harmless, which somehow made me trust her even less. "Would you walk with me?" A request, not an order, but not optional either.Five minutes later, we were moving slowly through the parish garden while rose bushes swayed gently in the Roman breeze. For a while, she spoke about ordinary things: the youth program, parish donations, a broken air conditioner in one of the classrooms. Small talk, the kind intelligent people use before arriving at the real conversation. And eventually, she arrived."You seem troubled lately."There it was. I almost laughed, because
(Matteo's POV)Elena was sitting alone in the last pew near the back of the church, long after evening Mass had ended. The church was nearly empty, candles flickering softly near the sanctuary, the cleaning volunteers already gone, and still she sat there, motionless and thinking, which was never a good sign. I approached slowly, not because I was afraid of her, but because lately every difficult conversation seemed to arrive quietly, without warning and without preparation."You've been sitting here for twenty minutes." My voice echoed softly through the empty church. Elena looked up, and a faint smile appeared that didn't reach her eyes."There you are." The words sounded almost absentminded, like she had been expecting me eventually. Something tightened inside my chest. "What happened?" I sat beside her, careful, far enough apart to satisfy appearances, close enough to hear her breathe. She looked toward the altar instead of answering."My mother confronted me today."Immediately
Elena's POV)My mother chose Sunday afternoom; not during breakfast, where my father would be present, not during dinner, where interruption was possible, not in passing. She waited until we were completely alone, which meant she had been planning it, and that realization alone made me nervous."Sit with me." The request sounded gentle, which somehow made it worse. I lowered myself onto the bench beside her while a teacup rested untouched between her hands and that alone should have warned me. My mother never let tea grow cold. For a moment she said nothing, simply watching the fountain, the roses, the afternoon sunlight. And then:"You've changed."Straight to it, My pulse quickened immediately. "I don't know what that means." A mistake, we both knew it, because the answer sounded defensive before it had even fully left my mouth. My mother glanced toward me, not angry, not accusing, just observant, which was infinitely more dangerous."It means you've been absent." The words settle
(Elena's POV)I knew there had been someone before me, that wasn't surprising. Matteo had lived thirty-four years before I ever walked into this story. What surprised me was how rarely he spoke about that part of his life. Paris existed like a closed door: mentioned occasionally, never opened. And after our conversation in the courtyard, I couldn't stop thinking about it. About her. Claire, the woman whose name had slipped into existence without ever fully arriving, the woman he had loved before he became Father Matteo Romano, the woman he had left behind.It was raining when I finally asked. Matteo and I sat beneath the covered terrace of an old café near the edge of the town hidden enough to avoid parishioners; far enough, though nothing was truly safe anymore. For a while we spoke about ordinary things: the parish fundraiser, my father, a book I'd been reading. The conversation felt normal, comfortable, almost easy. Then silence settled between us, and I decided not to postpone it
(Matteo's POV) I couldn't stop replaying it; For three days afterward, the memory followed me everywhere, the knock, Father Benedict's voice outside my door, Elena standing behind me, the realization that everything could have ended before sunrise. I replayed every second repeatedly, searching for different outcomes, worse outcomes, the ones that almost happened. And slowly, quietly, paranoia began settling into places where certainty used to live."Father?"I blinked. A parishioner's voice pulled me sharply back into the present, and the woman standing in front of me looked confused and concerned. I had forgotten what she had asked, completely. "I'm sorry," I said quickly. "What was the question?" The confusion deepened in her expression, but she repeated it politely. I answered, she left, and immediately embarrassment burned through me, because this wasn't normal. I didn't lose focus. I didn't forget conversations in the middle of having them. I certainly didn't spend half my day i
I knew, even as I watched my parents walk ahead, that I wasn't going to follow them.Something kept dragging me back.There was no dramatic decision involved; My mum was having a conversation with my dad as they made their way to the car, "I've forgotten my scarf" I said to her, interrupting her an
(Elena's POV)Rome felt louder than I remembered, not in sound, but in presence, trastevere seemed to carry something unfinished, something that had been waiting for me to come back and deal with it. Or maybe that was just me. Maybe I was the one who had changed.I arrived before Mass, and not by a
(Matteo's POV)By Thursday, the bells had started to sound different — not in pitch or rhythm, but in the space they left behind.The knowledge of Elena's return had lodged itself somewhere between relief and dread, like something both healing and corrosive at once. The certainty that she was comin
After some couple of days, the vineyard had begun to feel like a beautiful lie.My mum had come over because she missed my busy dad and I.Every morning, sunlight radiates warmly; The estate woke gently here, with workers moving with quiet purpose, carts rolling over gravel, and distant voices drif







