Chapter 18: Ghosts in the Vineyard

The golden rhythm of their days in Tuscany had become routine.

Every morning, the smell of espresso and warm focaccia drifted through the villa. Guests wandered the garden. Children chased chickens. Sophia named each one after pasta — “Fettuccina” was her favorite.

But one evening, as the sun dipped below the vineyard and Luca prepared fresh tagliatelle by hand, a sleek black car pulled up to the gravel drive.

Amara, baby Giulia on her hip, stepped out of the kitchen just as the door opened.

A woman in cream heels stepped out.

Tall. Elegant. Familiar.

Sofia.Luca’s ex.

The one who had once questioned Amara’s place in his life.

The one who almost succeeded in driving them apart.

The Tension

Sofia removed her sunglasses, revealing eyes sharp as ever.

“I heard you were cooking for families in the countryside now,” she said, voice calm but tight.

Luca’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Sofia. What a surprise.”

Amara stepped beside him, resting a firm hand on his arm.

Sofia glanced at Amara, then at Giulia. “You’ve been busy.”

“We’ve been blessed,” Amara replied evenly.

Sofia’s lips twitched. “I came to talk business.”

“We don’t mix that here,” Luca said.

But Sofia stepped closer, her voice low and urgent. “Just listen. A Paris investor wants to fund a culinary institute  your name’s on the shortlist. Not a restaurant. A legacy. This is different.”

Amara stiffened.

Legacy.

That word had always been Luca’s pressure point.

After She Left

Sofia stayed for twenty minutes.

No more.

But her words echoed like a dull bell in the quiet of the villa.

That night, Luca didn’t sleep.

Amara found him on the balcony, staring at the stars with a glass of grappa in his hand.

“She got in your head,” Amara said softly.

He didn’t deny it.

“I’ve spent my whole life chasing kitchens. Recognition. And now... she offers legacy. My name on something permanent.”

“You already have a legacy,” she said. “Your name is in Noah’s voice when he teaches kids to knead dough. It’s in every family that leaves our retreat smiling again. It’s in us.”

He looked at her, eyes stormy. “But what if I want both?”

Amara took a breath, heart heavy. “Then say it. Out loud. Don’t pretend Tuscany is enough if your soul is itching for more.”

Silence.

Then he whispered, “What if chasing that legacy takes me away from this?”

Amara’s voice was gentle but firm. “Then you have to ask yourself — is it worth that?”

A Talk with Noah

The next morning, Luca sat with Noah beneath the fig tree.

“Did you always want to be a chef?” Noah asked.

“I think... I always wanted to create something people remembered.”

“Like memories?” Noah asked, innocent.

Luca smiled. “Exactly.”

“Well, I remember when you taught me how to flip pancakes without splashing stuff on the walls.”

Luca laughed. “And your mother still hasn’t forgiven me.”

Noah looked up. “You already did it, Luca. You made memories. You don’t need Paris for that.”

And somehow, that landed deeper than any investor pitch.

The Decision

Luca wrote Sofia back two days later.

Sofia —

Thank you. But I’m already building my legacy in flour, laughter, and tiny fingerprints on mixing bowls.

My name doesn’t need a building. It lives in people.

Respectfully,

Luca DiLorenzo

That Evening – In the Kitchen

Luca found Amara stirring polenta at the stove.

He walked up behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and whispered: “I’m staying. Always.”

She leaned into him, eyes closed. “I know.”

He kissed her neck. “And I don’t regret a single thing. Not the school. Not this villa. Not walking away from the fancy kitchens.”

She turned to face him.

“But what about your legacy?”

He smiled. “She’s stirring polenta while holding my heart.”

She kissed him softly.

Then whispered against his lips: “Let’s write the rest of our story right here.”