One Italian Summer Novels & Stories

Alexander continued, his voice breaking slightly, “I knew you’d be the one person who could destroy me completely. And you did, not with pain, but with love. You made me feel human again, Summer.” Tears welled in my eyes as he smiled faintly. “So this time,” he said, “I’m not asking as the son of the De Rossi family, not as the CEO, not as the Mafia Boss. I’m asking as a man, just a man who wants to spend his life with the woman who taught him how to love again.” He took a deep breath, his thumb brushing the ring’s surface. “Summer, will you marry me?” I didn’t realize I was crying until the tears spilled freely, my hands covering my mouth. Everything around me blurred, the stars, the sound

Evan Shaw was famous for sticking to his principles. He was punctual, followed every rule, and never made exceptions. Yet when it came to going to City Hall to get married to Roxie Foster, he had stood her up eight times. The first time, his former underclassman, Sylvia Young, was returning after eight years abroad, and he had to pick her up from the airport. The second time, Sylvia accidentally burned her finger while cooking. The third time, Sylvia's son got sick. ... This was the eighth time. Once again, Evan didn't show up. He only called in a hurry and said, "Something came up. I'll be there." Roxie watched their number get skipped again and again until the clerk behind the window tappe

He turned, kissing Elena quick, ruffling JJ’s hair, and waved to the masses— true king of the moment. ***** ***** **** ***** ***** ****** ****** In a Sicilian slum, Rosa crouched in a filthy room, a stolen TV flickering on a crate, its cracked screen beaming the rally. Her breath hitched as Jeremy’s voice boomed through the static—“Italy First!”—the crowd’s roar a distant echo in her ears.

And the photo of them sharing a lunchbox on set didn't have any dining atmosphere, let alone intimacy. As she continued to read, she couldn't help but laugh. She immediately called Calvin. Calvin answered the phone quickly this time. She deliberately adopted a stern tone. "Mr. Calvin, do you have an explanation for me?" Calvin was puzzled. "Explanation for what?" "I Want Summer" is about to air, featuring Julia in a bikini with the CEO being intimate!"

"How's your department? I heard the new collection did very well." Sam yielded to the shift, but not without a glance that lingered. "It's doing good. We're hoping to top last quarter's numbers. But enough of work, do you remember that summer in Italy?" Eva's grip on the fork tightened. Italy. Ava had mentioned one summer she'd spent with Samantha in Italy, but details were fuzzy. "Of course," Eva said with caution. "How could I forget? That trip was memorable." Samantha lifted an eyebrow, her smile inscrutable. "Memorable, indeed. Especially the time you tried to flirt with that gondolier and he thought you were trying to hire him for a private tour."

not caring enough to even make that evaluation. And it bothered her more than she wanted to admit. Back in New York, Sophia buried herself in work. Not because she needed to escape her thoughts, but because work was the one place where she felt in control. It was where she felt like herself. The studio was busy preparing the summer collection. Isabella led the team with a theme inspired by Italian summers—soft, flowing fabrics in warm Mediterranean colors. The designs were elegant but relaxed, perfect for rich women spending summer in places like Capri and Positano.

*JAMIN* It was our last night in Venice. Tomorrow, we would head back home. The days…weeks…we had spent in Italy were some of the happiest moments of my life. I didn’t have many good memories to compare them to, so this was the best. I knew I was never going to forget this place, or the way it felt to be here with him. This summer will be forever etched in my mind. Mister made me strip completely and lie on my back in the center of the large bed.

It is a house full of records that have been carried away in a leather satchel, and a kitchen where Nonna Carmela is singing a lullaby, and a chapel step where a marriage registry is drying in the late-afternoon heat. The olive groves beyond the wall hold the light, and the light is the colour of the oil in the bottle, and the heat of the Puglian summer has finally learned to keep rather than to take.

She’s my wife! “She’s fine, I’ve got her,” I said. Roman puffed. “She better be fine. Augustus Montreal was here. He wasn’t happy about Summer not being here.” “I don’t give a shit about his feelings.” “He said he had something important to discuss with her. He wouldn’t tell me what it was but he sounded serious.” Damn it. “We’re going to stay out here for a few days. Don’t worry about him. Any act of aggression will meet an aggressive response, got it?”

She muttered and he chuckles. “ Wait till you see it from above,but first,let's get some gelato.” Seeing him like this made her want to forget how she had gotten here. He seems like an ordinary and harmless Italian guy. Fun and flirty but she knew the man beneath the fascade. He slip his hand into her tugging gently and she followed him as they joined a line at a small gelateria. Yasmine chose a pistachio and lemon while Luca went for dark chocolate. They strolled with cones in hand weaving through the crowds until the Ponte Vecchio came into view