Page 107 of Italy Can Bite Me

I don’t understand why, but the truth of her words is exactly what I need to hear.

“Love isn’t about control,” Rose continues. “It’s about trust. About letting someone see all your messy parts and they love you anyway.”

I swallow the lump rising in my throat.

“This is why I tell Enrico divorce is never option,” Caterina announces, breaking the heavy moment with a grin. She rubs her swollen belly. “Murder? Maybe. Divorce? Never.”

Rose laughs. “He’s a special man, your Enrico.”

“Shh!” Caterina waves her hands frantically, nearly knocking over a vase of roses. “Don’t let him hear you say that. His head is already too big to fit through doorways.”

***

Ashortwhilelater,the party is in full swing—the night alive with the sound of laughter and conversation. The courtyard is transformed with string lights twinkling like captured stars, casting warm hues over the weathered stone terrace. Candles flicker in the soft evening breeze, their flames dancing in rhythm with the music floating through the air.

My professional pride wants to catalog every detail I got right—the way the vintage crystal vases throw light across the tables, how the wildflowers soften the ancient stone walls with splashes of pink and white. The Forever in Love banner gleams in gold script above the dance floor, Stan’s exact request brought to life. Simple. Elegant.

Tables groan under the weight of a feast fit for royalty: charcuterie boards overflowing with meats and cheeses, breads bursting from their baskets, and enough wine to drown a small village. There’s a sweet scent of fermenting grapes in the air. Ishouldbe basking in this perfect moment; instead, my anxiety is doing backflips every time I see Matteo.

He’s leaning against a wooden beam at the edge of the terrace, devastatingly handsome in his dark blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal those distracting forearms. The light catches the shadows in his eyes—the tension in his jaw. Something’s wrong. The realization sits like lead in my stomach.

When I first arrived in this dress—the red one that usually makes his eyes go dark and hungry—he barely glanced at me. Just a quick kiss on the cheek and a murmured “bellissima” before he was gone again, slipping away to handle yet another mysterious call.

No smoldering looks.

No suggestive Italian whispers.

None of the electricity that normally crackles between us.

My brain is going into overdrive trying to figure out what I did wrong.

“Katie.” I hear Stan’s warm voice. He’s beaming, his bow tie endearingly crooked and his cheeks flushed with happiness. “You did an amazing job. It’s… perfect. My wish has come true tonight.”

“Stan, you don’t have to thank me. Your love for Rose is the reason this night is so magical.”

Stan pauses, his hand reaching out to grasp the back of a nearby chair. I look at him, concerned, as he takes a deep breath. “Just a dizzy spell,” he says with a chuckle, dabbing the sweat off his forehead with a handkerchief. “Comes with the territory when you’re as old as dirt.”

“Can I get you anything? Water? A cane?”

“Nah, I’m fine. I don’t need any fuss.” He straightens up. “I was hoping, if it’s all right with you, I’d like to make my speech now?”

“Of course.”

The seniors settle into their seats as I lead Stan toward the dance area—to his Rose, who’s glowing in her elegant lace dress. I hand him the microphone, and the crowd falls silent—the magic of the moment enveloping us all.

Stan whistles at Rose, then starts his vows. “My darling Rose, it’s been sixty years, and I still think you’re kinda cute.”

She giggles.

“I tell you I love you all the time, but it’s never enough. Put simply, you’re the one. My best friend. The girl I love above all else.”

Rose smiles at him through her tears, radiant as an angel. They do a little shuffle toward each other and embrace—a forever hug. It’s absolute heaven to be part of this.

“You’re my partner in every sense. My confidant, my soulmate. We’ve had a beautiful life together, the best… Today I pledge to you my eternal love. Thank you for giving me the greatest honor of my life—the gift of being your husband.”

Someone shouts,“Saluti!”and wine glasses clink together like bells as Stan leans to kiss Rose. I blink back tears, but my gaze is only on Matteo. For a split second, our eyes meet and the pain I see there steals my breath. He breaks away, and it feels like he’s retreating to a place that I can’t follow.

For a moment, I wonder if he’s thinking about his parents, about the love they had—the memories they built together. I want to go to him, but I’ve got a job to do.

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