Six months after the snowstorm, I was living in Manhattan.

Not with Luca.

That had been my decision.

And, surprisingly, he respected it.

I reopened the career Daniel had convinced me to abandon.

Art.

A small gallery in SoHo hired me as a consultant.

Three months later, I became a partner.

One rainy evening, Luca arrived ten minutes before closing.

Black suit.

Open collar.

Tattoos visible at his neck and hands.

Every customer suddenly became very interested in leaving.

I crossed my arms.

“You scare away buyers.”

“They were finished.”

“They were browsing.”

“They were leaving.”

“You really believe everything becomes true when you say it confidently.”

“Usually.”

I laughed.

Luca walked toward a painting.

“You hate that one.”

“How do you know?”

“You make a face whenever someone buys something you dislike.”

“I do not.”

“You absolutely do.”

I stared at him.

“When did you start noticing my face?”

His eyes moved to mine.

“A while ago.”

The room became quieter.

“Luca.”

“I know.”

“Know what?”

“That you don’t owe me anything.”

I didn’t answer.

He continued.

“I didn’t help you because I expected something afterward.”

“I know.”

“And I’m not asking you to become part of my world.”

“Good.”

His eyebrow lifted.

“Good?”

“I’m not interested in becoming somebody’s possession again.”

“You wouldn’t be.”

“How can you promise that?”

“Because I’m not asking you to belong to me.”

He stepped closer.

“I’m asking whether I can belong in your life.”

That silenced me.

This terrifying, tattooed man with a reputation that made rooms empty was standing in my gallery waiting for permission.

Not taking.

Asking.

“What exactly are you asking?”

“Dinner.”

I smiled.

“That’s it?”

“For tonight.”

“And tomorrow?”

“I’ll ask again.”

I looked at him for several seconds.

“Dinner.”

He nodded.

“Dinner.”

I grabbed my coat.

As we reached the door, Luca stopped.

“What?”

He looked toward my left hand.

“You still have the ring?”

Daniel’s ring.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

I opened my handbag and took it out.

Luca stared.

I walked toward the small metal sculpture displayed near the entrance.

The artist had created it from discarded objects.

I dropped my wedding ring into the donation container beside it.

Luca looked at me.

“That was dramatic.”

“I work in art.”

“Fair.”

I locked the gallery.

“Come on, Moretti.”

“Where?”

“You promised dinner.”

He opened the umbrella.

“Yes, ma’am.”

For once, I didn’t walk behind a man.

Luca and I walked side by side.