Clara refused Alessandro’s apartment.

She took Sophie to a small family shelter across town.

It wasn’t comfortable.

But it was hers to choose.

Three days passed.

Sophie barely spoke about Alessandro.

That worried Clara more than questions would have.

On the fourth evening, Sophie sat beside the window drawing.

“What are you making?”

“Our house.”

Clara looked down.

There were three figures.

Sophie.

Clara.

Alessandro.

“You forgot Mr. Romano doesn’t live with us.”

Sophie kept drawing.

“He’s stupid.”

Clara nearly choked.

“Where did you learn that?”

“Mr. Marco.”

Clara closed her eyes.

Of course.

A knock sounded downstairs.

A shelter worker appeared.

“Clara?”

“Yes?”

“There’s someone asking for you.”

Clara’s heart immediately knew.

She went downstairs.

Alessandro Romano stood near the entrance.

Alone.

No security.

No expensive overcoat.

Just a dark sweater and exhausted eyes.

Clara stopped several feet away.

“How did you find us?”

“Marco.”

“I’m going to kill him.”

“You’ll have to get in line.”

Despite herself, Clara smiled.

It disappeared quickly.

“What do you want?”

“To apologize.”

“For what?”

“Everything.”

“That could take a while.”

“I have time.”

She folded her arms.

He looked nothing like the intimidating man she had first met.

“I spent seven years believing grief was loyalty,” he said.

Clara remained silent.

“I thought if I stopped living, somehow that proved how much Isabella mattered.”

His voice lowered.

“It didn’t.”

“No.”

“I loved her.”

“I know.”

“I always will.”

“You should.”

His eyes met hers.

“But loving someone who died doesn’t mean I’m forbidden from loving someone who’s alive.”

Clara stopped breathing.

Alessandro continued.

“You asked whether you mattered to me.”

“I remember.”

“I lied by refusing to answer.”

“Why?”

“Because the answer frightened me.”

She waited.

“You matter more than you should.”

“That sounds romantic.”

“I’m bad at this.”

“Very.”

He almost smiled.

“I love your daughter.”

Clara’s expression softened.

“She loves you too.”

“And I love you.”

There it was.

No dramatic speech.

No perfect words.

Just truth.

Clara looked down.

“You hurt me.”

“I know.”

“You don’t get to make decisions for me.”

“I know.”

“You don’t get to push us away whenever you’re afraid.”

“I know.”

She looked back at him.

“And I’m not coming back as your maid.”

“Good.”

That surprised her.

“Good?”

“I don’t want you working for me.”

“What exactly do you want?”

Alessandro hesitated.

“For now?”

“Yes.”

“Dinner.”

Clara stared.

“Dinner?”

“At a restaurant.”

“You own restaurants.”

“One I don’t own.”

“Why?”

“Apparently that makes it a real date.”

She laughed.

Alessandro smiled.

Then a tiny voice came from the stairs.

“Are you marrying Mommy?”

Both adults turned.

Sophie stood there holding her rabbit.

Clara groaned.

“Sophie.”

Alessandro crouched.

“We’re discussing dinner.”

“That’s boring.”

“It’s how adults begin.”

Sophie walked down.

“You can marry me instead.”

Alessandro looked at Clara.

There was the smile.

The one Sophie had brought back.

“I believe we already discussed the age problem.”

“I’m almost four.”

“Still a problem.”

Sophie sighed.

“Fine.”

She pointed at Clara.

“You can marry her.”

Clara’s face burned.

Alessandro stood.

“Your daughter negotiates aggressively.”

“She learned from you.”

For the first time since leaving the mansion, Clara laughed.

And this time, she let Alessandro take her hand.

---