It’s been three days since we landed in Italy, and the air still feels foreign—too sweet, too heavy, like it’s trying to seduce me into forgetting everything I left behind.
Sam and Gabby are in full wedding mode, flipping through silk swatches and arguing over centerpieces like this is real. Like Luca and I aren’t about to walk into a trap dressed in couture. Momma sits beside me, regal and quiet, her eyes scanning every detail with the precision of a queen inspecting her court. She doesn’t speak often, but when she does, it lands like prophecy.
We’re at lunch now, tucked into a sun-drenched patio in Florence, surrounded by plates of burrata and sparkling water. I’m trying to breathe through the chaos—through Sam’s laughter, Gabby’s teasing, and the weight of my mother’s letter still fol
