Six Months Later — Tuscany, Italy
The morning sun spilled like honey over the vineyard hills, bathing the quiet countryside in a golden warmth that made everything feel softer, slower, like time had exhaled.
The villa stood at the edge of the valley, ivory walls kissed by ivy, terracotta roof glowing in the light. It was tucked away from the chaos of cities, untouched by noise, untouched by fear.
Inside, a record played quietly—old jazz, the kind that sounded like love if you closed your eyes.
Amelia stood barefoot in the kitchen, wrapped in one of Enzo’s oversized button-down shirts. Her hair was messy, half pinned, half falling down her back, and her face was bare, radiant in the morning glow. She moved between the counter and the stove, humming along softly, the smell of fresh espre
