The hills rolled in gentle curves, bathed in gold from the late afternoon sun. Rows of grapevines stretched as far as the eye could see, heavy with fruit, rustling in the breeze like nature whispering secrets of old. Birds called out in soft, familiar songs. And from the heart of it all—a vineyard nestled in Tuscany—came the hum of life, laughter, and peace.
Amelia stood barefoot on the warm stone path just outside the house, her summer dress swaying around her calves, her hair tied in a loose braid that had already started unraveling thanks to the wind. In her arms, their youngest daughter squirmed sleepily against her shoulder, sucking on her thumb.
“Leo!” she called, laughter threading her voice. “I swear if you’re hiding in the wine barrels again, I’m going to send your uncle Ale aft
