A planned engagement

chapter 16

The sky was overcast, as though the heavens themselves had chosen to mourn with them. Family members and close friends gathered at the small cemetery, dressed in black and muted colors, their faces heavy with grief yet softened by shared memories.

Nico stood beside the casket, his shoulders squared but his eyes distant. The polished wood bore a simple engraving—her name, her years, and the legacy she left behind. Flowers surrounded it: white lilies, roses, and soft greenery, symbols of peace and a life well lived.

Alexi stood close to him, her hand resting gently in his. She said nothing. She didn’t need to. Her presence alone was enough.

As the pastor stepped forward, his voice was calm and steady, offering words of comfort, reminding everyone that Nico’s grandmother had lived a life of kindness, strength, and quiet sacrifice. She had been a woman who held her family together, whose wisdom shaped generations, whose love never asked for anything in return

One by one, family members stepped forward to pay their final respects.

There were tears—silent ones and uncontrollable ones. There were also faint smiles as memories were shared: her laughter, her prayers, the way she always knew what to say when things fell apart.

When it was Nico’s turn, he moved slowly toward the casket. For a moment, he simply stood there, staring, as though trying to memorize the last physical proof of her presence.

“My grandmother,” he began, his voice low but clear, “was my strength.”

He paused, his eyes fixed on the casket.

“She raised me with love, discipline, and faith. When the world felt harsh, she was my safe place. When I failed, she believed in me more than I believed in myself.”

His voice wavered, but he pressed on.

“She taught me kindness—not with words, but with her actions. She taught me how to stand tall, how to respect others, and how to love deeply.”

A tear slipped down his cheek.

“I am who I am because of her,” he said softly. “And though today hurts more than I can explain, I am grateful—grateful that I was loved by her.”

He placed a gentle hand on the casket.

“Rest now, Grandma,” he whispered. “I will carry you with me… always.”

Nico stepped back, his shoulders heavy with grief.

As the casket was lowered into the ground, Alexi squeezed his hand, her eyes filled with tears. Nico didn’t cry—not openly—but the pain was there, deep and raw, written across his face.

Around them, quiet sobs rose and fell, blending with the sound of the earth closing over the goodbye.

When the service ended, no one rushed away. They lingered, bound by grief and love, offering embraces, whispered condolences, and silent prayers.

Though she was gone, her presence remained—woven into the hearts of those she left behind.

And as they walked away from the graveside, Nico knew one thing for certain:

She had been laid to rest with honor, surrounded by love—just as she had lived.

After the burial at the family house, under a sky heavy with gray clouds that threatened rain but never delivered, Alexi was speaking quietly with Rose near the blooming rose bushes that Nico's grandmother had tended so lovingly. The air still carried the faint scent of fresh earth from the grave and the lingering perfume of funeral lilies. That's when Gina, Nico's stepmother, approached them with measured steps, her designer heels clicking softly on the stone pathway. She wore a sleek black dress that screamed quiet elegance, but her eyes held a rare vulnerability.

"May I have a word with you, Alexi?" Gina said, her voice steady but softer than Alexi had ever heard it.

Alexi was shocked. Was Gina actually talking to her? The woman who had always kept a cool distance, treating her like an outsider in the family dynamics?

"Of course," Alexi replied, hesitating for a moment before adding, "mother." The word felt foreign on her tongue, like borrowing a title that didn't quite fit, but she said it anyway, out of respect or perhaps curiosity.

They walked to a quiet alcove in the house, away from the murmuring guests—a small sitting room lined with old family portraits, the walls echoing with the ghosts of past generations. The dim light from a single window cast long shadows across the rug.

"I know I haven't been the best mother," Gina began, folding her hands in her lap as they sat on opposite ends of a velvet settee. Her manicured nails tapped lightly against each other, a telltale sign of nerves. "But I'm glad that you are with Nico today. It means a whole lot to see him... supported."

Alexi met her gaze, searching for sincerity. "I love Nico so much, whether you believe it or not. I will be there for him, and I will love him as much as he deserves—more, even."

Gina nodded, her lips pressing into a thin line. "I'm not a bad person. I just want what's best for our family and the company. I know Nico doesn't think of me as a good one, but I can bear being the bad one for the good of this family. Just know that if I hadn't done what I did... you won't be here today.” Gina stood up, looked at her for a while and walked away.

Later, Nico was in the back of the sleek black sedan with Alexi as Andrew, their loyal driver in his crisp uniform, navigated the winding roads home through the fading twilight. The leather seats were cool against their skin, and the hum of the engine provided a soothing backdrop. Alexi looked at Nico, his profile sharp in the dim light from passing streetlamps, and held his hand, intertwining their fingers. "Are you all right?"

He gave a brief smile, the kind that didn't quite reach his eyes but warmed her nonetheless. "Yes, of course, my love. And I am glad you're here with me. Thank you," Nico said, his voice low and sincere.

"Of course. I'll always be here with you," Alexi said, squeezing his hand gently.

"Andrew," Nico called out suddenly.

"Yes, sir?" Andrew replied, glancing in the rearview mirror.

"I'm starving.”

They pulled up to a fine restaurant tucked away in a chic downtown neighborhood, its facade glowing with soft golden lights and the name "La Nonna" etched in elegant script above the door—a subtle nod to his grandmother. Inside, the place was a haven of rich aromas: garlic, fresh herbs, and baking bread mingling in the air. Nico ordered a feast—platters of antipasti with prosciutto and aged cheeses, steaming pasta al forno bubbling with ricotta and marinara, grilled lamb chops seasoned with rosemary from the family estate, and a decadent tiramisu for dessert. Bottles of vintage Chianti were uncorked, their deep red hues catching the candlelight.

Alexi was surprised, her eyes widening at the array being laid out on the expansive central table. "My God, how many people are going to eat this?"

"We are," he said with a mischievous glint in his eye.

Alexi remembered how Nico hadn't eaten a single thing at the funeral, his plate untouched amid the somber catered spread. He'd been too sad, too angry, his jaw clenched as he stared at the horizon. But right now, he looked happy—at least on the surface, the tension in his shoulders easing as he surveyed the room. She suddenly looked around and realized they were the only patrons in the restaurant, the usual buzz of diners absent. Then, all the staff—chefs in white coats, waiters with polished trays, even the sommelier—gathered around them, curiosity etched on their faces.

"Nico, what's going on?" she asked, a mix of confusion and amusement in her voice.

"Everyone," Nico announced, raising his glass with a commanding yet warm tone, "it's my grandmother's burial today. She believed in sharing meals, not mourning in isolation. Join us. Feel free to eat whatever you want—consider it a family gathering."

Immediately, the staff joined at the big table, hesitation giving way to grateful smiles and chatter. Plates clinked, laughter bubbled up like the wine being poured, and someone pulled out a saxophone from the back room, filling the space with smooth, melancholic jazz that somehow lifted the mood. Alexi began to laugh when she realized it was his restaurant—they all ate and laughed and played, the feast turning into an impromptu celebration of life. Alexi sat beside Nico, her chair close to his, as they watched the staff enjoy themselves: a young waiter sharing a story about his own nonna, the head chef toasting to enduring memories, the music weaving through it all like a gentle thread.

"So this place is yours?" she asked, leaning in, her hand on his knee under the table.

He smiled at her, his eyes sparkling with secrets yet to be shared. "Oh, Lexi, there is a whole lot more. This is just the beginning.”