Our kiss wasn’t earth-shattering. There was no toe-curling passion or dizzying intensity. It was something simpler, something soft—a kiss filled with hope, comfort, and the kind of security that felt like home. It was a kiss that carried the weight of risks we both knew existed, promising inevitable heartbreak, yet tinged with a fragile beauty.
The week after the Festival was the best I’d had since losing Mom. My connection with Carlo wasn’t defined by tension or unspoken desires; it was different—much like what Mom had with Beta Tommaso. I had given Carlo a part of my heart, and I knew he would carry that piece wherever life led us. In return, he grounded me, helping me face the grief I had kept buried for so long.
He didn’t stay away when I woke drenched in sweat, tears threatening to
