*Lake Como – The Pier, Midnight*
Rain whipped across the lake like a thousand tiny knives. The wind howled, bending trees and pulling clouds low over the water. But Claire stood on the old wooden pier anyway, soaked to the bone, staring out into the black.
Her fingers curled around the necklace she once buried at the foot of her bed. The chain dug into her palm.
She didn't hear him approach.
But she felt it.
Vincenzo's voice came low, husky from the cold. “You'll catch pneumonia."
“Good," she replied. “Maybe I won't have to walk down the aisle if I'm unconscious."
He stepped onto the slick boards, rain sliding down his coat. “You still have time to walk away."
She didn't turn. “No, Vincenzo. I had time five years ago. You burned it."
“I didn't know what marrying you meant back the
