The Moretti family villa in southern Italy was nothing short of a dream. Nestled between olive groves and sloping vineyards, the warm sun bathed the estate in a golden hue that could fool anyone into believing the world was at peace. But not Leona. Not when her mind buzzed with the weight of secrets and identities she could never speak aloud.
She stood near the arched entrance, her gaze darting from one face to another. They were all kind, smiling even — Carlo, Valerio's uncle, his wife Livia, their energetic children, and then Giuliana Moretti, the family's iron-strong matriarch, whose hugs were bone-crushing and eyes too perceptive for Leona's comfort. Yet, despite the warmth, Leona felt misplaced.
She had always been good at blending in. Quiet smiles, polite nods, soft laughter. But here, surrounded by generations of a family she was technically part of only by a fragile thread of lies and borrowed time, she felt like glass among stone.
Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her dress as the rest of them laughed over a joke shared in Italian — one she couldn't quite catch fully. The language barrier didn't help. Even though she understood enough, the familial ease in their dialect made her feel ten steps behind.
And just when she felt her panic creeping in — that familiar, suffocating feeling of needing to flee — a hand slid gently into hers.
She looked up, startled.
Valerio.
He didn't say anything at first. His hand just held hers — firm, grounding.
"They don't bite," he said in a low voice, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement.
Leona tried to smile, but it came out wobbly. "I feel like I accidentally walked into someone else's family reunion."
"That's because you did," he teased, earning a glare from her. Then softer, he added, "But I brought you here, so technically, you're with me."
She blinked at him. The words weren't romantic. Not really. But they carried a warmth that settled deep in her chest.
Then, without letting go of her hand, he led her forward.
"Nonna," he said, addressing Giuliana with a fondness Leona hadn't seen in him before, "this is Leona. My friend."
Friend. A safe word. A careful word.
Giuliana turned, her eyes landing on Leona with sharpness that softened almost instantly. She didn't speak right away. Instead, she reached out, took Leona's face in both hands, and examined her.
"So beautiful," she said in a heavy Italian accent. "And too thin. You will eat more here."
Leona let out a breathy laugh, cheeks flushing as Giuliana pulled her into a hug.
"And this one," Giuliana continued, thumbing toward Valerio, "hasn't brought anyone home since he was ten and trying to impress the neighbor's daughter."
"Nonna," Valerio groaned.
The entire group laughed, the tension breaking.
Introductions flowed more smoothly after that. Carlo greeted her warmly, his wife Livia pulling her in for the classic Italian kiss on both cheeks. The children, curious and bold, clung to her like they'd known her for years.
For the first time since stepping off the plane, Leona didn't feel like an outsider. She felt… included. It terrified her more than it comforted her.
Later, as the sun dipped low and they all gathered in the courtyard for drinks and laughter, Leona found herself seated beside Valerio. Not too close. Not touching. But close enough to hear him chuckle under his breath at something his uncle said.
She looked at him sideways.
He caught her staring.
"What?" he asked, lips curled in a smirk.
"You… surprised me today."
"By introducing you?"
"By holding my hand," she said quietly. "By making it easier."
Valerio's gaze lingered on her a moment longer, the teasing fading from his eyes.
"You make things hard for me," he said honestly. "Least I could do was make something easier for you."
Leona turned away before he could see what those words did to her. How they cracked something inside her — not painfully, but like light spilling through a shuttered window.
For now, she would let herself pretend.
Pretend that this place, this warmth, these people, and especially the man beside her — that maybe she wasn't as much of a stranger as she thought.
Leona shrugged at Valerio's words, feigning indifference, but her insides were a storm she could no longer silence.
His tone had been too sincere, too bare.
You make things hard for me.
The words rang in her chest like a soft bruise being pressed — tender, real, and far too dangerous for the woman she was supposed to be.
She hated that she understood what he meant.
Hated it even more that she wanted to believe him.
So before she could talk herself out of it — before the assassin in her brain could scream warnings and shove walls back up — Leona leaned into him.
Arms wrapping around his torso, she hugged him. Tightly.
It wasn't careful. It wasn't composed. It wasn't the kind of hug that said thank you.
It was the kind that whispered I need this. I need you.
Valerio froze, just for a second. Then his arms came around her — slow, warm, steady.
She didn't look up. She couldn't.
"I'm tired of pretending," she mumbled into his chest.
Valerio didn't ask what she meant. Maybe he already knew. Or maybe, like her, he was too afraid to find out.
So they just sat there in silence — a tangled moment neither of them could undo.
A tiny gasp made Leona pull back slightly — just enough to see over Valerio's shoulder.
Standing a few feet away, half-hidden behind a decorative pillar, was a young girl with wide hazel eyes and curly dark hair tied into two messy ponytails. Elena. Ten years old, mischief in her veins, and curiosity written across her entire face.
Her jaw had dropped — in the most dramatic, theatrical way — as if she'd just witnessed a royal scandal unfold in broad daylight.
Leona flushed. Valerio turned his head slowly, then sighed, already bracing himself.
"Elena," he said.
She grinned like she'd found the juiciest piece of gossip in the universe. "I saw everything."
Leona groaned softly and buried her face into Valerio's shirt. "Tell me she's bluffing."
"She's ten, she has no chill," he muttered.
Unfortunately, Elena did exactly what she was known for: yelling.
"Mama! Papa! Uncle Val! Nonna! Everyone!! You're not gonna believe who's in love!"
One by one, the rest of the family peeked around the corner or walked into the courtyard, confused and intrigued.
And just like that, privacy vanished into the Italian breeze.
What neither Leona nor Valerio realized was that a little further away — by the garden steps — the teenagers of the family had been watching too. Alessia sat with her feet kicked up on a low wall, Carlo's elder son beside her, and another cousin leaning against the railing. None of them said a word, but their eyes were wide and eyebrows raised, silently exchanging glances. For once, the teens knew better than to interrupt.
Back in the courtyard, as the laughter and teasing swelled around them, Leona turned slightly toward Valerio. She was flushed, but no longer from embarrassment — something softer, braver bloomed inside her chest.
"Well…" she whispered to him, her eyes flickering with something playful, "since everyone already knows we hugged…"
He tilted his head, curious. "Yeah?"
She leaned in close, her breath warm against his cheek. "Might as well give them something real to talk about."
And before he could answer, she kissed him.
Not just a peck. Not shy or rushed. It was slow, intentional — like she wasn't hiding anymore.
A few gasps followed, someone whistled, and even Nonna murmured something in amused Italian.
But for that one moment, it was just them.
The kiss had been sweet, bold, maybe even reckless — but it was hers. Leona wasn't sure what came over her. Maybe it was the calm of the countryside or the safety of Valerio's presence. Maybe she was just tired of hiding behind her sunshine mask.
But as the kiss ended and she slowly opened her eyes, she realized the air had shifted.
The family's playful teasing still hung around, but a few feet away, someone stood apart from them — someone who wasn't part of the laughter.
A woman.
She was striking, with poised elegance and sharp eyes. A bit older than Leona, perhaps Valerio's age. Her long hair was perfectly done despite the heat, and her dress too curated for a casual family gathering.
Leona straightened instinctively, suddenly aware of her posture, her choice of outfit, the kiss that had just happened in full view.
The woman didn't look amused. In fact, she looked stunned — as if someone had just knocked the air out of her.
Her eyes immediately flicked to Valerio, searching his face for… something. Maybe denial. Maybe explanation.
But what she saw wasn't softness or discomfort. Valerio's expression had hardened — a cold, unreadable mask that Leona had rarely seen directed at anyone else.
The woman blinked, her lips parting just slightly, and then she quickly turned her face away.
Leona swallowed hard, something uncomfortable curling in her stomach.
"Who's that?" she asked quietly, not expecting an answer.
Valerio didn't respond right away, jaw tight.
And that silence? That said more than words.
Leona's gaze shifted from the woman to Dante, hoping for some clarity. If anyone knew, it had to be him—Valerio's best friend, practically his brother. She caught Dante already watching her, a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. He looked between her and the woman, then back to Leona, his jaw clenched slightly as if deciding what to say. He didn't speak, but the look he gave her was enough—it was confirmation and warning all at once. Whoever that woman was, she wasn't just some guest. And whatever history she had with Valerio, it wasn't something Dante wanted to unpack here.