Chapter 12 - The Warmth of an Old Dog’s Breath
Spring arrived in Chicago with an explosion of color.
The cold winds and heavy snows of winter melted away, replaced by warm sunshine, blooming cherry blossoms, and lush green lawns across the Moretti estate.
The grand terrace overlooking the gardens had been completely renovated. Soft outdoor sofas, sandstone fire pits, and custom ramp ways had been installed so Bruno could easily walk from the lawn into the main house without straining his joints.
On a warm Saturday afternoon, my mother and I were sitting on the terrace drinking freshly brewed iced tea.
Clara looked radiant in a floral summer dress, her health fully restored. She was happily knitting a tiny green dog sweater for Bruno, who was sleeping peacefully at her feet in the warm afternoon sun.
"You know, sweetheart," my mother said, looking at me with a soft smile. "A year ago, I was lying in a hospital bed praying that God would give you just a little bit of relief from all the burdens you were carrying for me."
I reached across the table and squeezed her hand. "God answered your prayers in a very unexpected way, Mom."
"He sent you a protector," my mother said, nodding toward the garden path.
Luca was walking up the stone steps. He had discarded his formal suits for the weekend, wearing a simple linen shirt and dark trousers. His face was relaxed, the sharp lines of tension that once defined him entirely softened by peace.
Bruno’s ears perked up. The old dog opened his eyes, let out a joyful bark, and pushed himself up to trot toward Luca.
Luca knelt down on the grass, catching Bruno in his arms and rubbing the dog's golden chest with a wide, genuine grin. "How's my boy today? Did you guard the garden for Emma?"
Bruno licked Luca’s chin enthusiastically, tail wagging like a metronome.
Luca stood up, walked over to the terrace table, and kissed my cheek softly before greeting my mother. "Clara, the chef prepared those lemon tarts you requested for dessert tonight."
"Oh, you spoil me, Luca," my mother laughed, picking up her knitting basket. "I'm going to take these inside to Mrs. Carter. You two enjoy the sunshine."
Once my mother had stepped inside the house, Luca pulled up a chair beside me, resting his hand over mine on the table. The emerald ring caught the brilliant spring sunlight.
"The wedding invitations were sent out this morning," Luca said softly.
"How many guests?" I asked, smiling.
"Only forty," Luca replied. "Close friends, your family, and our staff. No corrupt politicians. No fake socialites. Just people who truly care about us."
I leaned my head against his broad shoulder, breathing in his familiar scent of cedarwood and clean linen. "It sounds perfect."
Luca wrapped his arm around me, pulling me closer.
"Three weeks from today, Emma Collins... you will officially become Emma Moretti."
"And what will the most feared boss in Chicago do with a wife who used to spill dinner rolls on the tablecloth?" I teased gently.
May you like
Luca turned his head, his dark eyes brimming with an ocean of love.
"I will spend the rest of my life making sure she never has to hide her tears, her fears, or her scars ever again."
