Chapter 12 - The Toast
Two years later.
The dining room of the Moretti mansion looked exactly as it had the night everything changed.
The crystal chandeliers gleamed.
The long mahogany table was set for forty guests.
But this time, the atmosphere wasn’t stiff. It wasn’t cold.
It was filled with laughter, the clinking of glasses, and the smell of fresh garlic and roasting lamb.
I sat at the head of the table, beside Luca.
I wasn’t wearing a red silk gown. I wore a simple, elegant navy dress.
And on my left hand rested a diamond ring that caught the light of the chandeliers.
“More wine, Mrs. Moretti?”
I looked up.
One of the new waitstaff, a young girl named Sarah, smiled warmly at me.
“Just a little, thank you, Sarah.”
Luca leaned over, pressing a kiss to my temple.
“You’re glowing,” he murmured.
“I’m exhausted,” I laughed. “Running a bakery and planning a wedding in the same month was a terrible idea.”
“You loved every second of it,” he teased.
“I did.”
At the other end of the table, Rosa was holding court, loudly arguing with a politician about property taxes while eating a massive slice of the wedding cake I had baked myself.
Then, the clinking of a fork against crystal silenced the room.
We all turned.
Matteo stood up.
He was sixteen now. Taller. Broader in the shoulders.
He wore a perfectly tailored tuxedo.
He held a glass of sparkling cider in his hand.
He didn’t have a wrinkled piece of paper.
He didn’t have any notes at all.
The room grew quiet, respectfully waiting.
Matteo took a breath.
He looked down the table at his father. Then at me.
“Three years ago,” Matteo started, his voice steady and strong. “I stood in this room, and I couldn’t get through one sentence.”
He smiled, a confident, easy smile.
“I was scared. I was angry. I was missing my mom. And I didn’t think anyone actually wanted to hear what I had to say.”
He walked slowly around the table, stopping right behind my chair.
He rested his hand on my shoulder.
“Then a maid found me in the kitchen. She helped me tape a broken flower back together. And she told me that she had watched my dad listen to me, and that he was never embarrassed.”
Luca’s eyes gleamed with unshed tears. He reached up and squeezed his son’s hand where it rested on my shoulder.
“Claire didn’t just fix a flower that day,” Matteo said to the room. “She fixed us.”
He raised his glass.
Not a single word caught in his throat.
“My dad taught me that family is the people who wait for you. And Claire taught me that family is the people who fight for you. Even when the odds are bad. Even when they’re just holding a rolling pin.”
The guests laughed warmly.
“To my dad,” Matteo said. “And to Claire. The bravest woman I know. Welcome to the family, Mom.”
A single tear slipped down my cheek.
He had never called me Mom before.
“To Luca and Claire!” the room echoed, raising their glasses.
I stood up and turned around, throwing my arms around Matteo in a tight hug. He hugged me back, burying his face in my shoulder just like he did when he was fourteen and terrified in a wine cellar.
When I let go, Luca was standing there.
He didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to.
He just pulled me into his chest, holding his family together.
The empire was safe.
May you like
The ghosts were settled.
And I was exactly where I belonged.
