“If we’re going to convince my grandmother this is real, we need to get our story straight. So tell me—when I allegedly sang at this karaoke bar, what song did I choose?”
Emma laughed through her tears. “Something Italian. Emotional. Probably about loss.”
“I’m not that predictable.”
“You absolutely are.”
Luca’s mouth curved. “What else?”
“You were terrible. Off-key. But you committed to it.”
“Committed to it.”
“Fully. There were hand gestures.”
“I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”
Emma wiped her eyes. “Completely.”
For one suspended moment, Luca looked like he wanted to say something that would change everything.
Instead, he stepped back.
“Get some sleep, Emma. We’ll talk in the morning.”
He left before she could respond.
Emma stood alone in the sitting room, surrounded by photographs of a family that had learned to survive by holding onto the people who mattered.
She touched the frame Teresa had touched earlier.
The terrified bride.
The groom who had chosen her anyway.
Emma had come to this house because she needed money. Had agreed to lie because she was desperate. Had stood beside Luca Moretti and invented a relationship that didn’t exist.
But somewhere between the karaoke bar that never happened and the moment Luca had touched his grandfather’s ring, something had shifted.
Emma left the sitting room.
The hallway was dark except for a single light at the far end.
Luca’s office.
She walked toward it without deciding to.
The door was cracked open. Inside, Luca sat at his desk, phone pressed to his ear, speaking rapid Italian to someone who kept saying “sì, capo.”
He glanced up.
Saw her.
Held up one finger.
Emma waited.
When he hung up, she stepped inside.
