Chapter 15 - THE HONEYMOON THEY CHOSE
Two years after Antonio Russo brought me to his private island without warning, we returned.
This time, I packed my own bags.
Chose the dates.
Booked the flight.
And told Antonio exactly what I wanted.
No business meetings.
No secret plans.
No surprises involving armed security.
He agreed.
Mostly.
When we arrived, Lucia stood waiting at the dock.
She hugged me.
“Welcome home, sweetheart.”
I smiled.
“Thank you.”
Antonio stood beside me.
His hand rested gently against my back.
The island looked the same.
White sand.
Turquoise water.
Palm trees.
The villa overlooking the sea.
But everything felt different.
Because I wasn't afraid.
That evening, Antonio and I walked along the beach.
The sun sank toward the horizon.
The water turned gold.
He took my hand.
“Happy?”
I smiled.
“Very.”
He looked at me.
“Any regrets?”
I considered.
Then laughed softly.
“About marrying a mafia boss?”
He smiled.
“Among other things.”
I looked toward the ocean.
Then back at him.
“I regret that we began with fear.”
His expression softened.
“But I don't regret what we built afterward.”
He squeezed my hand.
We walked in silence.
Then Antonio stopped.
“Sophia.”
I turned.
“Yes?”
He reached into his pocket.
A small velvet box.
My heart raced.
“Antonio.”
He smiled.
“I know we're already married.”
I laughed.
“I'm aware.”
He opened the box.
Inside was a simple diamond ring.
Beautiful.
Elegant.
Nothing like the enormous engagement rings I'd seen on women at his parties.
He looked at me.
“Two years ago, I told you that you were mine.”
His voice softened.
“I was wrong.”
My eyes filled.
He continued.
“You belong to yourself.”
A pause.
“And every day you choose to stand beside me is a gift.”
I swallowed.
Antonio knelt in the sand.
“Sophia.”
His eyes filled.
“Will you marry me again?”
I laughed through tears.
“Yes.”
He smiled.
“Really?”
I nodded.
“Yes, Antonio.”
He slipped the ring onto my finger.
Then stood.
Pulled me into his arms.
And kissed me beneath the Caribbean sunset.
Behind us, the ocean moved gently against the shore.
The island was quiet.
The world seemed far away.
I rested my forehead against his.
“Antonio.”
“Yes?”
“Do you remember what you said on the yacht?”
He smiled faintly.
“That I was going to claim what was mine?”
I nodded.
He sighed.
“I was an idiot.”
I laughed.
“Yes.”
He kissed my forehead.
Then whispered:
“I don't want to claim you, Sophia.”
I looked at him.
“I want to keep earning the privilege of being chosen by you.”
My eyes filled.
I smiled.
“Then you're doing a pretty good job.”
He laughed.
And beneath the warm Caribbean stars, I finally understood something.
Our first marriage had been a contract.
Our first honeymoon had been a plan.
But this marriage?
This honeymoon?
This life?
May you like
We had chosen it.
Together.
