Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 65987 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65987 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
"I haven't decorated for Christmas since..." He trailed off, a shadow crossing his face.
"Since your parents?" I guessed softly.
He nodded, suddenly focused on adjusting a ribbon that didn't need adjusting. "Mom loved Christmas. After she died, Dad didn't see the point. I was so little I barely remember helping. But it’s there." He tapped his temple with his finger. “Buried pretty deep, but it’s there.”
I placed my hand over his. "Then we're bringing it back. For her."
Throughout the day, I caught glimpses of Marcus watching from doorways, his expression giving away nothing but his continued presence speaking volumes. Once, when I struggled with a particularly unwieldy garland in the library, I turned to find him silently holding the other end, helping me secure it before disappearing without a word.
Later, I caught him examining a cookie, turning it over in his large hands like a strange artifact before taking a careful bite. When he noticed me watching, he gave me the tiniest nod, a gesture that, coming from Marcus, felt like effusive praise.
By late afternoon, flour dusted my clothes, pine needles clung to my hair, and my fingers were sticky with cookie icing. But Villa Luca glowed with Christmas warmth. At least the main entrance, the kitchen, and the rooms I frequented daily. The transformation wasn't complete, we still needed a tree. I had plans for the exterior lights, but already the imposing mansion felt warmer, more like a home than a fortress.
I stood in the center of the kitchen, surrounded by cookies cooling on racks and the rich smell of baking panettone, suddenly overwhelmed by the scale of what I'd taken on. This wasn't my tiny apartment where a single string of lights made all the difference. This was a mansion that had resisted warmth for a generation, filled with men who had forgotten or never known what Christmas could mean.
But the memory of how the men in this household responded to my continued assault on their private domain made me think that, maybe Christmas magic worked even on mafia families. And maybe, just maybe, I belonged here after all.
I lit the last candle, its warm glow joining dozens of others scattered throughout the grand entrance of Villa Luca. Twilight had fallen, and the Christmas lights twined through garlands and wreaths cast magical patterns across marble floors and vaulted ceilings. Christmas lights provided the only illumination, creating a truly magical scene. The scent of pine, cinnamon, and vanilla hung in the air, fighting back against the mansion's usual austere coldness. I wiped my sweaty palms against my jeans and glanced at the ornate grandfather clock for the fifth time in as many minutes. Dario would be home soon. The thought sent butterflies swirling through my stomach. Not the good kind that appeared when he touched me, but the anxious, fluttering kind that reminded me how much his opinion mattered, how desperately I wanted him to approve of my transformation of his ancestral home. And that I’d done this without checking with him. Oh well. Better to ask forgiveness than permission.
The sound of the door opening had me jumping slightly. He didn’t usually come inside through the grand entrance, but I’d had the staff direct him this way. Maybe not the smartest move, but I wanted his immediate reaction.
I smoothed down my hair, tucking stray strands behind my ears, suddenly wishing I'd taken time to change out of my flour-dusted sweater. Too late now. The front door opened, and Dario stepped into the foyer, stopping abruptly as the full impact of the decorations hit him. His expression froze somewhere between shock and confusion. His piercing blue eyes swept across the garland-draped staircase, the twinkling lights, the wreaths and candles transforming his home into something warmer, softer.
"Belle?" he said, my name emerging as a question.
"Um, surprise?" I offered, voice higher than normal. "I thought... it's December, and the house could use some Christmas spirit." The words tumbled out nervously as I studied his face for any sign of approval.
Dario moved further into the hall, his footsteps silent on the marble floor. The transformation extended in every direction—ribbons adorning the doorways, candles flickering on tables, even the crystal chandelier above sporting delicate glass ornaments that caught the light. He reached out to touch a pine garland, rubbing the needles between his fingers.
"You did all this today?" His voice revealed nothing.
I nodded, fingers twisting together. "Your brothers helped. Well, Gabriel helped. Alessandro supervised. Matteo stole cookies. Vittorio pretended he wasn't watching." I was rambling, nervous energy making my words rush together.
Dario's eyebrows rose slightly. "Vittorio participated?"
"He hummed a Christmas carol," I admitted. "Then pretended he hadn't."
Something in Dario's expression shifted, the stiffness in his shoulders easing almost imperceptibly. He walked further into the house, pausing to examine a bowl of handmade ornaments I'd placed on a side table. His fingers brushed one made of twined ribbons. "My mother used to make these," he said so quietly I almost missed it.