Page 28 of His Bride

“Where are we headed, Mrs. Rossi?” Enzo asks.

“Caf?? Bellissimo on Via Roma,” I reply.

We exit the mansion and Enzo ushers me quickly to the waiting black SUV at the bottom of the steps, its tinted windows reflecting the manicured gardens surrounding us. Enzo opens the rear door for me, his eyes never ceasing their vigilant sweep of the area.

I slide into the cool leather interior and Enzo takes his place in the driver’s seat, his broad shoulders filling the space. As we pull away from the house, I watch it shrink in the side mirror,

As we drive, I steal glances at Enzo’s stoic profile. His jaw is clenched, eyes constantly checking the side and rearview mirrors.

I bite my lip, conflicted. Part of me is grateful for the protection, knowing the dangers that come with being a Rossi. But another part chafes at the lack of privacy, of normalcy.

“You don’t have to hover quite so close at the restaurant,” I venture.

Enzo’s eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror. “With all due respect, Mrs. Rossi, I do. Your safety is my top priority.”

I sigh, sinking back into the seat. The car glides through the streets of Rome, carrying me towards a bittersweet reunion.

The SUV pulls up to Café Bellissimo. My heart races as I scan the outdoor tables. There - I spot them. Mom and Valentina.

Enzo opens my door. “I’ll be watching, Mrs. Rossi.”

I nod, pulse quickening as I approach. Mom sees me first, her eyes lighting up. She stands, arms outstretched.

“Adriana, tesoro!”

I collapse into her embrace, inhaling her familiar scent of lavender and home. Tears prick my eyes.

“Oh, Mom!” I cry.

Valentina envelops us both in a hug. “We’ve missed you!”

“I’ve missed you too!” my voice us thick with emotions.

As we pull apart, I notice the concern in their eyes, poorly masked by their smiles.

“Shall we go inside?” I suggest, acutely aware of Enzo’s watchful presence.

We walk inside and a waiter take us to our table, leaving us the menu for us to look at before disappearing. Once seated at our table, a heavy silence falls. I fidget with my wedding ring, unsure where to begin.

“How are you, really?” my mother asks softly, her hand covering mine.

I take a deep breath, meeting their worried gazes. “It’s… complicated,” I admit. “Dante is… not what I expected.”

Valentina leans in, her voice low. “Is he hurting you?”

I shake my head quickly. “No.”

“Then what is it?” Valentina asks.

The waiter appears at our table, interrupting our conversation. “Are you ladies ready to order?” he asks, pen poised over his notepad.

I realize I haven’t even glanced at the menu. “Oh, um…” I fumble, my mind still swimming with thoughts of my new life.

“We’ll have the chef’s special pasta and a bottle of the house red,” my mother smoothly interjects, her calm voice a balm to my frazzled nerves. The waiter nods and retreats.

As soon as he’s out of earshot, I lean in close. “I need to tell you both something,” I begin to say, feeling my pulse quicken. “Dante… he’s not what I expected.”

Valentina’s eyebrows shoot up. “What do you mean, cara?”

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