Page 100 of The Thief

“Interesting how you find some grand larceny romantic, yet when I steal a painting from a museum, it’s alldon’t do this, Antonio, andit belongs to the Palazzo Ducale, Antonio.”

I roll my eyes and pretend to throw a pillow at him. “Stop whining,” I tell him. “It’s a terrible look on you.”

He flashes me a glance that promises retribution.

I can’t wait.

He wraps his arm around my waist and tugs me closer. “Back to the ring,” he says. “Your father stole the pendant from the Duke of Aosta. I asked around, and it was, I gather, a crime of opportunity.”

“I didn’t know that. They didn’t talk much about their work.”

“No doubt they were trying to discourage you from following in their path.”

“Pity that didn’t work out,” I quip. “And now I’m marrying another thief. They’re probably rolling over in their graves.” That’s a lie. Antonio would have charmed the pants off my parents. My mother would have made all her favorite dishes for him, and my father would have insisted the two of them hang out in his study and smoke cigars. It was his highest form of praise, reserved only for the people he genuinely liked.

“Anyway, the pendant was part of a set, and there was a matching ring.” He slides it on my finger. “This one.”

I stare at my left hand in shock. This isn’t just any ring. This is the ring that matches my mother’s pendant perfectly. Antonio isn’t just offering me forever—he’s making me a promise that he will always pay attention to my needs. He doesn’t just want me in his life—he wants to build a life together.

My emotions are a topsy-turvy turmoil. There’s surprise and disbelief that he’s really mine, and there’s gratitude that I found the missing half of my soul. But above all, I feel a shining sense of joy. My heart is so full that it might spill over, and I think I’m going to cry.

“Did you steal it?” I tease, trying to blink away the tears.

“I was tempted,” he admits with a small laugh. “It would be very poetic. But it’s too recognizable a piece of jewelry, and unlike the pendant, you can’t keep it hidden.” His eyes flash with possessive fire. “I don’t want you to keep it hidden. I want the world to see it.” He kisses my hand. “If you don’t like it, we can shop for a different?—”

“Don’t you dare. I love it.”

We both want a small wedding,and neither of us wants to wait, so we decide to get married in two weeks.

I ask Rosa if she’ll design my wedding dress, and she nearly has a heart attack when she hears the date. “Two weeks,” she bitches at me through a mouthful of pins during my first fitting. “What is the hurry? Are you pregnant?”

Valentina chokes on her glass of prosecco, looking like she’s on the verge of breaking out into giggles. “Are you?” she asks when she’s done coughing. “And you never said anything.”

I glare at both of them. “I am not, thank you. But we want a small wedding, and I don’t see any reason to wait. Now, stop monopolizing the prosecco and pour me a glass.”

We don’t want to wait; that part is true. But that’s not the only reason we’re getting married as soon as we are. I want to get married in winter. My parents died this time of the year, and I want to replace that memory with a happier one. It doesn’t mean I’m going to forget about their deaths, and it certainly doesn’t mean I don’t still miss them every day.

But it’s a reminder that life holds both sweetness and bitterness. Both joy and sadness and it’s this duality that makes us human.

It’s the same reason we’re getting married at Il Redentore. Antonio and I aren’t religious, but this is the church he was abandoned in as a baby. Every time he walks past it now, that memory will be replaced with this one.

Fuck the past. Fuck those demons. We’re going to make our own future, and it’s going to be glorious.

The night before our wedding, I’m in bed with Antonio. I know it’s tradition to spend this night without him, but I’ve spent too many nights alone, and I don’t see the point of it. “I have a present for you,” he says. His gaze meets mine, and a smile touches his lips. “Wife.”

“Husband.” I try the word out experimentally, and a possessive surge runs through me. Yes. My husband.Mine.“Another present? Antonio, we’ve discussed this.”

“No,you’vediscussed this.” He offers me a small rectangular box. “Open it.”

I frown at him. “If it’s more jewelry, I’m going to. . .” I open the lid, and my voice trails away. “This is a key,” I say, confused. “A key to what?”

“To a museum. Well, right now, it’s an empty space on the floor above the new community center. But I’m hoping you’ll shape it into a museum, one that feels accessible to everyone.”

A museum located near the dock where we met, one accessible to street kids like him. I stare at him in shock. “You want me to set up your museum?”

“Why do you look so surprised? I already told you I wanted you to do it. Unless you feel you’re not up to the challenge.” He gives me a wicked smile. “Of course, some of my collection has been. . . ahem, dubiously acquired, so you’ll have to figure out how to return those to their original owners.”

“Won’t you miss them? Once they go back, you can’t change your mind.”

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