Chapter 9 - THE TUSCAN SUNSETA year later.
The warm afternoon sun painted the rolling hills of Tuscany in brilliant shades of gold, amber, and deep violet.
We had purchased a rustic, century-old stone villa situated among private olive groves and quiet vineyards outside Florence—a private sanctuary where the noise of Manhattan, Wall Street, and high-society politics couldn't reach us.
I stood on the wide stone terrace, wearing a light linen sun dress, looking out over the valley.
The air smelled of fresh pine, blooming jasmine, and warm earth. Down in the garden below, our two rescue dogs were chasing butterflies through the tall grass.
Heavy, familiar footsteps sounded on the stone tiles behind me.
Adrian walked out onto the terrace, wearing a loose white linen shirt and dark trousers, carrying two glasses of chilled local white wine. He set the glasses down on the rustic wooden table, stepped up behind me, and wrapped his broad arms around my waist, pulling me back against his warm chest.
I rested my head against his shoulder, letting out a long, peaceful sigh.
“Thinking about New York?” Adrian murmured against my hair.
“No,” I smiled, turning in his arms to look up into his handsome, relaxed face. “I was thinking about how quiet it is here.”
“Good,” Adrian smiled softly, touching my cheek with his thumb. “Because the board at Whitmore Global knows I’m off the grid for the next three weeks.”
I chuckled, taking his hand. “You really turned over daily operations to your managing directors?”
“I learned my lesson, Maya,” Adrian said, his dark eyes locking onto mine with deep, unwavering affection. “Building an empire is easy. Keeping the woman you love happy is what actually takes work.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, velvet-lined box.
I blinked, surprised. “Adrian... what is that?”
Adrian opened the box. Inside sat a simple, delicate gold band set with a single, flawless radiant-cut diamond—a custom ring engraved on the inside with six simple words: Always yours. Never the noise.
“We got married in a rush in a courthouse three years ago,” Adrian said softly, pulling the ring from the velvet box. “No flowers, no grand sunset, no vows in front of a view like this.”
He took my left hand, slid off my old plain wedding band, and slid the new ring onto my finger alongside it.
He looked into my eyes, his voice thick with deep emotion.
“Maya Whitmore,” Adrian said softly. “Will you stay with me, fight with me, and build this life with me for the rest of our days?”
Tears of pure, radiant joy brimmed in my eyes. I reached up, cupping his jaw, and pulled his face down to mine.
May you like
“A thousand times yes, Adrian,” I whispered against his lips. “A thousand times yes.”
He kissed me—a slow, deep, breathtaking kiss that tasted of sweet wine, Tuscan sunshine, and an eternal promise.
