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“Okay. Let’s go outside for a bit.”

I nervously bite my bottom lip and shake my head. “Can I, um, I’d like a few minutes alone, Domenico.”

“No.”

“Please,” I sigh. “I just need a few minutes alone. It’s not like I’m going anywhere, I’ll be right outside. Promise.”

My husband’s eyes find mine. He searches my face for a second, then nods. “Vinny.”

Vinny materializes from near the doors, his suit impeccable, his expression carefully neutral. He’s been doing that thing all day where he looks like he’s just standing around but his eyes never stop moving.

“Take my wife outside for some air,” Domenico orders. “Don’t go far.”

Vinny nods. “Yes, sir.”

Domenico’s hand cups my cheek. His thumb brushes just below my eye, and the tenderness in the gesture makes my throat close. “Five minutes,” he says. Not a question.

“Five minutes,” I agree.

Since I’m just going right outside, I leave my handbag with my phone inside. Bringing that thing would defeat the purpose of being by myself.

The cold hits me like a slap when we step outside. The temperature’s dropped enough that my breath clouds in front of my face, and the stone steps feel like ice through the thin soles of my funeral shoes.

I wrap my arms around myself and walk to the iron railing at the edge of the churchyard, where the bare trees cast skeletal shadows across the frost-crusted grass.

Vinny follows at a distance that’s respectful without being useless. Close enough to reach me in three strides, far enough that I can pretend I’m alone. I appreciate the lie more than he knows.

The churchyard is empty. Everyone’s inside, eating casseroles and talking in hushed voices. Inhaling greedily, I let the cold air fill my lungs.

“You okay, Kira?” Vinny asks from his spot.

I can’t help smiling at him. “You called me by my first name.”

He returns my smile. “A minor slip-up, I promise I’ll be back to normal tomorrow.”

Just as I go to say something back, the side door creaks open.

Paolo steps out, his hands in his pockets, his breath clouding in the cold. He sees me and hesitates for half a second before coming closer.

“Hey,” he says, stopping a few feet away, close enough to talk, far enough that we’re not friends. “I wanted to… you know. Say I’m sorry. About your mom.”

The words are stiff. Rehearsed. But his eyes aren’t. They’re raw in a way I haven’t seen before, and something about that catches me off guard.

“You know what it’s like,” I say quietly. “Losing your mom.”

Paolo goes very still. His jaw works once, a muscle jumping beneath the skin, and for a second I think he’s going to walk away. Then his shoulders drop a fraction of an inch, and he nods.

“Sure, yeah.”

“Thank you,” I say, feeling as though I need to keep the conversation going.

I shouldn’t have bothered because he just nods, letting silence stretch around us.

The silence stretches before Paolo finally says, “I’m sorry.” His voice is lower now. “For the wedding. For leaving you there. It was a shit thing to do, and you didn’t deserve it.”

I look at him—really look at him. The Paolo who abandoned me at the altar was all swagger and calculated charm. This version is quieter.

“I’m not going to say it’s okay,” I tell him. “Because it wasn’t. But I… I think it was for the best.”