Page 97 of This Life of Mine

“That summer…” I exhale, the memory rolling in like heat off stone. “It changed a lot of things for me.”

I tell her about the vineyards first—the way they stretch farther than the eye can track, neat rows hiding the weight of centuries. The smell of earth and sun and wine fermenting in old barrels. Men who carried authority like a second skin. Deals made over long lunches that weren’t really about food at all.

“I’d grown up knowing my father was…wealthy,” I say. “But seeing it there—seeing how many people moved because he spoke—it was different. Bigger and heavier.”

I glance at her, making sure she’s still with me.

She nods, like she understands what that kind of gravity may be like.

“So you grew up wealthy?”

“Comfortable,” I say. “Not wealthy.”

Her brow lifts slightly, but she doesn’t interrupt.

“Queens was solid. Good schools. Good food. A neighborhood where people knew your name and watched your back—but they still locked their doors.” A corner of my mouth lifts. “My mothermade sure we never wanted for anything, but she also made sure we knew the difference between having money and being owned by it.”

I pause, choosing my words carefully.

“My father’s world?” I gesture vaguely, as if it exists somewhere off to the side. “That wasn’t my everyday. Not really. Italy was…a visit. A season. A glimpse behind a curtain.”

My eyes shift to my hands, and I remember a sense of insignificance in that house. How quiet everything was—how nothing ever seemed accidental.

“That summer was the first time I saw what his wealth actually meant. Not the house, or the land, or the staff—that was all decoration. It was the way people adjusted themselves around him. The way conversations shifted. The way problems vanished before they were ever spoken out loud.”

I meet her eyes again. “It was lavish, yes. Beautiful. Effortless.” My voice lowers. “And it would’ve been very easy to stay. To let that life decide things for me.”

I exhale a slow breath. “But I was only there long enough to understand the cost.”

Her gaze softens, something thoughtful flickering there.

“So, no,” I finish quietly, “I didn’t grow up wealthy. I learned early what wealth can do to people—especially the ones who think they’re immune to it.”

I pause a beat.

“That summer in Italy,” I add, quieter now, choosing honesty over comfort, “it was also the summer I lost my virginity.”

Her expression doesn’t change—no shock, no teasing. Eager interest.

She raises her eyebrow, smiling at me.

“Her name was Gianna,” I continue. “Our families were close. It was one of those things that was…assumed. Everyone saw it happening, but no one ever judged.”

I smile faintly at the memory. “She was my first. I was hers. No drama. No big declarations. We weren’t in love—we didn’t need to be. We wanted it to be with someone safe. Someone we felt comfortable with.”

I pause, remembering the quietness of it. The lack of pressure. The way it was genuine instead of cinematic.

“It was gentle,” I say. “Sweet. Awkward in the right ways.” A beat. “The way your first should be.”

Lina smiles, warmth spreading across her cheeks. “That sounds nice, actually.”

“It was,” I admit. “It was the only part of that summer that seemed like it belonged to me.”

“But, I learned later that Gianna was supposed to marry my brother. An arrangement.”

Her eyes widen slightly. “Oh wow.”

“He didn’t love her,” I say, chuckling. “He was in love with someone else. A local girl. No money or well known name.”