Page 39 of The Ruin I Chose

I hugged them back, lifting each onto one arm as I walked towards the house. Roxanne turned to me, eyes narrowing.

“You didn’t tell me we were meeting your family,” she said, low, controlled—like she was trying not to panic at the idea.

“I’m not dressed appropriately,” she added, adjusting her dress.

I smirked, kissing her cheek. “You look beautiful.”

She pouted, then raised an eyebrow.

“Isn’t it a little early for introductions?” Then she winked.

My pulse kicked. Maybe it was too early. But I didn’t answer. I only motioned for her to follow.

Inside, the house was warm—stone walls, soft light, the scent of lemon and rosemary drifting from the kitchen. The children leapt from my arms and ran to the back of the house screaming:

“Uncle Marcello has a girlfriend!”

Roxanne flushed, caught off guard. We were greeted by my mother, Concetta, and my sister, Alessia.

“Figghiu miu caru, Marcello,” my mother said, hugging me tight.

“You’re looking perky and happy today.”

Then she turned to Roxanne. “Is it because of you, cara mia?”

Roxanne smiled, tucking a stray strand behind her ear. Heat crept up my neck—an old reflex I thought I’d buried. I’d stopped letting anyone close enough to touch the raw parts. But Roxanne, she didn’t even try. She just stood there, soft and unguarded, and something in me cracked.

Alessia caught it, nudged me with her elbow, eyebrows raised in a teasing dance. She smirked and hugged Roxanne.

“I’m Alessia, his little sister. And this is my husband—Antonio Leopardi.”

Roxanne shook his hand.

“Did I hear the roar of a bike?” Antonio asked.

“Joy ride,” I said, winking.

“I don’t remember the last time you rode.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” I replied, looking at Roxanne. She blushed.

“Benvenuta,” my mother said softly, taking Roxanne’s hands in hers. “You must be tired. Come, sit.”

Roxanne smiled, caught a little off guard by the softness. Alessia watched from the doorway—sharp-eyed, composed, not unfriendly, just… observant.

We moved to the back of the house—the porch, where the children were playing, running around the trees. Wine was poured. The air thickened with things we weren’t ready to name.

Roxanne and I kept glancing at each other—quick, stolen looks that burned more than they explained. I wanted to reach for her. But I didn’t know what I’d say if she asked me to explain the look in my eyes.

Then the children burst in, laughing, chasing each other, a blur of limbs and joy. They pulled Roxanne, beckoning her to chase them. Little Sophie—just two—chased Roxanne in circles around the trees, giggling wildly. Roxanne played along, pretending to be slow, letting the toddler catch her with triumphant squeals. Laughter spilled from her lips, unfiltered and bright. Something in my chest tightened, something I hadn’t felt since before everything fell apart.

Alessia tilted her head, watching. My mother turned to me, eyes gentle but firm.

“She’s the first girl you’ve brought here since Elaine.”

I stiffened and I gulped down my whiskey, half knowing my mother would bring this up.

“She’s on vacation. I’m showing her around Italy.”