Chapter 10

Luca closed his eyes.

Then he stood with Sophie in his arms.

“Come on, sweetheart. Let’s go see your room.”

She slid down and took his hand.

I followed with the sewing tin and the damaged tie.

We climbed the stairs slowly.

The mansion had grown quiet.

Downstairs, the caterers had finished clearing the kitchen.

The last of the staff had gone home.

Tomorrow’s wedding decorations waited in boxes along the hallway.

But Sophie wasn’t looking at any of them.

She was watching her father.

When we reached her bedroom, Luca stopped in the doorway.

I’d entered that room almost every day for eleven months.

I’d made the bed, dusted the shelves, folded laundry, and helped Sophie search for missing schoolbooks.

Yet I barely recognized it.

The dresser drawers were half empty.

Several shelves had been cleared.

The little upholstered chair beside the window was covered with packing paper.

Claire’s handmade Christmas stocking was gone from its usual hook.

Sophie looked around.

“See?”

Luca walked inside.

For several seconds, he said nothing.

Then he placed the household folder on the desk.

“We’re putting it back.”

Sophie looked uncertain.

“Right now?”

“Right now.”

“But it’s late.”

He glanced at the clock.

“Then we’ll be tired tomorrow.”

She smiled faintly.

“Vanessa doesn’t like things being messy.”

Luca looked at her.

“Sometimes putting things right makes a mess first.”

I opened the nearest carton.

Inside were Sophie’s books, a stuffed rabbit missing one ear, and a small wooden jewelry box.

Sophie reached for the rabbit immediately.

“Benjamin!”

She held him up.

Luca smiled.

“I wondered where he’d gone.”

“He was packed.”

“Well, Benjamin has been released from captivity.”

Sophie laughed.

It was a proper laugh this time.

I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed hearing it.

We spent the next hour unpacking.

Luca carried the heavy cartons.

I sorted clothes.

Sophie decided where everything belonged.

When Luca placed a row of books on the wrong shelf, she corrected him.

He didn’t argue.

When he folded a sweater badly, she showed him how Claire had taught her to do it.

He tried again.

And when Sophie insisted that Benjamin belonged beside her pillow instead of the toy basket, Luca put him exactly where she wanted.

There was something deeply moving about watching a powerful man follow a ten-year-old’s instructions without embarrassment.

Near midnight, we found the Christmas stocking.

It had been placed beneath a stack of towels.

Sophie held it carefully.

“Mommy made this when I was little.”

Luca ran his thumb over the crooked white stars.

“I remember.”

“One is coming off.”

“I see that.”

“Can we fix it?”

He looked at me.

“Emily?”

I smiled.

“Of course.”

Sophie shook her head.

“Can Daddy try?”

Luca looked surprised.

“Me?”

“Mommy said everybody should know how to sew on a button.”

He laughed softly.

“Your mother had strong opinions about that.”

“Did you learn?”

“Not very well.”

Sophie handed him the stocking.

“Then you can practice.”

I found a needle and white thread in Claire’s sewing tin.

Luca sat on the edge of the bed.

His tattooed fingers looked enormous around the little needle.

He missed the eye twice.

Sophie giggled.

“Daddy, you’re supposed to put the thread through.”

“I’ve gathered that.”

“Miss Emily can show you.”

I demonstrated.

On the third attempt, he succeeded.

He looked absurdly pleased.

Sophie leaned against his shoulder while he made three careful stitches.

The result wasn’t beautiful.

But the star stayed in place.

When he’d finished, Sophie examined it.

“It’s crooked.”

Luca looked at her.

“So was your tie.”

She smiled.

“That means it’s handmade.”

“Exactly.”

For a moment, nobody spoke.

Then Sophie reached for Claire’s damaged handkerchief.

“Can we fix this, too?”

I spread it across the bed.

The corner had been cut, but most of the embroidery remained.

CLAIRE.

SOPHIE.

Two names.

Still together.

“Yes,” I said. “I can reinforce the stitching. We won’t be able to replace the missing fabric exactly, but we can make the edge neat.”

Sophie nodded.

“Will Mommy’s name still be there?”

“Every letter.”

She looked relieved.

Luca watched her.

Then he said, “Sophie, I need to apologize for something.”

She looked up.

“What?”

“For all the times you tried to tell me you were unhappy, and I didn’t really listen.”

“You listened sometimes.”

“Not enough.”

She considered that.

“I know you work.”

“I do. But being busy doesn’t mean I stop being your father.”

She moved closer.

“I didn’t want you to be lonely after Mommy died.”

His expression changed.

“Oh, sweetheart.”

“I wanted you to get married if it made you happy.”

“I know.”

“But I didn’t want to go away.”

Luca pulled her gently against him.

“You never had to make that choice.”

She rested her head on his chest.

Then she asked, “Will you get married someday?”

He was quiet for a moment.

“Maybe. I don’t know.”

She nodded.

“Okay.”

“But if I ever think about marrying someone again, you and I are going to talk about it. Really talk. And nobody will be allowed to make you feel that this isn’t your home.”

Sophie looked at him.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

He didn’t leave it at that.

He took the household planner from the desk and opened it to the following week.

Then he showed her where he’d blocked Friday afternoon.

“What should we do together?”

She thought carefully.

“Can we bake?”

“Absolutely.”

“With cinnamon?”

“As much as your mother would have used.”

Sophie smiled.

Then Luca showed her another entry.

Her school concert.

He’d marked it himself.

“I’ll be there.”

She studied the page.

“Even if there’s a meeting?”

“I’ve arranged for someone else to handle it.”

She looked up.

“Really?”

“Really.”

It was past midnight when we finally finished.

Sophie’s shelves were full again.

Her coat hung in the closet.

The Christmas stocking was back on its hook.

And her sewing tin sat beside the bed.

Luca pulled the blankets over her.

I turned toward the door.

Then Sophie called softly.

“Miss Emily?”

“Yes, honey?”

“Thank you for not cutting my ribbon.”

I swallowed.

“You’re welcome.”

She looked at her father.

“Daddy, what happens to all the flowers tomorrow?”

Luca brushed her hair away from her forehead.

“We’ll decide in the morning.”

Sophie thought about that.

Then she sat up.

“Could we keep the little white daisies?”

“Of course.”

“And can you still wear my tie?”

He smiled.

“I’d like that.”

She looked at the handkerchief in my hands.

Then back at him.

And asked:

“Daddy… even though there’s no wedding, can tomorrow still be our special day?”

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