Chapter 81

Layla

Eerie quiet filled the days and weeks after Aurora’s banishment—like waking up from a dream. For so long, life had been a constant go-go-go of tension, motion, action. Of plans whispered in hushed tones, buzzing phones interrupting dinners, the echo of gunfire in the distance.

Of fear and heartbreak.

Of pain and loss.

Now, for the first time, there was silence.

It rang in my ears. Hard to embrace, hard to let go of the learned responses of danger, of war. When you'd spent so long awaiting an imminent attack, it was far more challenging than I’d expected to acclimate to peace.

It took days for my body to let go of the tension that had coiled my muscles for so long. For my brain to relax. For sleep to overcome me fully enough to let me rest for entire nights at a time.

For weeks, I still woke suddenly in the middle of the night, listening. Certain I’d heard something. Just like it took weeks to re-learn how to sit through dinner without jolting upright at the sound of the air conditioner clicking on or the fridge making ice—certain it was the sound of some kind of attack.

Now, a full month after the war had ended, I stood on the rooftop deck, gazing out over the city. At times, in places, I imagined I might still see the scars of the war—a soot-blacked streak here or a pile of rubble there, an abandoned car, what had once been a park now a flattened empty lot.

Even the streets still felt too quiet, like people had grown accustomed to staying inside to avoid the constant danger of war.

But even as I saw the ache of loss, I saw too the fresh buds of new life—of regrowth.

Shop doors stood open. Children ran circles around a local playground. Pedestrians strolled the streets at a leisurely pace, like they were slowly remembering how to leave behind their harried pace.

Like they, too, were relearning peace.

Was that the faintest hum of hope in the air?

“What’s on your mind, my love?” Aldo’s voice filtered through the doorway behind me. The man himself followed in the wake of his words to join me at the railing and peer out over our city.

I turned towards him as he leaned in beside me. His expression was softer, more relaxed, than I’d seen in … years.

Years. It had been years since he’d looked this quiet, this pensive, this peaceful. The last time I’d seen him like this, we’d been two different people living a very, very different life in the wilds of Alaska. Even still, he wasn’t the same man. This Aldo was older, harder, more tired.

The weight of the world sat on his shoulders. Always would, I suspected.

“Just … drinking in the stillness, I guess.” I turned back to the city beyond the balcony. “It’s strange, isn’t it? After everything, it almost feels … unsettling.”

“It’s peace,” Aldo said, leaning in to wrap an arm around me. “It feels foreign because we’ve lived in chaos for so long.”

I leaned into his embrace, drank in his warmth and the sweetness of his cologne. Safety, comfort. Home. “You think it’ll last?”

“If I have anything to say about it, it will.” Aldo pressed a kiss to my temple. “But even if it doesn’t, I think we’ll at least get to enjoy quite a few moments between now and then. And someone I love very much once told me that life is about appreciating moments.”

I hummed against his throat as I nestled against him. “I hope so. I could be content with a few more nights like this.”

“Me too.” Aldo tensed almost imperceptibly beneath me, but it was enough.

I jolted upright. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing.” He laughed—a cautious, almost awkward sort of laugh. One I had never heard from him and didn’t understand.

“You’re acting weird.”

“I am.” His mouth relaxed into a smile. “But it’s only because I’m nervous. Come with me. I want to show you something.”

“Now I’m nervous,” I grumbled.

“It’s nothing bad. I promise.” He wove his fingers through mine and gave my hand a tug towards the door. “Come on.”

With a strange array of butterflies tittering around in my belly, I followed him across the rooftop deck and down into the manor. We wove through the long, newly rebuilt halls and out into the largest rear garden.

In the gathering dusk, the soft glow of lanterns illuminated the winding paths. The scent of late blooms scented the tepid summer air.

“What are we doing out here?” I asked, my eyes catching on an array of hanging Chinese lanterns—each lit with a tiny candle. They sprinkled across the garden; it must have taken someone hours to place and light them all.

“I have something to ask you.” He tugged my hand to keep me moving, his fingers still twined through mine. He led us to the massive marble fountain at the center of the garden—a willow tree, its branches weeping into the stone basin below.

My heart quickened, lodged itself in my throat. Someone had placed a small table at the foot of the fountain. A single white candle flickered atop the table. And beside it sat a small velvet box.

“Aldo.”

He turned towards me, taking my free hand up in his. The hard lines of his face had melted into uncharacteristically vulnerable softness.

When he spoke, his voice was ragged. “Layla. We’ve been through hell and back together. I’ve made mistakes—more than I can count—but through it all, you’ve been my anchor. My hope. My strength.”

I’d forgotten how to breathe, and the lack of oxygen made me lightheaded.

He reached behind him to the table, his long fingers wrapping around that black velvet box. My head spun.

He dropped to one knee.

“Aldo.”

He tipped open the velvet box, displaying a simple silver-banded ring, a single diamond glittering in its center. I could only stare, my head emptied of thoughts.

“Layla.” The smallest, most tentative of smiles cracked his stern facade. “Will you marry me?”

Tears welled in my eyes, and the breath I’d forgotten billowed suddenly in my lungs, sending a rush of oxygen to my deprived brain. Maybe that was why the single word that escaped my mouth was, “Again?”

He winced, but his smile solidified. “Yes. Again. Please?”

I laughed. I tilted my head back and laughed at the stars stretched across the sky overhead like the pricks of candles through the garden. I laughed at how good it felt after so much hurt and pain and uncertainty. I laughed at how long I had wanted to hear those words from him.

“I hope that’s good laughter,” Aldo said, his own smile widening. “Yes, Aldo, I’ll marry you, kind of laughter.”

“It is,” I assured him, tugging him back to his feet. “It definitely is.”

“So … that’s a yes.”

“Yes, Aldo—Vasco—Marcello. I will marry you!” I cried to the heavens, and then I popped onto my tip-toes to kiss him. His hand still wrapped around mine, Aldo slipped the ring onto my finger.

His other arm pulled me close against him, so my whole world was him—the heat and hardness of his body. The softness of his scent. The knowledge that we had all the rest of our lives to spend together.

For the first time in what felt like forever, our future felt bright and unburdened.