I lead Violet outside, where Chef awaits at a fully set table, dishes under cloches to stay warm, twin candles burning in silver candlesticks while a single red rose rests in a vase.

“What . . . you really shouldn’t have,” Violet tells me as I hold her chair for her.

“Of course, I should. You deserve it.” Chef goes to pour the wine, but I wave him off and pour the wine for Violet myself. “If I thought you wouldn’t have laughed at me, I’d have cooked myself, but unfortunately, my repertoire is pretty limited.”

“You make me happy with those smoothies,” Violet says quietly, and it’s my turn to feel the warmth flush my neck.

I make her happy. Somehow, those little words mean a lot to me.

“Give me some time, and I’ll figure out how to make a decent grilled cheese,” I say, unveiling dinner. “Here you go . . . lamb ravioli in a proper tomato sauce, garlic bread, and—”

“Lodovico wine!” Violet nearly squeals, seeing the bottle. “Oh, Ross! How’d you know?”

“Saw it in the kitchen,” I answer her, proud of myself. “What’s the story?”

“Lodovico is very special to Papa,” Violet explains. “It’s too expensive for any but the most special occasions. So the three bottles are for Nana and Papa’s wedding, Mama’s birth, and my birth. I’m almost afraid to ask, but—”

“We’ll put it on the menu at our reception,” I immediately answer her, raising my glass. “For now, to Violet Russo, who hurt her ribs today for love.”

Violet blushes, tapping her glass against mine. “Thanks. I’ll keep looking, but I do think I decided today that I don’t care how gorgeous the dress is. If I can’t breathe in it, it’s not the one.”

“Sounds reasonable,” I tell her.

We dig into our dishes, Violet moaning at the first bite. “Oh, my. Don’t tell Nana, but this is better than hers!”

“Don’t worry,” I reply with a chuckle. “She can’t hear you.”

“That’s good. You should have heard her and Aunt Sofia go at it before you showed up. She’d have my hide if I dared to compliment someone else’s cooking over hers.”

She tells me about her family, how Nana and Sofia go at it like cats and dogs half the time, while Papa catches his fair share of yelling too . . . but it’s all in love.

We move on to discussing our days, and she cheers for me when I tell her about the meeting going well. Her eyes turn to molten fire when I tell her about Dad’s private reaction, though, and the way she has my back warms me.

She shows me a glittery invitation, raving about Abi’s genius, and I have to agree with her. “Something else did happen today, though.”

Her tone is stilted, hesitant to share. I lay my hand over hers. “You can tell me anything, Violet.”

“Colin came by the flower shop. He saw my car outside and came in. He told me he wanted to get back together.”

My heart stops as cold fury lights its way from my gut to my fists, which clench unconsciously. “And?”

She tilts her head, reading me. “You’re mad?”

I spit out, “He comes chasing after my fiancée and I’m just supposed to be okay with that?”

Well, if that didn’t toss kerosene on an already confusing fire. She’s not mine, not really. But fuck if I don’t feel possessive of her, possessed by her.

“Would you lose the pissed off look if I said I kicked him out on his ass and told him to have a good life?” Her smile is one of sass and confidence.

“Actually . . . yes,” I admit, sighing in insane relief. “Was I that obvious?”

“If he’d been here, you’d have thrown him off the balcony without a parachute.”

“Perhaps,” I reply, troubled, relieved, and gladdened by her news. “But simply because Radcliffe’s a douche who doesn’t deserve you.”

“We both didn’t deserve each other. I was never in love with him. I just wanted to have the fairy tale wedding . . . and wanted Papa to have that memory.”

Again, my heart leaps in my chest hearing she was never in love with him. This is getting heady, and it’s not the wine that’s making it happen.

“And he will,” I vow. “We’ll make his dreams come true. Yours and mine too.”

My voice is husky, promising so much more than a fantasy wedding. Hearing her talk about Colin, thinking about how easily she could’ve gone back to him, because at one point, she believed what they had was real. Even if she knows better now, it’s more than what our initial relationship is built on.

But where we started is not where we are now. Not by a long shot.

I set my napkin down and step around the table to stand beside her. She looks up at me through her lashes, feeling that the mood has shifted.

“Violet,” I say, not sure what I mean to say.

“I know,” she says, confusing me because how can she know if I don’t?

I take her hand and lead her down the hallway. From behind me, I hear the front door close with a small click and know the chef has left discreetly.

I lay her down on the king-sized mattress, crushing her underneath me as I kiss her hard. Trailing my lips down her neck, I kiss to the V of her blouse before unbuttoning the silk.