He’d made his choice—over and over again.
This time, I was finally making mine.
Sofia's POV
Aunt Lyra had just stepped off the porch when she stopped short, one foot still hovering over the step. Her sharp gaze flicked from my face to the two people beside me, taking everything in within seconds. I knew that look too well—it meant she was about to speak, and she would not be gentle about it. I cut in before she could open her mouth.
“Mom sent these over,” I said easily, motioning toward the crates stacked behind us. “Some of what’s inside won’t keep long. You might want to sort through them today.”
I made a point of not looking at Lorenzo—my almost, my maybe, my never-quite. Over the past weeks, he’d made it painfully clear where his attention lay. Still, he surprised me by speaking up, his tone even and controlled, like someone careful not to step on a landmine.
“Don’t misunderstand, Sofia,” he said. “Francesca’s old place was in a bad district. Not somewhere I’d let anyone connected to me stay alone. I helped her relocate. I didn’t realize it was this close to your aunt’s house.” His eyes drifted to the boxes. “Why so much stuff?”