Chapter 1

The day my boyfriend, Don Tommaso Leone, turned another year older, I spent six straight hours in the kitchen.

I made his favorite—pistachio birthday cake.

When I pushed open the door to the private dining room, balancing the cake in both hands, the crowd inside erupted.

"Kiss her!"

I smiled. Figured they were playing some stupid party game.

Then I froze.

Tommaso dipped his head and kissed my sister Alessia.

She was sitting on his lap, one arm looped around his neck.

On her ring finger, a diamond caught the candlelight and flashed.

My entire body went cold—like I'd been plunged into ice water. I couldn't move until Alessia noticed me.

She didn't get off his lap. Instead, she smiled and raised her left hand.

"Sis, perfect timing. You haven't congratulated us yet."

I stared at the ring.

"What is this?"

Tommaso finally turned his head. There wasn't a shred of guilt on his face.

"Alessia and I got married six months ago. Registered in Milan."

"Tommaso, that's a disgusting joke." My voice shook.

The room went painfully awkward. Mom jumped in immediately.

"Enough. Alessia was very sick a while back. Tommaso only went through with the registration to grant her wish."

My brother Adriano squeezed my shoulder.

"You've been supporting Alessia for three years. You might as well see this good deed through."

Tommaso glanced at me. His tone was flat.

"Cancel your ticket to Milan. There's no place for you there anymore."

One day ago, I'd been appointed manager of the Milan branch. I had six hours to confirm I'd report on time.

Just an hour earlier, I'd slipped a one-way ticket to Milan inside my wallet—a surprise for Tommaso on his birthday.

I'd thought the trip was the beginning of our future together. Our wedding promise, finally fulfilled.

But they'd already mapped out my life—including that ticket—as though none of it mattered.

Too bad for them. I wasn't going to play along.

…

The room was silent for a good ten seconds.

One of Tommaso's friends broke first—a nervous laugh.

"Tommaso, man, this joke's going way too far. Look how pale your girlfriend is. Tell her it's not real."

Tommaso said nothing.

Three years ago, he'd gone to Milan alone to clean up his family's business and build something legitimate.

Every time I brought up getting married first, he'd say:

"Just hang on a little longer. Once the company's on its feet, I'll marry you."

For that promise, I stayed put in Sicily like a good girl.

I stopped getting upset when he forgot our anniversaries. When I got sick, I didn't ask him for comfort.

I didn't even tell him about the miscarriage—the one caused by his enemies.

Alessia leaned into Tommaso and waved her phone at me.

"Tommaso opened his own branch ages ago. Sorry, Sis. All those paychecks and bonuses you wired him? He just handed them to me. Called it pocket money."

She nestled against him, her wedding band glinting under the lights.

As if worried I hadn't gotten a good enough look, she slowly twisted the ring on her finger.

"When did you order the rings?" I asked.

"February nineteenth."

Tommaso said it without flinching.

I remembered that date perfectly.

I'd had a raging fever that day, and I still dragged myself to the bank to wire him a hundred and twenty thousand dollars.

He'd said a rival family had conned him out of everything. That the landlord was about to throw him out. His voicemail was drenched in exhaustion.

I was terrified he'd break down. So before the bank closed, I transferred the money I'd saved for the World Pastry Arts training program.

That night, he sent one text.

[Got it, sweetheart. Just hold on six more months.]

But that same day, he and my sister walked into city hall and signed a marriage certificate.

Mom grabbed my hand.

"The registration is just temporary. Alessia couldn't sleep back then. Every time she mentioned Tommaso, she'd hyperventilate. The doctor said she couldn't take any more stress."

"So you forced him to marry her?"

"It's just a piece of paper."

Adriano frowned.

"You've known Tommaso for ten years. Does a piece of paper really matter more than that?"

I looked at Tommaso.

"Is that what you think too?"

He calmly tucked a loose strand of hair behind Alessia's ear.

"Sofia, what's done is done. Making a scene now only embarrasses everyone."

"Then what am I?"

"I'll make it up to you."

Every head at the table dropped.

The friend who'd been the loudest raised his glass, trying to smooth things over in a low voice.

"Tommaso was saving a life. Alessia's health is fragile. You're her sister—you should understand."

Alessia stood up, eyes glistening red.

"Sofia, if you really can't accept this, I'll divorce Tommaso."

The word divorce hung in the air, but her fingers were white-knuckled around Tommaso's sleeve.

Tommaso gently pushed her back into her chair.

"Don't say things when you're upset."

Then he looked up at me.

"You've always been the sensible one. Don't push her tonight."

Sensible.

I'd been hearing that word for twenty-seven years.

Because I was sensible, Mom stayed with Alessia when she had a fever and sent nine-year-old me to the hospital alone.

Because I was sensible, Grandma's pastry shop went to my brother, and the apprenticeship went to Alessia.

Because I was sensible, even the man I'd loved for ten years was loaned out to save my sister's life.

A waiter rolled in a birthday cake, breaking the silence.

Osmanthus branches were pressed into the frosting in an intricate pattern.

At the very end of one branch, a leaf was missing a corner—like an insect had nibbled it away.

My hand froze at the edge of the table.

That was Grandma's old mold pattern.

When I was sixteen, I'd been working with Grandma on an improved almond cream pastry recipe and accidentally dropped the mold. It chipped, leaving one corner broken.

After that, every pastry stamped with that mold had an osmanthus leaf with a missing corner.

It was a secret only Grandma and I shared.

Tommaso cut a slice and handed it to Alessia, his voice soft.

"This is the signature almond cream pastry from your Milan shop. Try it."

I stared at the chipped leaf on the cake.

"Who made this?"

Alessia's hand stopped mid-reach.

Mom answered for her.

"You didn't know Alessia opened her own shop? She already has seven locations in Milan."

For three years, Tommaso told me he couldn't afford rent.

For three years, Alessia told me she was too sick to work.

But in a world I couldn't see, they'd gotten married, taken the recipe Grandma and I had developed together, and built a chain of seven stores.

Tommaso set the pastry on Alessia's plate.

"You'll understand eventually."

His voice was light. As if what I'd missed wasn't three years of a life they'd built together—just some trivial dinner I'd skipped.

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