POV: Rosalind
I had dinner with Luca at my house the following day.
He'd texted that morning asking if he could come over, which was unusual enough to make me worry. Luca didn't ask—he just showed up, usually with his own key and an appetite. But this felt formal. Planned. I'd spent the afternoon cooking his favorite—lamb shanks braised in red wine, the way my grandmother used to make them. Comfort food. The kind you made when you needed something to do with your hands while your mind raced.
He arrived at seven, carrying a bottle of wine I recognized as expensive. Too expensive for a university student's budget. Daniel's wine. Daniel's money. Daniel's influence following our son even when he wasn't in the room.
"Smells incredible," Luca said, kissing my cheek. He'd grown tall—taller than Daniel, nearly six-two now—but he still had the careful politeness of a boy trying to be a man.
"It's ready. Sit."
We settled at the dining table, the one that felt too big for two people. The house always felt too big when it was just me. Twelve rooms echoing with the absence of a family that used to fill them.
I served. We ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes. Luca had Daniel's table manners—precise, practiced—but he also had my tendency to push food around when he was thinking too hard.
"So," he said finally. "I've been thinking about next steps."
"University's going well?"
"It's fine. Good, actually." He took a sip of wine. "But I've been talking to Dad about taking on more responsibility. Real work, not just summer internships."
My stomach tightened. "What kind of work?"
"Whatever he needs. The firm, mostly. Learning the business from the inside." His eyes were bright with ambition, with that particular hunger young men get when they think they're ready for the world. "I want to build something. Have a future that matters."
"You're twenty-one, Luca. You have time."
"Dad started at twenty-three. You married him at twenty." He set down his fork. "I'm not saying I want to rush things, but I want to be useful. Want to contribute."
There was Daniel's language again. Useful. Contribute. The same words he'd used when explaining why he'd turned my winery into a front for his cleanup operations. The same justifications wrapped in duty and responsibility and the belief that young men needed to prove themselves through work that couldn't survive daylight.
"You contribute by being happy," I said carefully. "By living your life. Not by inheriting your father's burdens."
Luca studied me with eyes too knowing for twenty-one. "Are you happy, Mum?"
The question landed like a stone in still water.
"What kind of question is that?"
"A simple one." He leaned back. "Are you happy? Living here alone most nights? Running a winery for guests you don't choose, hosting events you don't plan?" His voice was gentle, but the observation was sharp. "When's the last time you did something just for yourself?"
I couldn't answer. Couldn't think of a single thing in recent memory that hadn't been filtered through Daniel's needs, the winery's schedule, the careful maintenance of appearances.
"That's what I thought," Luca said quietly.
I stood, started clearing plates I didn't need to clear yet. Anything to avoid his eyes. "What about you and your father? How's that relationship?"
"Deflection." But he answered anyway. "It's good. Complicated, but good. He's teaching me things. Important things."
"What kind of things?"
"How to read people. How to manage risk. How to—" He stopped. Reconsidered. "How to handle responsibility without letting it break you."
I turned to face him. "Do you worry about him?"
Luca's expression shifted. Something vulnerable crossed his face, there and gone like lightning. "Every day."
"Why?"
"Because he carries too much alone. Always has." He stood, brought his plate to the counter, stood beside me. "I see it, Mum. The weight. The way he looks sometimes when he thinks no one's watching. Like he's holding up the world and his arms are getting tired."
My throat tightened. "That's very observant."
"I'm his son. I notice things." Luca paused. "Like I noticed Theo at the winery yesterday morning."
There it was. The real conversation we'd been dancing around.
I kept my hands busy with dishes. "Theo's been helping with exhibitions."
"Mum."
"He's a friend."
"Mum." Luca's hand covered mine, stilling my movements. "Is he more than a friend?"
I looked at my son. At this young man who had Daniel's intelligence and my eyes and too much perception for his own good. I could lie. Should lie. Protect him the way mothers were supposed to protect their children from complicated truths.
But I was tired of lying.
"I won't lie to you," I said slowly. "But I also won't explain."
Luca nodded once. Didn't look shocked. Didn't look angry. Just... sad, maybe. Understanding.
"How long?" he asked.
"Does it matter?"
"No. I suppose it doesn't." He leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "I'm not judging, if that's what you're worried about."
"Aren't you?"
"You're my mother. Not a saint." His voice was matter-of-fact. "You're allowed to be human. Allowed to want things. Even things that complicate everything else."
I felt something crack in my chest. "When did you get so grown up?"
"Probably around the same time you stopped being happy." He touched my shoulder. "I trust your judgment, Mum. I do. But I don't trust the silence around you."
"What does that mean?"
"It means everyone's keeping secrets from everyone else, and I'm watching all of you pretend it's fine when it's clearly not." His jaw tightened—Daniel's expression on a younger face. "Dad with his work. You with whatever you're not saying. All these careful performances we're all giving for each other's benefit."
"Luca—"
"I trust your judgment," he repeated. "But not the silence around you."