That night, the silence between Amelia and Dante was heavier than it had ever been. The quiet hum of the mansion felt almost suffocating, as though the world outside had been shut off entirely. Amelia lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, her thoughts running wild. The conversation with Matilda had stirred something deep inside her, something she couldn't ignore. Her role as Dante's wife was not just about love—it was about duty. Legacy. Family.
And the truth hit her hard: she couldn't avoid the responsibilities that came with being a Moretti.
As the minutes ticked by, Amelia felt the pressure building in her chest. She had always been a woman of emotion, letting her feelings guide her. But tonight, for the first time, she felt as if she had to take control of her life and her marriage in a way she never had before.
She glanced at Dante, who was lying on his side with his back to her. His broad shoulders were tense, his body rigid, as if he, too, was wrestling with his thoughts. She could tell he wasn't asleep—he rarely ever slept when there was something weighing on him, especially when it came to matters of his family.
Taking a deep breath, Amelia shifted closer to him, the quiet stillness between them stretching like an unspoken distance.
"Dante," she whispered, her voice soft but firm.
He didn't respond at first, and she almost thought he hadn't heard her, but then, his voice came, low and rough, like he had been expecting this moment.
"What is it, Amelia?" His words hung in the air, laced with a hint of resignation.
Amelia hesitated for a moment. The weight of what she was about to say felt heavy in her chest, but she knew she had to speak it aloud.
"I've been thinking," she began, her voice quiet but resolute. "About everything. About... us. About what Matilda said today."
Dante stiffened at the mention of his mother's name, but he didn't turn to face her. His silence spoke volumes. Amelia knew he was waiting for her to continue, for her to say something that would release him from the suffocating pressure his mother had placed on them.
Amelia swallowed hard before she spoke again. "I know it's not just about us, about our love. There's... there's a bigger picture. I understand that now. I have a duty as your wife, Dante. A duty to this family. To the Moretti name."
For a moment, there was silence again. Amelia could feel Dante's body still as if he were processing her words. The weight of the moment was so palpable, it felt like the air itself was holding its breath.
"You don't have to do anything you're not ready for," Dante said, finally turning over to face her. His dark eyes held a mixture of concern and tenderness. He reached for her hand, his touch warm against her skin. "Amelia, you're not just a symbol for the family. You're my wife. I want you to be happy, not just "
"I know, Dante," she cut him off, her voice steady but tinged with a quiet resolve. "But I have to be honest with myself. The pressure is there, and it won't go away. I want to give you a future. A legacy. Our legacy."
Dante's expression softened, and for a moment, the hardness that usually surrounded him cracked. He knew Amelia was right. He knew how his family operated, how his mother had shaped his world and forced him into a mold he could barely escape. But Amelia was different. She wasn't bound by his world in the same way, and yet, she was choosing to stand beside him, to take on the weight of his family's expectations.
He placed his hand on her cheek, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. "I'm sorry for all the pressure, Amelia. I never wanted this for you."
Amelia closed her eyes at his touch, the warmth of his hand grounding her. The emotions swirled inside her compassion, desire, a deep need to fulfill her role, but also to make Dante understand how deeply she cared for him.
"You don't need to apologize," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I chose this. I chose you. And I will choose you again, no matter what."
Dante's hand moved to her neck, his thumb gently caressing the skin there. He leaned in slowly, as if unsure, but when he kissed her, it was a slow, tender embrace—a kiss filled with both longing and reassurance.
They stayed like that for a moment, wrapped in the intimacy of their shared vulnerability. Then, slowly, Amelia pulled back, her hand still in his.
"I want to give you what your family wants," she said, her voice a little shaky but full of determination. "I know it's my duty as your wife. And I'm ready."
Dante's eyes darkened as he looked at her, a mix of awe and desire flickering across his features. "Are you sure?"
Amelia nodded. She wasn't sure of everything, but this moment felt right. For the first time, she wasn't just a wife carrying the weight of her own desires—she was a woman stepping into a role that transcended her own wishes. She was ready to give Dante everything he needed. To give their marriage what it needed to thrive, and perhaps, in doing so, to build a future that neither of them could have imagined alone.
"I'm sure," she whispered.
Dante pulled her into his arms, his embrace fierce yet tender, as though he were afraid she would slip away if he didn't hold her tightly enough. His lips brushed against her forehead, his voice low and comforting.
"Then we'll do this together, Amelia. Whatever comes next, we'll face it side by side."
And with that, Amelia knew that no matter how uncertain the future was, she was no longer walking through it alone.