They departed Venice at dawn, the city still shrouded in mist as their carriage rolled across bridges and through narrow streets toward the mainland. Lucia watched the familiar architecture fade into countryside, feeling simultaneously liberated and terrified.
She was leaving everything she'd known. Her sister, her childhood home, the safety of the familiar.
For an estate she'd never seen and a husband she'd known for less than a month.
"Second thoughts?" Alessandro asked from across the carriage.
"Seventeenth or eighteenth, I've lost count." Lucia pulled her attention from the window. "You?"
"Perpetual state of second-guessing since I answered your advertisement." But his tone was light. "Particularly when you identified my embezzling steward within three days of receiving the estate records."
"That wasn't second-guessing. That was terror."
"Healthy terror. The kind that keeps a man humble." He shifted, his leg brushing hers in the confined space. "Besides, it's too late now. You're stuck with me."
"Legally bound to you, you mean."
"Same thing." Alessandro pulled out a leather portfolio. "I brought the latest shipping reports if you're interested. Unless you'd prefer to admire the scenery?"
Lucia glanced at the unremarkable farmland rolling past. "Reports, please. I can admire the scenery in Verona."
He handed over the portfolio with visible satisfaction. "I knew I married the right woman."
They spent the next hour reviewing his Naples operations—cargo manifests, profit margins, outstanding contracts. Alessandro explained his business with the same precision he'd shown discussing estate management, and Lucia found herself genuinely engaged. He wasn't just wealthy; he'd built something substantial through intelligence and calculated risk.
"This contract with the Milanese textile merchant," she said, tapping a particular page. "You're undercharging."
"He's been a reliable client for six years—"
"Which means he values your service enough to pay market rate. You're leaving money on the table out of misplaced loyalty." Lucia did quick calculations in the margin. "Raise your rates by twelve percent. If he balks, you know he's been taking advantage. If he accepts, you've just increased annual revenue by several thousand lire."
Alessandro stared at the numbers. "That's... actually brilliant."
"It's basic negotiation. You're too attached to your existing relationships."
"Says the woman who spent three weeks researching a prospective husband before writing a single letter."
"That's different. I was minimizing risk, not leaving money unclaimed." Lucia handed back the portfolio. "You should be more ruthless."
"I'll add that to the list of things my wife excels at." Alessandro's eyes held amusement. "Right after 'identifying embezzlement' and 'looking devastating in ivory silk.'"
Lucia felt heat creep up her neck. "The dress was your stepmother's interference."
"The dress was magnificent. As were you in it." He leaned forward slightly. "I'm allowed to notice, you realize. We renegotiated boundaries last night."
"We kissed. That's hardly a complete renegotiation."
"It was a very thorough kiss. I'm counting it as significant progress." Alessandro's smile turned wicked. "Unless you'd like to renegotiate further? The carriage ride is another four hours."
"We're not—" Lucia glanced at the driver, visible through the front window. "There's absolutely no privacy."
"I wasn't suggesting anything scandalous. Just conversation. Getting to know my wife beyond her exceptional skill with account books." He settled back, deliberately casual. "Tell me something I don't know about you."
"You investigated me extensively. What's left to discover?"
"The investigation revealed facts. I want stories." Alessandro gestured encouragingly. "What made you decide to take over your family's estate management?"
Lucia considered deflecting, then remembered their agreement about honesty. "My father's illness came suddenly. One morning he was reviewing ledgers; by afternoon he couldn't remember his own name. The doctors called it apoplexy of the brain—blood vessels bursting, they said. He lingered for three months before dying."
"I'm sorry. I lost my father to heart failure. It's not the same, but—"
"But you understand loss. Yes." Lucia looked out the window, watching vineyards blur past. "My mother had died years earlier. Teodora was already married. I was twenty-three, unmarried, and suddenly responsible for an estate I'd never been allowed to manage. Father's steward assumed he'd take control."
"The embezzling one you dismissed?"
"Different embezzler. Apparently our family attracts them." Lucia's mouth twisted. "He tried patronizing me by explaining simple concepts slowly, patting my hand when I asked questions. After two weeks of that performance, I audited his records and discovered he'd been skimming for eight years."
Alessandro let out a low whistle. "What did you do?"
"Confronted him with documentation. He claimed I'd miscalculated, that women didn't understand complex accounting. So I had Teodora's husband review everything, then threatened legal action unless he resigned immediately and repaid half of what he'd stolen."
"Only half?"
"Full restitution would have bankrupted him. I wanted justice, not revenge." Lucia met Alessandro's gaze. "He accepted. Left within a week. I managed the estate myself after that because hiring another steward felt like inviting the same problems."
"That's when you developed your rather alarming competence."
"That's when I stopped letting men dismiss me for being female." She smiled slightly. "It's amazing how quickly people take you seriously when you threaten them with well-documented evidence of their crimes."
Alessandro was quiet for a moment, his expression thoughtful. "You've spent three years managing alone. No wonder you wanted clear terms for this marriage. Partnership instead of subordination."
"I wasn't going to trade independence for financial security and then discover I'd simply acquired a new man to condescend to me." Lucia held his gaze steadily. "If you'd shown any signs of that during our negotiations, I would have walked away regardless of the benefits."
"I'm glad I passed inspection." Alessandro's tone was sincere. "For what it's worth, I have no interest in managing you. I barely manage myself effectively."
"You built a successful shipping business."
"By ignoring my family's expectations and doing what made sense rather than what was traditional. My father wanted me to marry well and produce heirs. Instead I spent five years in Naples learning commerce." Alessandro's expression turned wry. "He died disappointed in me. My stepmother remains disappointed. I've made peace with being a family embarrassment."
"You're hardly an embarrassment. You're financially successful—"
"Through trade. Common trade. My father's title was ancient and respected. I'm a count who smells of olive oil and wine." But he didn't sound particularly bothered. "My stepmother wanted me to marry someone from an old family. Someone decorative and appropriately aristocratic."
"Someone unlike me, you mean."
"Someone nothing like you." Alessandro leaned forward again. "I wanted a partner. Someone intelligent who could manage the parts of my life I'm not present for. Someone who wouldn't resent my absences or demand I abandon the work I've built."
"And you found that in a newspaper advertisement."
"I found that in you." His voice was soft. "The advertisement was just the mechanism."
Lucia felt that dangerous warmth bloom in her chest again. "You're being romantic. We agreed this was business."
"We agreed on partnership. Romance is just unexpected profit margin." Alessandro's eyes glinted with amusement. "I'm counting it as a bonus."
"You can't account for romance like it's a line item."
"Watch me. 'Unanticipated emotional returns: significant. Long-term investment potential: promising.'" He grinned at her expression. "What? You analyze everything. Why can't I analyze this?"
"Because this—" Lucia gestured between them, "—isn't a shipping contract."
"No, it's considerably more complex. Higher stakes, better returns, more significant penalties for failure." Alessandro's tone shifted, becoming more serious. "Which is why I'm approaching it carefully. I don't want to push you toward something you're not ready for."
"I kissed you back last night."
"You did. Enthusiastically, if I'm remembering correctly." His smile returned. "But one kiss doesn't obligate you to anything beyond that moment. If you want to slow down, establish clearer boundaries—"
"I don't know what I want." The admission surprised her. "I planned for a business arrangement. Clear roles, defined expectations, minimal emotional complication. Then you had to be unexpectedly decent and interesting."
"My apologies for exceeding expectations."
"Don't apologize. Just... give me time to adjust." Lucia met his gaze directly. "I'm not accustomed to wanting things I didn't plan for."
"Fair enough." Alessandro settled back, but his expression remained warm. "Take whatever time you need. I'm not going anywhere. Literally—I'll be in Naples, but metaphorically I'm committed to this partnership regardless of its evolution."
"That's a very diplomatic answer."
"I'm trying to be accommodating."
"Stop being accommodating. It's confusing." Lucia found herself smiling despite her agitation. "Just be honest. Tell me what you want."
Alessandro was quiet for a long moment, his amber eyes searching hers. When he spoke, his voice was careful but direct. "I want this to become more than business. I want to know you beyond estate management discussions. I want you to use that connecting door between our bedrooms—not immediately, not until you're ready, but eventually." He paused. "I want to earn your trust enough that you stop viewing affection as a complication to be managed."
The honesty was somehow more overwhelming than romance would have been.
"That's terrifying," Lucia said quietly.
"I know. It terrifies me as well." Alessandro reached across the carriage, offering his hand. "But we could be terrified together. That seems more manageable than being terrified alone."
Lucia looked at his outstretched hand that was strong, slightly ink-stained, and utterly steady.
She took it.
"Together, then," she said. "But slowly. With clearly defined milestones."
"You want to create a timeline for developing feelings?"
"I want structure. Otherwise I'll panic and retreat into account books."
Alessandro's laugh was surprised and genuine. "Alright. What's milestone one?"
"Surviving the first week in Verona without killing each other?"
"Setting the bar admirably low. I approve." He squeezed her hand. "Milestone two?"
"Successfully hosting our first dinner with local nobility without my creating a scandal by discussing irrigation systems."
"That's not a scandal. That's a conversation starter." But Alessandro was grinning. "Milestone three?"
Lucia hesitated, then said quietly, "Using the connecting door. Once I'm certain I won't regret it."
His expression went soft, serious. "That's a significant milestone."
"I know. That's why it's third, not first."
"And after three?"
"I don't know. We'll assess progress and determine next steps." She was applying business logic to romance and knew it was absurd, but it felt safer than the alternative. "Does that work for you?"
"It works perfectly." Alessandro brought her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles briefly. "My systematic, analytical wife. I wouldn't have you any other way."
"That's a dangerous claim. You've only known me a month."
"A month in which you've consistently exceeded every expectation. I'm betting on the trend continuing." He released her hand reluctantly. "Now, shall we return to discussing your plan to make me more ruthless with my clients? I'm finding your mercenary side strangely attractive."
"Everything about me is mercenary. That's the entire basis of this marriage."
"False. You hired Signora Benedetti despite knowing my stepmother would object. That's principle, not profit."
"Signora Benedetti will improve yields, which increases profit. It's still mercenary."
"Keep telling yourself that." Alessandro retrieved the portfolio again. "Now, which other contracts am I undervaluing due to misplaced loyalty?"
They spent the remainder of the journey debating shipping rates, discussing agricultural innovations, and occasionally lapsing into comfortable silence. As the sun began its descent toward evening, the city of Verona emerged in the distance—ancient walls and red-tiled roofs nestled against hills.
"Home," Alessandro said quietly. "Or it will be."
Lucia studied the approaching city with a mixture of anticipation and apprehension. Somewhere in those hills was an estate she'd never seen, responsibilities she'd agreed to shoulder, a life she'd negotiated but not yet lived.
"What if I fail?" The question emerged before she could stop it.
Alessandro looked at her sharply. "At what?"
"All of it. Estate management, representing your family, being an adequate countess—"
"Lucia. Stop." He moved to sit beside her, abandoning the pretense of separate carriage seats. "You identified embezzlement I'd missed. You proposed agricultural improvements I'd never considered. You hired the most qualified candidate regardless of social pressure. In what universe do those actions suggest impending failure?"
"Managing from a distance is different than actually being present. Living there, making daily decisions, dealing with people who'll resent taking direction from a woman—"
"Then they'll learn to adjust their resentments or find employment elsewhere." Alessandro's voice was firm. "You're not entering this alone. Signora Benedetti will support you. Giorgio visits regularly. And I'll return whenever you need me, not because I doubt your capability, but because partnerships mean showing up."
Lucia leaned against him slightly, testing the contact. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders immediately, pulling her closer.
"I'm not accustomed to relying on anyone," she admitted.
"I noticed. You've been managing alone for three years." Alessandro pressed a kiss to her temple. "But you don't have to anymore. That's the entire point of partnership."
The carriage rolled through Verona's gates as the sun touched the horizon, painting everything in shades of gold and amber. Lucia watched the city unfold around them—bustling markets, ancient buildings, the arena's familiar arches—and felt something settle in her chest.
Not certainty, exactly. But possibility.
"Milestone one begins now," she murmured.
"Surviving the first week without murder?" Alessandro's voice held amusement. "That seems achievable."
"Don't be overconfident. You haven't seen me dealing with incompetent staff yet."
"I'm looking forward to it. I suspect your version of 'dealing with' involves detailed documentation and strategic dismissals."
"Obviously. How else would one handle incompetence?"
Alessandro laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest where she rested against him. "My terrifying, systematic wife. This is going to be interesting."
"That's one word for it."
"What's yours?"
Lucia considered the question as the carriage turned up a winding road, leaving the city behind. Hills rose around them, covered in vineyards and olive groves turning silver in the fading light.
"Complicated," she said finally. "But maybe complicated is better than simple."
"Definitely better." Alessandro tightened his arm around her. "Simple would be boring."
"I keep hearing that."
"Because it's true." He pointed ahead, where a villa was becoming visible on a hilltop. A honey-colored stone, red tile roof, cypress trees standing sentinel. "There. The Ferretti estate. Your new home."
Lucia's breath caught. It was beautiful. Not ostentatiously grand, but elegant and substantial. Vineyards terraced the hillside below, olive groves spreading to the north. Even in twilight, she could see the property was well-maintained, prosperous.
"Home," she repeated, testing the word.
"Home," Alessandro confirmed. "Ready?"
Lucia straightened, pulling away from his warmth to face the approaching villa with clear eyes and steady resolve.
"Ready," she said.
And surprisingly, she meant it.