Chapter 56: THE GUEST LIST WAR
The morning sun painted the villa in soft gold, streaming through the tall windows of Luca’s study where Aria sat cross-legged on the rug, surrounded by scattered notepads, sticky notes, and wedding magazines. Her hair was in a messy bun, a pencil tucked behind one ear, and a look of intense concentration furrowed her brow. Across from her, Luca leaned against the edge of his mahogany desk with his arms crossed, watching her with a mixture of amusement and exasperation.
"So," Aria said, chewing on the end of her pencil, "we have a problem."
Luca raised a brow. "Only one?"
She shot him a mock glare. "I’m serious. We agreed on a small, intimate wedding. Just close friends and family. That means not this." She shoved a sheet of paper toward him, the list scrawled with names upon names.
Luca took the list and scanned it, his lips twitching. "This is small, cara. Barely three hundred."
"Three hundred?" Aria almost choked on air. "Luca, that’s not small. That’s a royal coronation!"
He shrugged, clearly unfazed. "You’re marrying into a powerful family. We can’t exactly invite ten people and pretend we don’t have alliances."
Aria sighed and pushed her notes aside. "I wanted something simple. Something us. I don’t need diplomats and crime bosses from Milan watching me say my vows."
Luca crossed the room and crouched beside her, his voice softening. "You’ll still have me watching you say them."
She hated how he could disarm her like that, a single sentence and her frustration melted into affection. But she wasn’t backing down. "I want to know every face there. I don’t want to walk down the aisle wondering if the guy in the second row once tried to shoot you."
Luca chuckled, but the sound carried a trace of guilt. "That narrows it down too much."
"Luca," she said firmly.
"Alright, alright." He held up his hands in surrender and sank onto the rug beside her, stealing the pencil from her hair. "We compromise. I’ll cut the list in half. And you let me keep the rest."
"Half of three hundred is still one hundred and fifty!"
"Then I’ll cut it to a hundred," he countered, grinning when her lips twitched despite herself. "Eighty?"
"Fifty," she said.
"Eighty," he repeated, leaning closer.
"Sixty."
"Seventy-five."
"Sixty-five."
"Done," he said immediately, sealing the deal before she could argue further.
Aria laughed, shaking her head. "You’re impossible."
"And yet you’re marrying me." He leaned over and pressed a kiss to her shoulder, his lips lingering there for a heartbeat too long. Goosebumps rose along her skin.
"Still time to run," she teased, though her heart hammered every time he touched her like that, gentle, unhurried, reverent.
"Too late, amore mio," he murmured against her skin. "I’d find you."
The intimacy of the moment settled around them like sunlight. Even amidst lists and compromises, there was this, the quiet certainty of two people building something together, even if they argued over how many chairs would fill the church.
They worked side by side for another hour, crossing off names and debating who made the final cut. Luca fought for his most loyal allies. Aria insisted on including the handful of people who had stood by her in the darkest parts of her life. Somewhere in the middle, their worlds met, and that was the beauty of it.
At one point, Luca’s brother Matteo burst in without knocking. "Luca, the florist called. She needs..." He stopped dead at the sight of Luca sprawled on the rug with a stack of RSVP cards and Aria wearing one of Luca’s shirts like a dress. "What is this?"
"War," Luca said flatly. "We’re at war."
"With stationery?" Matteo blinked.
"With the guest list," Aria explained.
Matteo whistled. "Good luck. My uncle’s still mad you cut the Russian delegation from your birthday party."
"Then he’ll live with disappointment again," Luca muttered. "We’re not turning our wedding into a summit."
When Matteo left, Aria flopped onto her back and stared at the ceiling. "Why does planning something beautiful feel like negotiating a treaty?"
Luca lay down beside her, propping himself up on one elbow so he could look at her. "Because for people like us, it is. Our names and our families are never just personal. They ripple out into everything."
"Doesn’t that bother you?" she asked softly.
He was quiet for a moment. "It used to. But then I met you. And suddenly, all the noise mattered less."
Aria’s breath caught. It wasn’t a dramatic confession, but it was raw and real, Luca stripped of the armor he showed the world. She turned onto her side to face him, their noses inches apart.
"I love you," she whispered.
The corner of his mouth curved. "You should."
She smacked his chest lightly, and he caught her wrist mid-swing, pulling her closer until their bodies aligned. "Say it back," she demanded, laughing as he nuzzled her neck.
"I love you," he murmured, the words grazing her skin like a vow. "More than I ever thought possible."
The rest of the afternoon unfolded in bursts of laughter and whispered plans. They debated cake flavors (he wanted pistachio, she wanted vanilla), argued over the band (he wanted a jazz quartet, she wanted a string ensemble), and even tested a few dance steps right there on the rug.
At one point, he twirled her clumsily, and she nearly tripped over a pile of invitation samples. He caught her before she fell, their faces inches apart, breath mingling in the charged space between them.
"Careful," he murmured.
"Maybe I like falling," she said softly, her gaze locking with his.
He kissed her then, slow, deep, and filled with promises. It wasn’t about passion this time, though it simmered beneath the surface. It was about the life they were building, the future they were choosing piece by piece, guest by guest, argument by argument.
When they broke apart, she rested her forehead against his. "Do you ever think about the day itself? What it’ll feel like?"
"Every night," he admitted. "I picture you walking toward me. And I swear, it’s the only image that ever makes me believe in peace."
Aria’s heart swelled. "We’ll get there. Even if we fight over every napkin color."
"Especially then," he said with a laugh. "Because it means we care enough to build something worth fighting for."
As dusk painted the sky outside, they lay tangled together on the floor, surrounded by scraps of their future, names and colors and half-scribbled vows. And in that chaos, there was an undeniable sense of calm.
It wasn’t the flawless fairy tale Aria once thought weddings were supposed to be. It was messy and loud and full of compromise. But it was theirs. And that made it perfect.
Before she drifted into a contented half-doze, Luca’s voice rumbled against her ear.
"Aria?"
"Mm?"
"When this is all over, when we’re married, I want to take you somewhere far away. Just us. No guards. No titles. No threats."
She smiled, eyes still closed. "Where?"
"Somewhere no one knows my name. Somewhere I can just be Luca, and you can just be mine."
Her heart clenched. Because for all the power and danger that defined his world, this was what he wanted most, simplicity. A future stripped of shadows.
And for the first time, she believed they could have it.
As the evening deepened, they returned to their planning with renewed energy. Aria sketched out table arrangements while Luca reviewed the menu options, occasionally stealing bites of the biscotti she’d brought from the kitchen. They debated the merits of a sunset ceremony versus one under the stars, each option carrying its own kind of magic. Aria imagined fairy lights woven through ancient olive trees, their glow softening the edges of the night. Luca, ever practical, worried about the logistics of outdoor lighting but admitted her vision sounded beautiful.
Later, they tackled the question of vows. Aria wanted to write her own, pouring her heart into words that would capture their journey. Luca hesitated, not because he doubted his feelings, but because he feared his words wouldn’t match the depth of what he felt. "I’m better with actions," he said, a shy edge to his voice. Aria reached for his hand, promising to help him find the right phrases. Together, they jotted down ideas, laughing at the overly poetic lines Luca suggested in jest.
By nightfall, exhaustion crept in, but so did a sense of accomplishment. The guest list was slimmer, the menu nearly finalized, and the vision for their day clearer. Aria curled up against Luca, her head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. "We’re really doing this," she murmured, half in wonder.
"We are cara," he replied, his fingers tracing lazy circles on her back. "And it’ll be worth every argument."
In that moment, surrounded by the chaos of wedding planning, Aria felt a profound certainty. No matter how many names they crossed off or compromises they made, this love, their love, was the foundation of it all. And it was unshakable.