Amore mio 2

77.

Lucia's P.O.V.

Dressed in my soft, pastel pink robe, the one with the silky ribbons that tied in a bow around my waist, and my fluffy cloud slippers that hugged my feet like little pillows, I stood in the middle of my closet. The air smelled faintly of fresh cotton and lavender from the sachets tucked between my folded scarves, and the light filtering through the spotless glass window made everything feel soft and dreamy.

I clutched two hangers in my hands—one in each—and couldn't decide. One dress was a milky white shade, like warm cream, with long, sheer sleeves that floated just a little when I moved, and a square neckline that framed my collarbones in such a graceful way I felt like a swan gliding across a lake. The fabric shimmered ever so slightly, like morning light on snow. The other was ivory, warmer in tone, with short sleeves and the sweetest little sweetheart neckline that made my heart flutter. It reminded me of sugar cookies fresh out of the oven and soft, tinkling piano music playing in the background. 

They were both beautiful and new. Light as air. Made for dancing and feeling lovely.

And I liked them both so much.

But...I wanted Maxie to like it too.

The moment I thought of him—his pale green eyes, his light blonde, curly hair, his sweet dimples, the way he smiled when he looked at me—my cheeks flushed with warmth that made me look down. My slippers, so fluffy and cosy, looked like marshmallows. I bit my lip, heart fluttering. 

What if he saw me in one of these pretty dresses and smiled? What if he thought I looked beautiful? What if we happened to wear matching colours?

I hugged both dresses to my chest and tiptoed out of the closet, the hangers clicking gently against each other, my steps quiet down the hallway towards papà's study.

I peeked behind the door, just a sliver, and there he was—at his desk, phone pressed to his ear, scripts scattered in neat little piles. He turned instantly, like he always did when I or mamma was near, and he smiled. Then he lifted one hand and gave the gentlest little wave, beckoning me in. No words. He didn't need them.

My heart fluttered again, softer this time. I padded over in my slippers, and before I could even speak, he scooped me up into his arms like I weighed nothing at all. He kissed my cheeks—one, two, like he always did—and I melted into him like I always did.

Still holding the dresses, I tilted my head and held them up, asking silently.

Papà looked at them both carefully, and then he pointed at the milky-white one confidently.

A breath escaped me before I even knew it, a happy little sigh. I hugged the dress to my chest like it was a treasure, soft against my robe, and smiled so big I felt it in my little heart. Papà kissed my forehead, warm and gentle, and without saying anything, carried me out of the study like I was something precious.

Back in my closet, he set me gently on my rug, and I looked up at him as he settled into my armchair—the pale pink one with tufted cushions and a big back that made it look like a throne. The way the light hit it made it look almost white, like spun sugar. Papà kept talking on the phone, but he was here, keeping me company, always making time for me even if it seemed impossible to do so. 

I beamed at papà and blew him a kiss, giggling when he smiled and caught it before sending me another kiss in return. 

I turned to my dresser and picked out the softest tights with the slightest shimmer in them, and my new cream-coloured shoes with the satin bows. I laid everything out, smoothing the fabric with careful hands, tucking the sleeves just right, arranging the skirt so it wouldn't wrinkle, and packed everything in my bag.