By sunset, the paparazzi had tripled.
Cars lined the narrow road below the gates. Long lenses pointed through hedges with the determination of people who had never met boundaries.
Anna stood at the upstairs window watching them.
"This is feral."
"They'll leave," Oliver said from behind her.
"When?"
"When something worse happens elsewhere."
She turned.
"That's your media strategy?"
"It's historically reliable."
He had changed into a dark sweater and looked unfairly calm for a man whose emotional life had recently become public infrastructure.
Veronica lounged in the doorway eating grapes she did not purchase.
"I gave them three fake rumors and one real bakery recommendation," she said.
Anna blinked.
"Why are you like this?"
"Natural talent."
Oliver pointed to the hall.
"Go away."
"I'm family now," Veronica replied.
Both of them looked horrified.
She grinned and left.
Night settled warm over the lake.
The photographers eventually thinned when denied spectacle.
Good.
Oliver and Anna carried dinner onto the terrace.
Simple food.
Wine.
Candles that Oliver claimed were practical.
Nothing about them looked practical.
They ate in companionable quiet until Anna set down her glass.
"What happens after this?"
He looked at her.
"After paparazzi?"
"After Lake Como. After scandals. After enemies."
A pause.
"After us becoming real."
The honesty of that phrase moved through him visibly.
He answered carefully.
"I return to Milan."
She nodded once.
"I know."
"I restructure the board."
"Obviously."
"I reduce holdings."
That surprised her.
"You would?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
He looked around the house.
"The empire became too large to notice what it cost."
And there it was again.
Not weakness.
Wisdom earned painfully.
She asked softly, "And me?"
He held her gaze.
"You are not a line item to schedule."
"Good answer."
"It was the true one."
Later, they walked the lower garden path lit by lanterns.
The unfinished annex foundation waited below, stone outlined beneath moonlight.
Oliver stopped there.
Anna folded her arms.
"If this is another symbolic key moment, I'm leaving."
"It's worse."
Concerning.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out folded papers.
Not a ring box.
Not jewelry.
Blueprints.
Updated ones.
She took them slowly.
The annex redesign now included:
A studio office with two desks
A library with one ladder (crossed out and replaced with two)
Guest rooms
Garden terrace
Nursery space
Anna looked up sharply.
"Nursery?"
"Future-proofing."
"You're impossible."
"Efficient."
Her eyes moved lower.
At the title block, where architects usually sign names.
A. Walker & O. Walker
Joint Owners
She went very still.
"You changed the title."
"I corrected it."
"You added me."
"I chose you."
The wind seemed to stop.
The lake below disappeared.
Everything narrowed to the man in front of her who once measured life only in leverage and now stood offering shared walls.
She asked, voice quieter now:
"Is this your proposal?"
He stepped closer.
"This is my certainty."
A beat.
"If you require kneeling, I can adapt."
She laughed through sudden tears.
"No."
"Good. Gravel."
Then he cupped her face gently.
"Marry me again," he said softly.
Her throat tightened.
"Yes."
No hesitation.
No games.
Just yes.
He kissed her under lantern light with the blueprints between them.
A promise made of paper and hands and future.
Much later, they sat on the foundation wall together, shoulders touching.
The house above glowed warmly.
The lake breathed below.
Anna leaned into him.
"What do we keep?" she asked.
He considered.
"Not the money."
"No."
"Not the war."
"Definitely not."
He turned and kissed her temple.
"We keep what we built after."
She smiled.
"That's almost poetic."
"Don't spread it."