Warm Hands, Warmer Hearts

The sun was just beginning to dip behind the wrought-iron gates of the Marchetti estate when Bell arrived. She didn't bother with the front door. She never had to — the guards knew her, and Alessandro had already told them to let her in.

He was expecting her. But he didn't expect this.

She stepped into his room just as he was tugging off his tie, the top buttons of his white shirt undone. The room still looked like something out of a royal magazine — all dark wood, black marble, and ridiculously expensive art — but she didn't care about any of that. Her eyes were on him.

"You're late," he said, smirking as he turned to her.

"You're eighteen," she countered, "which means I can be dramatic and say I was fashionably late."

He looked her over, one brow rising. "You're wearing my favorite dress."

"I know," she said simply, walking up to him and placing a small box in his hand. "Happy birthday, Ale."

He glanced down, curiosity flickering in his expression. He opened the box without hesitation — inside was a solid gold pocket watch, old, engraved, with his initials and the Marchetti crest etched on the back. It was antique, elegant, and unmistakably Alessandro.

"It belonged to my grandfather," Bell said. "My grandfather was going to give it to me, but I figured you'd actually take care of it, so I had it custom engraved for you."

He looked up at her, expression unreadable for a moment. Then he shut the box and reached for her waist.

"You know you didn't have to get me anything."

"I didn't get it for you."

"No?"

"I got it for future you. The one who forgets everything unless it's written down."

"Wow," he said dryly. "Romantic and insulting. A real two-for-one."

She laughed as he pulled her closer, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek.

"Eighteen, huh?" she said, quieter now.

"Feels the same."

"Well," she whispered, brushing her lips against his jaw, "You look older. And smugger."

"That's just because you're here."

Bell was still smiling but it was softer now, deeper. "I love you." She said simply

Alessandro pulled her closer. "I love you too Bella, more than you could ever know."

....

EARLY APRIL

The first warm breeze of spring swept through the city like a secret, and Bell could feel it — in the way people lingered outside longer, in the way the air smelled like rain and blooming things.

And in the way Alessandro had been acting weird all week.

Not distant. Just… evasive.

"What are you hiding?" she asked one afternoon, sprawled across his bed at the estate, flipping lazily through his old sketchbook.

He didn't look up from where he sat by the window, clearly distracted. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Liar." She huffed.

"Bold talk from someone whose birthday is in five days." He quipped.

"You're the one who's acting like you're planning a heist."

He didn't answer. Just smirked and turned back to his phone.

She narrowed her eyes. "If you've bought me a horse, I'm not feeding it."

"It's not a horse."

"Or a yacht. I swear if there's a yacht with my name painted on the side—"

"You're exhausting," he muttered, standing. "Just trust me, okay?"

"I do." She softened. "But I also know you."

…..

FIVE DAYS LATER— APRIL 24th, BELL'S BIRTHDAY

Bell never made a big deal out of her birthday. That wasn't her style. But this year felt different.

Maybe it was because it was her last birthday before graduation. Maybe it was because she was eighteen now — the beginnings of adulthood . Or maybe it was just because she wanted to feel good. So she'd taken her time that morning — curled her hair, hints of a gold shimmer onto her eyes and cheeks, and picked out the burgundy cropped cardigan she'd been saving, and paired that with her new black miniskirt.

She looked in the mirror and actually felt pretty.

Not cute. Not decent.

Pretty.

INT. HIGHSCHOOL HALLWAYS

The hallways buzzed like any other day — lockers slamming, sneakers squeaking, someone already getting yelled at by a teacher. Bell walked in just a little slower than usual, eyes scanning for him.

He found her first.

Alessandro was leaning against her locker, sleeves pushed up, tie loose like he always wore it. But the second his eyes landed on her, something shifted behind them — subtle, but sharp.

"You wore the lipstick," he said, barely smiling, like he didn't want to make a scene.

She lifted her chin, teasing. "Maybe I did. Maybe I wanted to be complimented."

He didn't look away. "You don't need lipstick to look like that."

"Like what?"

"Like someone I'd start a war for."

Bell flushed, trying not to roll her eyes. "You're ridiculous."

"You're eighteen." He stepped closer, lowering his voice just enough. "And I'd still pick you. Over and over."

She didn't know what to say to that — not without melting — so she looked away, biting her smile back. There was a small gift bag in his hand, deep navy with a silver ribbon. He held it out.

"Open it at lunch," he said. "Not now."

"Is it a diamond-encrusted horse?"

"No. That's for next year."

"Great. I'll start thinking of names."

He chuckled. "Get to class Casanova, I'll see you later."

She smirked at him. "I better, Marchetti."

....

INT. LUNCHTIME— COURTYARD

The courtyard was finally warm enough to sit outside, so Bell and Alessandro took their usual spot beneath the ivy-covered archway along the side of the school building. Spring was in the air — soft breeze, birds overhead, the sun brushing against bare skin like a quiet blessing, and subtle smell of rain.

Bell set the navy gift bag between them on the bench.

Alessandro leaned back, one arm stretched along the backrest behind her, clearly enjoying himself.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked.

"Because I already know I won. Open it."

She rolled her eyes but smiled, tugging the silver ribbon free.

Inside was a small velvet box and a folded piece of notebook paper, torn from the kind he always scribbled on during class.

She opened the letter first. The handwriting was messy — his usual slant — but the words were clean, deliberate.

Happy Birthday, Bell.

I tried to write something long and poetic but it all sounded stupid, so here's what I've got:

You're the best thing that's ever happened to me.

You've been mine since we were kids under that oak tree, even before I knew what it meant.

And I hope you'll still be mine when we're old and gray and yelling at people to get off our lawn.

But for now, here's something you said you liked months ago when you thought I wasn't listening.

— Love Ale

Bell blinked and stared down at the box.

"You remembered?"

"Open it."

She did.

Inside sat a delicate gold bracelet, vintage-style, with a small dangling charm shaped like a pressed flower — the kind she had once admired in a window of a boutique downtown, thinking out loud that it looked like something from a forgotten fairytale. She never thought he was paying attention.

"Alessandro," she whispered.

"Told you I won."

"This isn't a game." She rolled her eyes with a smile.

"Still winning though."

She didn't say anything for a second — just held it up, light catching on the gold as the charm spun slowly.

Then, without warning, she leaned over and kissed him, lingering just long enough to make him still.

"Thank you," she said softly. "This… this feels like something I'll wear forever."

"Good," he murmured, turning toward her, eyes warm. "That's kind of the point."

...

INT. AFTER SCHOOL— CASANOVA ESTATE

The sun was lower now, casting honey-colored light across the stone path that led through the Casanova garden. Flowers hadn't fully bloomed yet, but the promise of them lingered in the air. The wind carried the scent of soil, tulip stems, and faint honeysuckle. It felt like something was waking up.

Bell slipped off her shoes and padded barefoot across the grass, the gold bracelet from earlier catching the light with every movement.

Alessandro followed behind, quiet, letting her lead.

They stopped beneath the oak tree — the one that had been there forever. The one they used to nap under as kids. The one they laid under the summer he first called her pretty. The one she ran to every time she needed to think.

She sat first, smoothing her skirt over her thighs before leaning back on her hands. He dropped beside her a moment later, stretching out his long legs and resting his arms behind his head.

"This feels familiar," she said.

"It should. You've been stealing this spot from me since we were five ."

She snorted. "You didn't even like me back then."

"I did." He turned his head, looking at her. "I just didn't know what liking someone was."

She smiled, soft and quiet, eyes tracing the outlines of the branches above them.

"You remember when I panicked after you called me pretty?" she asked suddenly.

He laughed. "You told me to go home like I'd insulted you."

"I didn't know what to do with it."

"You know now?"

Bell turned toward him slowly, resting her head on his shoulder.

"Yeah," she said. "I do."

He laced his fingers through hers, the bracelet cool against his skin.

They didn't need to say much. Not here. Not in the place where it all began. This spot had been theirs since the beginning — before first crushes, before high school, before they had words for what they were feeling.

Now they were eighteen, older, in love, still growing — but still theirs.

"I think I loved you before I even knew what love was," Bell whispered.

Alessandro kissed the top of her head, eyes fixed on the sky through the leaves.

"Same," he said. "And I still do."