CEO Needed A Wedding Date And Hired A Struggling Dad, Never Suspecting She’d Fall Head Over Heels
The Reality of Tuscany
By the time they landed in Italy, Emily was asleep in Logan’s arms. Dia was watching them like she’d never seen anything like it.
The villa was breathtaking. It had rolling hills, candle-lit terraces, and a garden large enough to get lost in. Her brothers and cousins were already there, laughing over wine and pasta.
When they walked in, all eyes turned. Dia slid her hand into Logan’s.
“This is Logan Hart,” she said. “My boyfriend.”
A beat of silence followed. Then her brother laughed.
“Finally, someone not wearing a Rolex! Welcome, Logan.”
Logan didn’t flinch. He nodded.
“Thanks.”
Later that night, alone on the balcony under the stars, Dia handed him a glass of wine.
“You handled that well.”
He took it.
“I’ve been in tougher rooms. You ever try telling a six-year-old she can’t have a second cupcake?”
She laughed, and it surprised them both.
“I didn’t think I’d enjoy this,” she admitted.
Logan sipped.
“Me neither.”
Their eyes met and the air shifted. Neither of them said anything else, but neither of them moved away either.
The morning sun poured through the villa’s tall windows, casting golden light across the antique floors. Dia adjusted the silk waist tie of her robe. She hadn’t meant to wake this early.
Something about the quiet pulled her from bed. She stepped into the kitchen barefoot, expecting to grab a quick espresso before anyone else stirred.
Instead, she found Logan standing at the marble island. His sleeves were rolled to the elbows. He was whisking something in a bowl with intense focus.
“You cook?” she asked, pausing in the doorway.
He looked up, surprised but not flustered.
“Emily likes pancakes shaped like animals. I don’t like her eating the resort breakfast every day, so I figured I’d make something here.”
Dia lifted a brow.
“You’re using ingredients from the villa kitchen?”
He pointed toward a paper bag near the sink.
“Walked to a local market this morning. The woman running it didn’t speak English, but she gave me fresh eggs and kissed my cheek twice. I think I bought more than I needed.”
“You walked there? That’s almost 2 miles.”
“I’ve worked longer days for less important people.”
Dia poured herself coffee, watching him.
“You didn’t have to go to that trouble.”
“I know.”
She leaned against the counter. The quiet between them settled like something comfortable.
“You seem different here.”
He flipped the pancake without looking.
“You mean I don’t look out of place anymore?”
“No,” she said slowly. “I mean you look like you belong.”
He didn’t answer right away.
“Maybe it’s easier to fit in when no one expects you to.”
Before she could respond, a small voice called from the hall.
“Daddy!”
Emily padded in. Her hair was messy and she was rubbing her eyes. She climbed onto a stool without hesitation. Dia handed her a tiny porcelain cup of warm milk.
“You like Italy so far?”
Emily nodded, yawning.
“The nanny says I can feed the horses today.”
Logan set a plate in front of her. It was complete with a pancake shaped vaguely like a giraffe. Dia watched her dig in with glee, syrup smearing across her cheek.
“You’re good with her,” she said softly. “I mean, better than I expected.”
“She’s my reason for everything.”
Dia didn’t respond right away. Instead, she reached for a spoon and tasted the batter he hadn’t used.
“You’re not bad at this either.”
He wiped his hands on a towel.
“I build houses. Cooking’s not so different. You start with raw pieces, add heat, and try not to burn it.”
She laughed under her breath.
“Is that your approach to relationships too?”
He looked up, his expression unreadable.
“Haven’t built one of those that’s held up. Not yet.”
Before she could ask anything else, her cousin Lucia burst into the kitchen. She was already dressed in a linen wrapped dress and oversized sunglasses.
“There you are,” she said, eyes darting between them. “We’re doing a family wine tasting this afternoon. You have to come. Everyone’s dying to meet the mystery man.”
Dia stiffened slightly.
“We’ll be there.”
Lucia grinned.
“Don’t be late. You know how Anna Lena gets when the schedule slips.”
Once she’d gone, Logan looked at Dia.
“You sure you want me at that thing?”
She didn’t hesitate.
“They’ll be watching. I need them to believe.”
He nodded slowly.
“Then I’ll make them believe.”
Everything about the winery screamed old money. There were ivy-covered stone walls, a private cellar tour, and a tasting table set beneath hanging lanterns on a vineyard terrace.
Dia arrived with Logan at her side. His hand rested casually at her lower back as if they’d done this a hundred times before. Her family noticed. They noticed everything.
Her uncle leaned in.
“He doesn’t look like your usual type.”
“She doesn’t have a type anymore!” Lucia whispered loudly to her husband, making sure Dia heard.
Logan poured wine for them both. His movements were deliberate and calm.
“You okay?” she asked under her breath. Her smile was fixed for the audience.
“Fine,” he answered. “You?”
“I’ve had worse performances.”
“I’m not performing.”
She glanced at him.
“You sure?”
He met her eyes and something flickered there. It was something that didn’t feel like part of the arrangement.
After the fourth glass, her mother approached. Her necklace glittered in the late afternoon sun.
“Can I steal Logan for a moment?”
Dia’s fingers tightened around her glass.
“Don’t interrogate him.”
Her mother smiled sweetly.
“I would never.”
She led Logan down the gravel path toward the olive trees. Dia followed at a distance. She pretended to browse the wine shop while keeping them in her peripheral vision.
Her mother leaned in close. She gestured, spoke, and studied him with razor-sharp eyes. Those eyes had cut through every man Dia had ever brought home.
But Logan didn’t flinch. Whatever he said made her mother pause. When they returned, her mother’s expression had shifted just slightly.
“He’s not what I expected,” she said softly.
Dia raised her chin.
“No, he’s not.”
Later, as the sun dipped behind the hills and the family broke into smaller groups, Dia stepped out onto the lawn. She watched the sky turn lavender. Logan found her there. His hands were in his pockets and his jacket was slung over one shoulder.
“What did she say to you?” Dia asked.
He shrugged.
“She asked what I wanted from you. And I told her the truth.”
She turned toward him.
“Which is?”
“That I don’t want anything you’re not offering.”
She didn’t know what to say to that, so she didn’t. Instead, she reached up and loosened the pins from her hair, letting the breeze catch it. He watched her quietly.
“You don’t look like you belong here,” she said finally.
“I don’t, but you make it look like you do.”
He stepped closer.
“That’s because I’m standing next to you.”
The space between them shrank. For the first time, Dia didn’t feel like she was pretending.
The villa’s grand ballroom pulsed with music and candle light. The rehearsal dinner was in full swing beneath vaulted ceilings and crystal chandeliers.
Long banquet tables were draped in ivory linen. They were dotted with floating candles and wild flowers clipped from the hillside that morning.
A string quartet played in the corner. Most of the guests had already abandoned their seats for the dance floor or the open bar.
Dia stood near the arched windows, balancing a half-full flute of prosecco as she scanned the crowd. Her brother, the groom, was spinning his fiancee to a round of applause.
Her father was deep in conversation with a cousin who ran a hedge fund in Zurich. Her mother’s laughter rang out somewhere near the dessert table.
And Logan? He was surrounded. He was not surrounded by the usual questions or suspicion. Her family was listening. Her uncle was nodding. Her aunt was offering him a second helping of truffle risotto.
Logan had his sleeves rolled again and the top button undone. He wasn’t just holding his own; he was thriving.
“Your plus-one’s a hit,” Lucia said as she joined Dia by the window. She was sipping something pink and potent.
“I have to admit, I didn’t expect him to know the difference between a Chianti and a Syrah, let alone discuss regional soil compositions.”
Dia blinked.
“He mentioned soil?”
“Apparently he rebuilt a vineyard irrigation system outside Napa a few years ago. He knows more about rootstock than Marco, and he’s been studying it since college.”
Dia’s eyes drifted back to him. He wasn’t performing, not really. He was just talking. His hands were moving and his eyes were focused. Every word was grounded in something real.
Lucia tilted her head.
“You didn’t know that about him, did you?”
“No,” Dia said, her voice quieter than she expected.
“Then maybe you should spend a little more time actually getting to know the man you’re pretending to love.”
Before Dia could reply, a hand touched her back lightly.
“Dance with me.”
Logan’s voice was low but steady. She turned to find his hand extended, palm up. He looked completely at ease in the tailored jacket she’d arranged for him.
The way he wore it—relaxed and slightly rumpled near the elbows—was unmistakably his. She hesitated.
“You hate dancing. You hate small talk and have been doing that for 20 minutes.”
She gave him her glass and let him lead her to the center of the room. Couples swayed beneath the chandeliers.
“You’re surprisingly good at this,” she said as his hand settled at her waist.
“I used to dance with Emily in the living room. She stands on my feet.”
Dia laughed, the sound catching her off guard.
“You’re full of surprises.”
“You’re just not used to someone who doesn’t need anything from you.”
Her eyes lifted to his.
“What does that mean?”
“It means,” he said, his voice steady, “I can see you, Dia.”
“I don’t care about your company or your last name or how much your shoes cost. I care about how tense your shoulders get when your mother walks into the room.”
“I care about the way you look at your brother when you think no one’s watching. I care about the version of you that laughs when no one expects it.”
She didn’t move. He didn’t stop.
“I know this started as a job. And I’ve done everything you asked, but if you’re going to keep pretending I’m your boyfriend, I think it’s time you let me be one.”
The music swelled around them, soft and slow. Her hands, once tense, relaxed on his shoulders.
“I don’t know how to do this,” she said quietly.
“Good,” he replied. “Because if you did, it wouldn’t feel this real.”
Later that night, back in her suite, Dia stood barefoot on the balcony watching the stars scatter across the sky. The villa was quiet now.
Below her, the gardens rustled with wind. The scent of lavender drifted through the open doors. She didn’t hear him approach until he spoke.
“Emily’s asleep. The nanny’s reading beside her. She’s got a voice like a lullaby.”
Dia nodded, arms crossed over her chest.
“Thank you for tonight.”
“You don’t have to thank me.”
“I do,” she said. “You didn’t just show up. You fit in and you didn’t fake it. You made them see someone I could love.”
He stepped closer.
“Then maybe you should ask yourself why that feels so hard to believe.”
Her breath caught. Logan looked out at the horizon.
“I was married once. Her name was Joanna. We met at a hardware store. She was buying paint and I offered to carry the cans to her truck. She said no. I helped anyway.”
Dia listened, still and silent.
“She died 6 years ago. Car accident. Emily was 7 months old. I didn’t have a plan. Just a crib and a baby and a job that didn’t care if I was grieving.”
Dia’s voice was barely above a whisper.
“I’m sorry.”
“I don’t talk about her often, not because I’ve forgotten, but because I spent years pretending I was fine. I promised myself I wouldn’t pretend anymore.”
She turned to him fully.
“Then why did you say yes to this?”
“Because I needed the money. And because when Clarissa showed me your photo, I thought, she looks like someone who might understand what it means to be alone even when the room is full.”
Her chest tightened.
“And now?” she asked.
“Now I don’t know what’s real and what’s not anymore.”
She didn’t kiss him. Not yet. But she reached for his hand. For the first time, Dia didn’t feel like she was holding on for appearances. She was holding on because she didn’t want to let go.
