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!"
