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Hearing that, I close my eyes. “I thought . . .”
“Never,” she states firmly. Our eyes lock. “I don’t want to be with anyone else but you.”
“I can’t believe you love me.”
“Well, I do. So don’t be an idiot. Walter is just a friend and nothing more.”
“A friend?” I grumble, and she laughs.
“Yes, he’s a friend.”
“Are you saying I might have to see him more than just tonight?”
“He lives in LA. I doubt you will see him much, but he’s a nice guy. You’d like him if you got to know him.”
“I don’t think I like that.”
“Do you love me?” she asks softly, running her hand through my hair.
I focus on her. “More than anything in the world.”
“Then you’ll deal.”
“If I have to,” I agree reluctantly as I study the way her hair is sliding over her shoulder. “I’ve missed you, Princess. These last two weeks have been hell.”
“You could have ended that torture at any time.”
“I should have swallowed my pride and come to you sooner. I’m sorry that I didn’t listen when you tried to talk to me. I’m sorry that I kept shutting you down when you brought up the shop.”
“Are you going to be okay with me owning the shop?” she asks, sounding nervous.
I skim my fingers down the side of her face.
“It’s going to take time for me to wrap my head around you owning the shop, and we are going to have to talk about things,” I tell her.
She goes rigid on my lap.
“What do you mean, talk about things?” She kind of turns, and it feels like she is going to get up, but I just force her back down.
“What I mean is that I will not sit back and see this place take over your life—our life. I will not sit back and watch it pull you down.”
“Antonio . . . ,” she says softly. This time her hand comes out and cups my face. “I promise you, here and now, that I will never put this place before you. I promise that you and I will come before Princess Pizza.”
“When we have kids . . . ,” I murmur, ignoring her eyes getting big and her body tensing.
“When are we having kids?”
“I have no idea. But when we do—” I start to say as she puts her fingers on my lips.
“When we do have kids, my main focus will be them. Always,” she tells me. “I’m just happy you’re here now,” she says, then her eyes drop to my mouth. “You know you’ve forgotten a big part of your apology.”
“What’s that?”
“In the movies, the guy always—but always—kisses the girl when she forgives him.”
“Then I’d better get to that part.” I slant my head and kiss her long and hard, so long that at least five different people knock on the door before we finally stop making out. And when we go back out to her party, we do it hand in hand.
Chapter 17
MAYBE ROMANCE MOVIES AREN’T SO STUPID AFTER ALL
LIBBY
“Figured I’d find you in here,” Peggy says as she steps into the office.
I look up at her with a sheepish smile.
“Sorry.” I set down the phone I just hung up. “I got a call about a party and had to take it. I’m coming—I just need to add the booking into the computer.” I pull up the program on my laptop, then look at her again. “Can you tell everyone I’ll be out in a minute?”
“It’s New Year’s Eve and people are still calling to set up reservations?”
“Yes, and we are not going to complain about it, either.”
“Hector and I both got Christmas bonuses. If it sounded like I was complaining, you misheard me,” she says. I grin at her. “Anyway, I’ll let everyone know that you’ll be out soon.” She smiles before she shuts the door behind herself.
I quickly add the booking for a birthday into the computer, then lean back in my chair and stretch my arms over my head.
It’s been almost one year since Princess Pizza opened, and in that time, the shop has paid for itself. It’s been so busy that I had to hire three more employees to help out between Friday and Sunday nights. It hasn’t hurt that we’ve even been featured in the Times, the New Yorker, and a couple of other smaller papers around the city. People from all over the five boroughs come here to celebrate their kids’ birthdays and are constantly giving recommendations to their friends and families. The make-your-own-pizza parties have become a hit, and we’ve been booked almost every weekend since opening.
Antonio and I are also doing amazing—so amazing that just a week ago we decided it was time to stop traveling between his place and mine and move in together. Right now we’re looking at condos in his neighborhood, but honestly I don’t care where we live as long as I get to go to sleep with him at night and wake up with him in the morning.
