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‘Not forgetting your poor finger.’
She giggled. She hadn’t thought of her finger in weeks. ‘I’m surprised you let him walk away without any injury.’
‘He took one look at me in his doorway and virtually wet himself. I didn’t need to touch him. If the same thing were to happen to you now, I doubt I would be so restrained.’
‘Yes, you would,’ she chided, rubbing her nose into his linen shirt.
‘And you know that how?’
‘Because you would never hurt me, and to cause physical injury to another human, especially in my name, would be to hurt me.’
‘You still believe that? After what I did to you last night, you still believe in me?’
‘I believe it more than ever.’ And she did. She, more than anyone, knew the hold the past had on the present. All that mattered was that they didn’t allow the past to shape their futures. ‘In any case, I bet he’ll spend the rest of his life having nightmares that you’ll turn up on his doorstep again.’
‘Good. He deserves it.’ He gave a humourless chuckle. ‘We should invite him to our wedding.’
‘Why, are we getting married?’
‘Too right we are. I love you, Dr Chapman, and I will love you for the rest of my life.’
‘I love you, too, Signor Calvetti.’
He kissed her again. ‘Dottore Hannah Calvetti. It has a nice ring to it.’
‘Hmm...’ Her lips curved into a contented smile. Francesco was right. It had a wonderful ring to it.
EPILOGUE
HANNAH WALKED CAREFULLY up the steep steps to the front door of the villa, happily inhaling the scent emitted by the overabundance of ripe lemon trees.
Francesco opened the door before she got to the top.
‘Buonasera, Dottore Calvetti,’ he said.
‘Good evening, Signor Calvetti,’ she replied, before slipping into fluent Sicilian-Italian. ‘How has Luciano been today?’
‘An angel. Well, he’s been an angel since I relieved the nanny. I think he might have given her an extra grey hair or two today. He’s definitely worn himself out—he fell asleep fifteen minutes ago. But enough of the small talk—how did you do?’
She couldn’t hide the beam that spread across her face. ‘I got the job!’
Francesco’s face spread into an identical grin. He drew her to him and kissed her, then rubbed his nose to hers. ‘I knew you could do it, you clever lady. In fact, Tino is at this moment preparing your favourite meal to celebrate.’
‘Mussels in white wine?’
He nodded with a definite hint of smugness. ‘Followed by hot chocolate-fudge cake.’
‘I love you!’ Tino, their chef, made the best chocolate-fudge cake in the world.
He laughed and tapped her bottom. ‘Go shower and get changed. I’ll open a bottle of wine.’
This time it was she who kissed him, hard.
‘Before I forget, Melanie messaged me earlier,’ she said. ‘They can definitely come for the weekend.’
‘Great. Let me know the times and I’ll get the jet over to England for them.’
With a spring in her step, Hannah climbed the stone staircase and headed down the uneven corridor to their bedroom. As she passed their eighteen-month-old son’s nursery, she poked her head through the door to find him in deep sleep. He didn’t stir when she lowered the side of the cot to press a gentle kiss to his cheek. ‘Night, night, sleep tight,’ she whispered before slipping back out.
She opened her bedroom door and there, on her dressing table, was the most enormous bunch of roses she had ever seen, huge even by Francesco’s standards.
His faith in her never ceased to amaze her.
Luciano had come into their lives more quickly than either had anticipated. Within two months of their marriage she’d fallen pregnant, which hadn’t been all that surprising considering the laissez-faire approach to contraception they’d adopted.
When it came time for Hannah to take maternity leave, they’d uprooted to Sicily. It had been agreed that when her maternity was up they would move back to London. Except...she’d fallen in love with Sicily, with the people and the language. Besides, it was easier for Francesco to run his empire from there, so she saw more of him during the week than she had in London, and they hated having to spend nights away from each other.
Full of determination, she’d set about learning the language. She’d employed a tutor and within weeks had refused to answer Francesco or any of his staff unless they spoke in their native tongue. She had been determined to master it. And they had all been determined to help her.
