His beautiful wife.
His soulmate.
The sweetness in his life.
His gaze moved in silent appreciation over her bikini-clad body, and he felt a rush of heat tighten his muscles, some very specific muscles. It was their seventh wedding anniversary today and they had celebrated in the dawn light, reaching for each other wordlessly, their need as raw as it was when they first met in Paris.
They had exchanged gifts. From Dulcie, a letter written by his namesake and great-grandfather, which she’d had framed. His eyes fixed on his wife. Dulcie was wearing his gift. A sapphire and diamond necklace to match the bracelet his father had given her all those years ago.
She still looked like that woman who’d rolled in with the storm in Paris trailing thunderbolts and hail in her wake. Her blonde hair was longer now and lighter from the Puglian sun and there was a smattering of freckles on her shoulders that he liked to join up with his tongue.
‘Ciao.’ She leaned in and kissed him softly on the mouth. ‘You let me go back to sleep.’
She turned and waved to the children in the pool.
‘You were up a lot in the night. I thought you needed to catch up.’ His hand moved to touch the curve of her stomach, fingers caressing the smooth, taut skin as if he were testing it for ripeness. ‘This one’s got quite the kick. I don’t remember Marella or Gio being quite so rowdy.’
She shook her head. ‘I know. Good job you ordered those hail nets. We might need them to stop this little force of nature from causing havoc once he or she is born.’
He leaned in to kiss her stomach. ‘On the advice of my very clever wife.’
Dulcie felt her heart flip over as he pulled her onto his lap, his mouth seeking hers, and she kissed him back greedily. It didn’t matter that, only an hour ago, she had tasted him and teased him and made him groan out her name as her thighs clenched around his hard, proud body.
‘My very sexy, clever wife,’ he murmured against her throat.
‘You have a one-track mind.’
‘Not true.’ His hand moved over the curve of her hip. ‘I have a whole bunch of delightfully scenic routes to take me where I want to go.’
She laughed and then he was laughing too, because more than anything he loved to see her happy and she was profusely, blissfully, rampantly happy, living here with Ettore, building a world of their own.
A world that was welcoming and inclusive. It wasn’t just Fia who was living with them now. A year after he finally left rehab, Oscar moved to Italy. He didn’t live in the castle. His choice. He had wanted, needed, his independence. But he also needed his family close by so Ettore had arranged for a cottage on the estate to be renovated.
And Oscar was happy too. During his stay at the clinic, he had discovered a talent for pottery and now created beautiful pistachio-greenschizzatobowls and jugs and platters in his studio. But it was his relationship with Ettore that gave her the most happiness. True to his word, Ettore was a strong and stable presence in her brother’s life and the two men were close friends now.
Of course, there were bumps in the road, diversions and potholes, because life was complicated. But they knew how to deal with them now. And they wanted to deal with them. Because they loved each other for better, for worse.
‘So you’re still travelling?’ she teased.
He shook his head. ‘No, you’re stuck with me,dolcezza.’
‘Says the man trapped under me.’ She leaned in and kissed him fiercely. ‘But just so we’re clear, I’m not stuck. I chose you.’
‘So no itch, then? I mean, that’s what happens after seven years, isn’t it?’
‘To other people. Not to us. We can’t be separated. We’revite maritata.’
‘Always.’
His gold eyes gleamed in the sunlight and her throat thickened with love and happiness as Ettore pulled her closer and kissed her with the same fierce tenderness as she had kissed him.
