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“Oh, I’m not sure…” Rose began as the housekeeper filled up all their glasses to the brims. She glanced again at Christos, who was laughing at her. Smiling wryly in return, Rose took a tiny medicinal sip.

“Now, we must get these things out of the way,” Esmerelda said once they’d started eating. “You overheard me, I know, asking about the bambino.” She gestured to Rose’s bump with her fork before popping a bite of creamy pasta into her mouth. “It was unfortunate, no? I did not mean for you to hear that.”

“Do you mean when you asked how much I would be willing to sell my baby for?” Rose asked in as mild as a tone as she could manage. Part of her wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the situation, and another part of her wanted to scream.

Esmerelda nodded, unfazed, as she swallowed her bite of pasta and then took a sip of wine. “Yes, yes, that,” she dismissed. “You must see that we needed to try. What if you had been a woman of loose morals? Eh? We had to consider that.”

Rose shook her head, bemused, and not nearly as angry as maybe she should have been. There was something so over-the-top about Esmerelda’s gregarious and generous personality, but she still felt like she needed to be careful.

“Anyway,” Christos’s mother said, leaning toward Rose in a confiding manner. “That is all in the past, pfft! Gone! Because now,” she exclaimed, beaming, “you are part of nostra familia!”

“Madre,” Christos said quietly, the word like a warning, and Rose glanced at him, sensing his mother wasn’t speaking in a general sense.

“Oh, Christos, always so cautious, so serious!” his mother exclaimed, laughing. “Am I not allowed to be happy for my son…” She turned to Rose, her smile going ever wider. “And his bride?”

* * *

Christos tensed as he saw Rose’s mouth drop open. He resisted the serious urge to reach across the table and throttle his mother. He hadn’t meant to tell her about his marriage proposal, but his mother had cornered him before lunch, going on about how she might lose the chance to know her grandchild. Somehow he’d hinted at his plan, and of course his mother being the way she was, she’d taken the hint and run a thousand miles with it, to where she was already planning the wedding reception and sending out engraved invitations.

And now Rose probably thought he was taking control. Again.

“Well,” Rose said equably, taking another tiny sip of wine, “we’re not married quite yet.” She glanced at him, laughter making her eyes dance, and Christos quietly exhaled in relief. He’d expected her to be angry, but he was very glad that she was not. It reminded him how resourceful she was; she’d accepted a lot in the last few days, and yet here she was, still smiling. Still finding the humor and the fun, and that took a certain strength of spirit.

“Just to be clear,” he said for Rose’s benefit, “I told my mother that marriage is simply an option we are considering, nothing more.” He gave his mother a quelling look that she blithely ignored. “Remember, Madre?”

“Oh, pfft, options,” she dismissed with an airy wave of her hand. “Are you talking of stocks? Is this a business merger? No. It is a marriage, and it makes perfect sense. Besides, I can see how you two adore each other already.”

Rose choked on her tiny sip of wine, spluttering while his mother looked beatifically on. “We barely know each other,” she managed, wiping her mouth. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes bright, and she looked, Christos thought, so very lovely…as well as embarrassed.

“Ah, but then, why do you blush?” his mother asked shrewdly. She cackled in delight. “Both of you!”

Christos swiftly decided they’d had enough marriage talk. “I thought perhaps I’d take Rose to Isola Madre tomorrow,” he said, although in truth, the idea had only just popped into his head. He turned to Rose, whose cheeks were still pink. “It is a very beautiful island in the middle of Lake Maggiore, with gardens and a magnificent palazzo. I thought you might like to see it.”

“It sounds amazing,” she murmured. She glanced down at her plate, still seeming embarrassed, and Christos wished his mother hadn’t gone so over-the-top with her talk of marriage and adoring each other. And he most certainly had not been blushing.

Fortunately, after that, they managed to keep the conversation to far more innocuous topics, and Rose told his mother about her work as an art teacher and how she liked to paint. In her usual generous way, his mother insisted she set up a studio in the conservatory, with its stunning views of the lake.

“Whatever you need,” she insisted. “We will get you whatever you need. Paints, brushes, easel, all of it.”

“I don’t know what to make of your mother,” Rose told him frankly once lunch was over and they were heading upstairs. “I was expecting someone—something—totally different. Someone scary, frankly.”

“She’s scary in her own way,” he only half joked. “What can I say? She is Italian. She feels things deeply. And she lets bygones be bygones instantly, so you went from being a threat to her beloved daughter-in-law in the space of an afternoon, which is completely normal for her.” He paused before remarking reflectively, “I think she loved Luca so much because he was like her.” And he wasn’t.

“She loves you, too, you know,” Rose said quietly. He started, surprised and more than a little unsettled that she had felt the need to say that.

“I know,” he said a beat too late. He thought they both heard the waver of uncertainty in his voice, and it made him uneasy as well as exposed. He knew his mother loved him. Of course he did.

Because you took care of Luca. And when you stopped…

To his surprise, Rose laid her hand on his cheek, soft and cool, a comforting touch rather than an enflaming one. She stood on tiptoe to brush her lips across his mouth, and that did enflame him. His arms slipped around her waist as he pulled her closer. For a moment they simply stood there, their lips a breath apart. Christos felt her smile.

“This has been quite the adventure,” she told him. “Better than anything I’ve seen on Netflix.”

“And no dungeon,” he reminded her. Unable to help himself, he kissed her back, deepening it as he pulled her closer, so her breasts were pressed against his chest, her bump too, every part of her warm and womanly and welcoming.

Rose slid her arms around his neck, dropping her head back as he moved his mouth to her jaw, her skin soft and warm beneath his lips, her hands slipping into his hair, a sigh slipping from her lips.

“Christos…” Her voice was soft, her body pliant under his hands as he slid them from her waist to her hips, anchoring her there, desire roaring through him even as, for her sake, he tried to keep the moment as tender and sweet as it had been at the start. “You’re a very good kisser,” she said dazedly as he found the hollow of her throat. Her eyes had fluttered closed, and she was leaning against the door of her bedroom, her body so relaxed Christos thought she would slide right to the floor if he wasn’t holding her up.