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And yet, Rose reflected as she headed outside into the sultry August afternoon, she couldn’t truly wish that. No matter how much she hurt now, she couldn’t regret meeting—and falling in love with—Christos Amanti.

* * *

Christos watched Rose walk down the street, wearing the same dress she’d been in when he’d met her before, her hair tumbling about her shoulders all the way to her waist, reminding him of how the two of them had been cocooned in it as he’d held her in his arms.

He’d arrived in New York that morning and had been sitting in his car for fifteen minutes, working up the courage to face her again. Knowing he needed to say those words he’d kept himself from saying for far too long. But where was she going now?

“You want me to follow, signor?” his driver asked.

“Yes, please.” Once again, he needed to know where she was going. Only this time the situation felt completely different, and something else, something just as precious, was at stake. Not his family’s future, but his own heart.

The car crept down the avenue as Rose walked along, her step less jaunty than Christos remembered. He thought she looked pale, as well, and a little thinner, even though it had just been four days. He hoped she was taking care of herself.

When she stopped in front of the same café he’d cornered her in a mere six weeks ago, he almost laughed. Something about it all felt so fitting. He was pretty sure she was going to order a huge slab of that ridiculous cake again, too.

Finding himself smiling despite his trepidation, he exited the car and walked into the café. There she was with her coffee and her cake, at the same table in the window, looking just as thoughtful but also, Christos thought, sad, which gave him hope. If she felt half as heartbroken as he did, there was a chance she did love him at least a little.

He came to stand before her, but she was so lost in thought she didn’t even notice. For a moment he just let himself enjoy the beauty of her—her tumbled golden-brown hair, the sweep of her lashes on her pale cheeks, the curve of her mouth and the line of her jaw.

“Rose,” he said softly, and she looked up, startled, an expression of total incredulity morphing into one of cautious and still uncertain joy.

“Christos…” She shook her head, tremulous now. “Why…how…”

“I shouldn’t have let you go,” he stated quietly. “I should never have let you walk away without telling you how I felt, but…” He blew out a breath. “I thought I was setting you free. That without any heir, you wouldn’t want…me.” It hurt to admit it so baldly, and yet at the same, it felt freeing. To lay this last burden down, this final, ultimate vulnerability. “I didn’t think I was enough for you,” he clarified. “And maybe I’m not, but… I’d like to spend my life trying to be.” He managed a small, crooked smile. “I love you, Rose Delaney. I love everything about you—your humor, your optimism, your strength of spirit, your hair.” At that, she laughed, and he smiled, although in truth he felt alarmingly close to tears. “And whatever you decide, I want you to know that. Believe it.”

“Oh, Christos.” She brushed at her eyes as she shook her head, her hair flying. “I love you, too. I love your seriousness, your strength, the way your smile lightens your whole being.” She sniffed, letting out a tremulous laugh as she wiped her eyes again. “I left Venice because I thought you didn’t want me. Because I knew what it felt like to be rejected, how much it hurts, and I couldn’t bear to feel that with you.” A tear trickled down her cheek as she gazed at him openly. “It seemed neither of us trusted the other with our deepest fears.”

“But we do now,” he told her gently. “We’re learning and growing. I believe that.”

“So do I.” She drew a ragged breath as she glanced around the café; their heartfelt conversation was drawing something of an audience. “But what about the estate? Your future?”

“We’ll lose the estate eventually.” The statement of simple fact did not affect him as it once might have. In a strange way, it almost felt like a relief. “Sometimes it’s better to let go of the ghosts. Let them let go of you.”

Rose rested a hand on her bump. “And this baby?” A smile, uncertain and a little impish, curved her mouth. “I’ve learned the biological father is six-foot-one, a research chemist and loves soccer.”

He laughed softly. “Sounds pretty good to me.”

“Seriously, though.” The smile dropped. “This baby isn’t related to you anymore.” She scanned his face anxiously, her heart in her eyes. “Does that matter to you?”

“No.” He spoke firmly, from the heart. He spoke the truth. “You matter to me, and the family we can make together, the three of us. I know I can’t—”

“Christos.” She rose from her seat to lay a soft finger against his lips. “Don’t. That doesn’t matter to me. Whatever family we make will be beautiful. I know that already.”

He captured her finger with his hand and pressed a kiss to its tip. “Then you’ll come back to Italy with me?”

She let out another tremulous laugh, her eyes bright with tears. “Yes…and you don’t even need to argue me into it this time. I’ve been miserable without you, Christos. The last four days have been hell.”

He brought her hand to his cheek, resting it there. “For me, too.”

They smiled at each other, both of them blinking rapidly, and then someone in the café shouted, “Kiss her already!”

And so, laughing, his heart so very full, Christos did.

Epilogue

“Push!”

Rose let out a gasp as she gave it her all. She was exhausted, exhilarated, and about to have a baby. Christos stood by her head, holding her hand.