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Lara touched them reverently. ‘No, I love them.’
He took the rings out of the box and looked at her. ‘Lara Sant’Angelo, will you please stay my wife—for the rest of our lives?’
She nodded, and got out a choked, ‘Yes.’
When the rings were back on her finger, where they belonged, she said, ‘I wondered why you hadn’t thrown the engagement ring away...’
Ciro looked deep into her eyes and said huskily, ‘Maybe because I was already dreaming of this moment.’
He kissed her then, so deeply that he touched her heart and mended all the broken shards back together.
Much later, when they were lying in bed, sated and at peace, Lara said, ‘I think maybe that’s why I tracked down my mother’s wedding dress when I had the chance. Maybe I was hoping for a second chance.’
Ciro caught her hand and her rings sparkled. He kissed her there and she looked at him, caught in those dark eyes that held so much love.
‘Second chances and new beginnings.’
‘Yes, my love, for ever.’
EPILOGUE
A month later...
DUSK WAS MELTING into night as Lara walked to the entrance of the small chapel in the grounds of the palazzo in Sicily. Apparently it was a tradition, marrying at night. She didn’t really care.
Lighted torches had guided her from the palazzo to the chapel and to Isabella, who was her bridesmaid. The young girl’s eyes were suspiciously shiny as she fussed over Lara at the entrance, where flowers festooned the doorway, making the air heavy with a million scents.
Hero danced around their feet, looking up at Lara adoringly. She was attached to Isabella’s wrist with a ribbon and had a velvet cushion tied to her collar, upon which was tied a gold wedding band inlaid with sapphires. A new wedding ring to celebrate this renewal of their vows.
‘Your dress is so beautiful.’
‘Thank you,’ said Lara.
She hadn’t been allowed to look at herself in a mirror with the dress on—apparently another Sicilian tradition. But she’d had her mother’s dress adjusted slightly so that it fitted her perfectly.
It was classically simple and sweetly bohemian, with its high neck and ruffled bodice. She wore her hair down and a garland of flowers adorned her head. No veil. She didn’t need to hide any more—from anything.
Isabella pressed a simple bouquet of local flowers into her hands and then stepped in front of her to start her walk down the aisle.
Roberto, her twin brother, was acting as groomsman to Ciro. And Lazaro was there too—Ciro’s best friend. His eyes had been suspiciously shiny earlier, when they’d had an informal pre-ceremony lunch.
He’d taken Lara’s hands and said, ‘I’m sorry for doubting you.’
Lara had shaken her head and said, ‘No need to apologise. I’m glad you were there for him.’
Lazaro had grimaced. ‘He wasn’t a pretty sight the day you got married the first time. I had to peel him off the floor of a bar—’
‘Filling my wife’s head with stories again, Lazaro?’
Lara had smiled and put her hand over Ciro’s, where his arm had wrapped around her waist, leaning back against him and revelling in his solid strength and love. He’d told her about how he’d gone out and got blind drunk the day of her wedding to Henry Winterborne.
She knew everything. And so did he. No more secrets.
Now she hesitated for a moment on the threshold of the small chapel. Hovering between the past and present. Ciro hadn’t turned to look at her walk down the aisle at their first wedding ceremony, but even as that thought formed in her head he turned around now.
And even though she hadn’t been allowed to look at herself in her wedding dress, she didn’t need to. She could see herself reflected in his eyes as she walked towards him and she’d never felt more beautiful or more desired.
Or more loved.
