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‘What if that’s exactly what I want?’
He locked his knees to stop from reaching for her. ‘Is that what you want? Truly?’
She didn’t reply. But he spotted her fingers caressing her ring. Wild hope flared in his chest.
‘What I want is...impossible.’
He shook his head. ‘Nothing is impossible. Name it, amore. Speak the words and it will be yours.’
Her lips firmed for a long moment. ‘I can’t,’ she whispered.
‘Then let me speak them for you. You want to be loved—ti amo tanto. You deserve to be adored—you are my heart itself. I had no blueprint for love, mio prezioso. Not until you spread your love all over me and showed me just how sublime it could be. Even then, I remained blind. But I’m not blind any more, Mia. I might fail sometimes, but I will never fail at loving you.’
‘Oh, Rocco.’ Her voice broke, and, sì, he was un bastardo, because it was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard.
Unable to stand the distance between them, he crossed the room and reclaimed her. To his eternal gratitude, she wrapped her arms around his neck.
They kissed long and hard and desperately, until she broke free. ‘I’m going to hold you to that promise. You know that, don’t you?’ she whispered.
‘I would expect nothing less, amore mio.’
Then, simply because he believed he would expire if he didn’t kiss her again, he did.
But again, she broke free. He groaned, laid his forehead against hers, and just rejoiced in having her. His wife. His heart. In his arms.
‘Shall we go and find our son?’
Rocco shook his head. ‘Not until I’ve shown his mother just how much I love her.’
Her smile was wide, stunning enough to snatch the breath from his lungs. ‘I’m not going to stop you.’
He swung her into his arms and strode for the master suite. As he walked across the threshold, she laid her hand over his heart. ‘Rocco?’
‘Yes, my heart?’
‘Just so we’re even... I love you too.’
EPILOGUE
Five years later
THE CLICK OF the camera’s shutter roused Mia from a drowsy sun-drenched nap. Even before she opened her eyes, her lips were twitching with a reluctant smile.
‘I should start charging you royalties for all these pictures you keep taking of me.’
Her teasing admonishing didn’t detract her husband one iota. The moment she opened her eyes, he zoomed in, taking another lightning-fast series of pictures.
Only when he was satisfied did he lower the high-powered camera. ‘Name your price and I will gladly pay it, amore,’ he murmured, his avid gaze trailing adoringly from her unfettered hair, make-up-free face, and down her body to her belly, where Mia knew he would linger for hours if she permitted him.
At nearly eight months pregnant with their third child, she had very little inclination to do much besides laze about waiting for their baby’s arrival. A situation Rocco took full advantage of, memorialising each moment of their summer break, including this private beach picnic at their Palermo villa.
He leaned down, dropped a kiss on her forehead, then traced a few more down to the corner of her mouth. There he paused, his gaze intense as he whispered, ‘Call me primitive if you will, but I find you even more beautiful like this, with our child growing healthy and content, inside you.’ His voice had grown steadily gruff and the kiss that followed lingered until she reluctantly pulled away, glancing over his shoulder towards the beach.
‘Keep going and you’ll scandalise the children.’
Rocco grimaced, then followed her gaze to where eight-year-old Gianni was patiently showing his three-year-old sister, Luciana, how to build a sandcastle. ‘I will contain myself, for the bambinis’ sake,’ he grumbled.
Mia laughed. As if on cue, both children looked up and grinned. And, of course, Rocco raised his camera and snapped several photos.
