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“Yes.” Her gray eyes were shining. “I’m not afraid anymore. I’m not afraid of anything, except … losing you.”
She held out her hand.
Stefano stared at it, then looked up at her face. She looked like an angel. Like a dream.
She looked like the answer to the question of the rest of his life.
Stefano took her hand. He exhaled, almost shuddering at the exquisite bliss of her touch. He hadn’t realized how much he’d feared she was a mirage, a ghost who would disappear if he tried to touch her. The feel of her hand proved otherwise. She was no ghost.
She was flesh and blood.
Like a miracle, she’d come back to him. Dios mío. Stefano’s hand tightened over hers.
What had he done, what good thing had he ever done in his life, to deserve this second chance?
“Forgive me, Annabelle,” he said in a low voice.
“Forgive you?” Her voice was gentle and soft as water as she shook her head. She laughed, and it was like the chiming of bells. “I am the one who is sorry. I tried to force you to make a promise you weren’t ready to give—”
“But I am.” He took a deep breath. “I thought I’d lost you, and it nearly killed me,” he whispered. “I never want to feel that way again. I never want to lose you.”
He pulled her into his arms, and passionately kissed her.
Around them, he heard shocked whispers and gasps. He pulled away from Annabelle, and from the corner of his eye, he saw the people in the tent starting to elbow one another and point.
Stefano didn’t care. He fell to his knees before her.
Annabelle gasped. Her gentle hands brushed against his hair. “What are you doing?”
The whispers built in noise. The dancers halted on the dance floor. Even the musicians stopped playing their instruments.
Or maybe Stefano just couldn’t hear the music over the pounding of his own heart.
Closing his eyes, he pressed his cheek against her waist. Then he looked up at her.
“Annabelle, I love you.”
She bit her full, pink lip. Putting her hands on his cheeks, she looked down at him, her face bemused and uncertain. “Are you sure?”
Rising to his feet, he cupped her face, stroking her tearstained cheeks. “Look at my face. And ask if it’s true.”
She searched his gaze, then tears filled her eyes. “I love you, Stefano,” she whispered.
“So much.”
Her lips trembled and it was too much for him to resist. He kissed her with passion so searing and pure it burned through his heart, and he knew his love for her would last forever.
He heard whistles and ribald comments from nearby guests. Pulling away, Stefano looked down at her beautiful face. Her eyes were still closed, her lips still swollen from their summer days of endless kisses. He wanted to kiss her forever.
But what he felt for Annabelle was private. Tucking her hand over his arm, he led her away from the gossiping, chattering, madding crowd.
Outside the white tent, the warm Spanish night was dark with illuminated stars like scattered diamonds. Stefano heard the distant call of birds and whinny of horses. He loved this land with all his heart.
No. It now took second place in his heart. His guiding star, his love, stood before him now in a white dress.
“I have
a question for you,” he said, pulling her into his arms.
