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“That was when the fool remembered there had been another princess, long ago. A princess so feared that every ogre and troll in the kingdom called her a witch instead. And the fool ran, then, over the hills and into the forest. And he found an old woman who had once been a princess living alone in a cottage on the edge of a deep, dark wood.”
“Your grandmother.”
“A fool is a fool until the very end,” Cristiano said. “‘How can I help the princess?’ he asked the old woman. ‘How can I dislodge the stones enough to keep her breathing?’ The old woman laughed, and she told him that the stone was a stone. It could never be changed. It was weight and heft, and when piled upon a princess would crush her, sure enough. ‘‘But the princess took a stone and made a son of it,’ the fool argued.”
Julienne’s heart beat so hard, she wondered if she was made of stone herself.
“The old woman looked him straight in the eye. And she said, ‘She didn’t take a stone from you, child. She took your heart. And all you’ve done since is pretend you can function without it.’”
Cristiano smiled then, and Julienne held her breath.
“‘You can, but you must kill her first in order to do it. And when you’re done killing her, you must destroy your son, so he too becomes a fool. A fool becomes an ogre or troll, and if you squint, you can see which one he’ll be. Which one you are.’”
“She sounds like a wise woman,” Julienne managed to say, feeling wrecked. And a bit dizzy, too. “And scary, if I’m honest.” She shifted where she sat, searching his face. “And I love a fairy tale, Cristiano, but I really would love to jump to the end of this one. The ‘they lived happily ever after’ part. Is that where we’re headed?”
Though she wasn’t sure what she’d do if he said no.
He held her gaze. Then he reached into the pocket of his trousers and pulled something out. And she didn’t know why she was holding her breath again, because she already wore his rings. Beautiful, priceless works of stone and metal that declared her not only his, but forever a Cassara bride. His wife, no matter what.
Still, she watched as he opened his palm.
And then she blinked.
Because sitting there in his hand was a stone. At first she thought it was misshapen—but then she realized.
It looked like a heart.
“I’m not sure I have ever loved anything in my life,” Cristiano told her, his voice deep and strong. “I have long hated the word. I have considered it nothing but the harbinger of doom, if I am honest. But I can think of no other word that explains how I feel about you, Julienne. You are the sun, the stars, the moon. You are all the light in the world, and I do not deserve you, and I don’t know that I ever will. You think I saved you, when all the while, you must know that you are the one who has saved me. You took the stone away from my heart and taught me how to make it beat again. You have loved me completely, always. You are carrying my son. Everything is dark and cold without you. Me most of all.”
She whispered his name again, but this time, perhaps it was a kind of incantation.
Hope, love and joy.
Cristiano.
“You already have my heart,” he said. “I want you to have this, too. Because if I keep it, I think we both know that I will use whatever stones I have to build as many walls as possible. But not you, my beautiful Julienne. You make life. You make love. And I want nothing else than to dedicate myself to making you happy.”
“Cristiano,” she said, and this time, he did not cut her off. And she did not falter. “I love you. And I don’t want to be a princess. You are not a fool, and I am your wife, and we will love each other as best we can, for as long as we can, so that our son grows up and doesn’t spend his time worried about stones and ogres and trolls. But rather, happiness. Family. Love. All the things that make life worth living.”
“I can think of no better happy-ever-after than that,” he said, there against her mouth.
This time, when he kissed her, it tasted like forever.
And kiss by kiss, and stone by stone, they made it so.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
JULIENNEWENTINTOlabor the following morning, and by nightfall, their son was born.
And in Cristiano’s wholly unbiased opinion, he was perfect.
They named him Pietro, which meant rock, because he was the greatest magic either one of them could imagine. And something far bigger and better than a mere stone.
And the more Cristiano allowed himself to love, the more magic there was to be found.
It took him the better part of a year, but he convinced Paola to start attending family functions, such as they were. To meet her great-grandson, and better still, the woman who had convinced a Cassara man to change.
“Perhaps it is not me who is the witch, then,” the old woman cackled with glee, the first time she and Julienne met.
