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‘I love you,’ he said, and he heard the tremble in his own voice. The release.
And then he gave in to what his body wanted, his heart wanted, and kissed her thoroughly there on the gravel driveway, until the only thing left to do was to pick her up and carry her over the threshold.
‘I promise to turn this house into a home and fill it with love, Flora.Mylove.’
He looked down into her face and she looked back up into his. And there was the world.Hisworld.
‘I love you. I always did. I always will.’
EPILOGUE
‘YOU’RESOSTRONG,Flora,’ Raffaele said huskily, anticipation humming in his every muscle.
‘I’m not...’
‘You are.’
She closed her eyes and squeezed his fingers. He let her squeeze, let himself be the unbreakable strength she needed to beat against in order to bring new life into the world. A lifetheyhad made.
Flora had refused a private suite at the hospital. Refused to leave her home.Theirhome.
Why would she leave it to be surrounded by strangers when all she could ever want was right here? she’d said. Her family.
She wanted their baby to be born in their home. Here. In a room that sang with life. With love. A love she had injected into every surface, every wall, until the house he’d never considered a home had become his home because of her. Because she was in it.
He’d fought hard to trust her choice to bring their baby into the world with only a midwife. He hadn’t put every doctor in Sicily on standby. The air ambulance was not waiting in the gardens and the suite at the hospital was not prepared.
He was still learning to trust that love was actions, but he was practising and developing his skills every day. She was patient, but stern, and sometimes hot words turned to hotter kisses.
HewasSicilian after all.
And sometimes no words were needed at all. Because couples fought, he had learnt, but then they made love and made up. And they were a couple. They were a family. Every night he climbed into bed beside his wife and knew that this was where he belonged. By her side.
But right now he felt absolutely helpless. He wanted to take all the pain from her. But he couldn’t. So he stood strong and rubbed her back. Kissed her forehead and placed water to her lips. He would love her in all the silent ways she’d taught him to love. Take care of her not only in the big ways, but the small ways too. Be present for her.
‘Raffaele...!’
His gut clenched.
In thirty-six hours, every minute—everysecond—had been for this.
The last shout of his name.
The final push.
A wail erupted from a bundle of wrinkled skin topped with the darkest curly hair.
Raffaele looked at his wife—at her flushed cheeks, her damp brow. Her gasping mouth. His wife. His heart.
He turned back to the baby. His baby. His family. A miracle...
‘Congratulations, Signor and Signora Russo. She’s perfect.’
‘A girl?’ he croaked, feeling the lump in his throat growing.
The midwife smiled. ‘With ten fingers and ten toes,’ she clarified.
‘She’s really here...?’ Flora’s voice was a throaty expression of awe.
