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‘Alessio?’ she whispered, but he didn’t answer and she shifted her position to glance down at her husband’s sleeping form, wondering if life could get any more perfect. She smiled. Actually, yes, she suspected it could...
For almost three years now, they had been spending weekends in their beautiful Cornish home, following their London wedding. In an intimate ceremony, they had married in Marylebone register office with a small reception at the Ritz Hotel. It had seemed, as Alessio had whispered to her, an appropriate place to begin married life. They had honeymooned in Italy—touring the art-studded cities of Florence, Siena and Rome, which Nicola had always longed to visit.
But Alessio had surprised her yet again. He had taken her to the tiny mountain village where he’d lived with his grandmother and where he had retained hisnonna’s tiny apartment above the bakery, having it religiously cleaned and maintained every week. They had spent two nights there—time enough for Nicola to experience the place he had come from, which he had left so long ago. But people in the street recognised him, and smiled—and the newly-weds lit a candle in the tiny church, where they had their vows blessed by the local priest. And maybe it was seeing their shining smiles of nuptial contentment in the photo Alessio sent to his mother which encouraged her to leave her mockery of a marriage at last. After a lot of thought, she had gone back to live in Italy, to Lecce—and they now visited her there, at least once a year.
Despite knowing she could branch out on her own, Nicola had continued to work for Sergio. She didn’t want the hassle of starting up a new business and wasn’t sure she had the necessary entrepreneurial streak. She was far more interested in devoting time to her precious marriage. Meanwhile, Alessio had opened his first English factory, which had brought so much employment to an impoverished section of the country.
Hearing a yawn and a contented sigh from beside her, Nicola looked down to meet the brilliance of her husband’s gaze. ‘You sound satisfied,’ she remarked.
‘That’s because I am. You are very good at satisfying a man,cara.’ He smiled and gave another lazy yawn, his gaze raking over her. ‘It’s good to be on our own again. Much as though I enjoyed the weekend.’
‘So did I. Jago is so adorable, and Callum’s so contented. Why, he’s hardly recognisable as the same person. Even Stacey said so.’
‘He has lost his prison pallor,’ Alessio said suddenly. ‘He has grown into a strong man.’
‘And all thanks to you, my love.’
Because Alessio had helped her brother on his release from prison, getting him an apprenticeship as a cabinetmaker, the exquisite carvings he had made in jail pointing him firmly in the direction of his new career. Callum had married Stacey and they’d moved into a pretty cottage in Somerset, with a huge garden for little Jago to run around in. A place to keep chickens and grow vegetables and to live a quiet, rural life. It wasn’t a life the young couple had ever anticipated, but it filled them with utter joy.
Yes, everything was good—more than good. Their only disappointment was that Nicola hadn’t become pregnant. But they both had tried to keep this in perspective and count their many other blessings. Alessio had mentioned fostering, or adoption, or neither—if that was what they decided.
‘What are you looking so pensive about,mio cara?’
The velvety voice beside her was curious, but Nicola closed her eyes, not wanting her expression to give her away. Wanting to savour her news for a few wonderful seconds more.
‘I was just thinking—’
‘Dangerous,’ he murmured, her lashes fluttering open as his finger moved slowly down the side of her cheek. ‘It wouldn’t have anything to do with a baby, would it,cara mio? More specifically,ourbaby?’
She blinked at him, amazement and happiness written all over her face. ‘How on earth did you know?’
Alessio smiled. He could list the physical signs of her condition, which had subtly changed a body he knew and loved so well. The slight tenderness of her breasts and almost imperceptible softening of her belly. With his scientific eye for detail, he had observed her refusing a bowl of figs for breakfast, which usually she adored. Her hair was even shinier, too.
But the reason behind his conclusion was simple. It was based on a principle which gave them both endless pleasure whenever he expressed it. His lips curved into a smile as he pulled her down into his arms.
‘Because I love you,’ he said.
