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Oh, who am I kidding? Of course I love him. I’ve loved him for much longer than I’ll ever know. And I’ll love him for much longer than that. They say home is where the heart is, and my heart has always had no other place but with him.
* * *
Thanksgivingat the De Luca home, which I guess is now my home in every sense of the word, is chaotic at best. And it’s all thanks to my idiot brother.
“Tony!” Kiara snaps. “I swear if you don’t hand me that baby now, I’ll jam my elbow into your ribs.”
My brother rolls his eyes but doesn’t loosen his grip on Cassie, who seems to be enjoying being the reason for their fight.
“Not happening, Kie,” Tony says, uncaring when Kiara’s eyes flash.
“You’ve been holding her all night.”
“Because I’m her uncle,” he states.
“Well, I’m her godmother,” Kiara retorts.
I sigh softly. Roman’s arm is around my waist as we watch them argue. We finished dinner an hour ago and since then, Maria and my dad have retired to the living room to talk. Michael has disappeared and, like us, Rosa’s watching the scene unfolding in front of us with amusement.
“If you want a baby, Kie, just get pregnant. It’s literally not that hard,” Tony says dryly.
Kiara’s hand twitches like she wants to hit him. I understand the sentiment completely. When I move to end the argument, Roman’s hand tightens on my hip.
“Nope, we’re steering clear of that one,” he mutters.
He proceeds to literally steer me away, leading me up the stairs to a balcony that overlooks the clear night sky. I let out a soft breath as I inhale softly.
“Calming, right?” Roman says, throwing his suit jacket over my shoulders before stepping behind me.
“Yeah, it is.”
We stand there for several minutes, letting the cool air wash over us. I’ve never felt more at peace than I do in this moment.
“I want a yellow wedding,” I suddenly say. Behind me, Roman chokes on air.
“Excuse me?”
“Lots and lots of flowers. Daisies, peonies, carnations. My dress will be a flowing ball gown with floral designs.”
Roman’s silent for several seconds. He blinks slowly like he’s trying to understand what I said.
“You want a yellow wedding,” he repeats. “Because you can’t have a white wedding like a normal person?”
“Exactly.”
“Of course,” he murmurs. “And who’s the groom at this wedding?”
“It should be you. As soon as you get on your knees and pop the question with whatever fancy-ass ring I’m sure you’ve already bought.”
I turn around and catch his grin as it brightens his entire face.
“You’ll love your ring,” he promises, confirming my words.
Happiness blossoms within me, spreading through my entire body and making me feel lighter.
“I doubt it,” I tease. “You have famously bad taste.”
“If you’re not going to trust my judgment, trust Kiara’s. She’s the one who made it.”
