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‘I love you,’ he said.
Then he lowered the window and pointed towards the middle of the large meadow by which they’d stopped. She blinked, and her eyes widened as she saw a fully inflated, brightly coloured hot air balloon.
‘Will you come fly with me, chérie?’
Her mouth stretched into a grin. ‘I thought you said hot air balloons are dangerous.’
He’d also said it would be a frosty day in hell when he flew in one. Well...today hell was having a cold snap.
A short while later the ‘oversized picnic basket’—as Nico was fond of calling it—lifted off the ground. Marietta felt like a child. Breathless, giddy, excited. Or maybe like a woman in love. She sat on a special stool, high enough to enjoy the stunning view of the Tuscan countryside, with Nico’s arms circling her from behind, his chest solid and warm against her back.
She jumped at the sudden loud whoosh as the pilot fired the burner, and Nico’s hold tightened.
‘I’ve got you, chérie.’
She smiled up at him. ‘I know. I’ve got you, too.’
For ever.
EPILOGUE
‘PAPÀ! PAPÀ!’
A flash of pink and lime-green hurtled through the doorway of the study.
Nico swivelled his chair around. ‘Amélie, don’t run in the—oomph!’
His six-year-old daughter catapulted herself into his lap, and the moment she grinned up at him he forgot to finish scolding her. He closed his arms around her wriggling body and grinned back.
Amélie was a brown-eyed, dark-haired mini-version of her mother, and too damned adorable to stay cross with for very long—even when she pushed his patience to its limits. Which she did—frequently—because she’d inherited not only Marietta’s beauty but a good deal of her stubbornness as well.
‘Can we go to the beach now, Papa?’
And, like her mother, she loved to swim in the sea.
‘In a bit, ma petite sirène.’
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Her little lips formed a pout that was no doubt designed to weaken her papà. ‘But I want to go now. Enzo’s already there, with Remy. Why can’t I go down the steps by myself like they can?’
‘Because they are older and bigger.’
The tiny scowl on her face looked a lot like the one her mother occasionally wore when Nico earned her disapproval. Fortunately for him, those occasions were rare—and he always enjoyed it when they made up afterwards.
He scooted his daughter off his lap. ‘Go and help Maman prepare the picnic hamper.’
He watched his daughter fly out of the room. Her energy was boundless, and these days it seemed she was incapable of walking anywhere. Enzo, his ten-year-old son, had gone through a similar stage, which had included climbing anything in sight that looked remotely scaleable.
Nico had been convinced he was destined for heart failure—especially in those first few years of parenting. On the day his son had been born he’d known fierce pride and elation, but also a sort of quiet terror. A fear that he would somehow fail to protect this tiny life in a world increasingly fraught with danger and risk.
Marietta had known. Whether she’d seen something in his face or simply sensed his inner turmoil, she had understood. And she had talked him down. Helped him to wrestle his fear into something less daunting, more controllable. And as their son had grown, she had insisted they did not wrap him in cotton wool. Had insisted that their son be allowed to experience the world. To grow up as safely as possible, yet with an understanding of risk and consequence.
It was Marietta, too, who had convinced him they should have a second child. Nico had been hesitant after her first pregnancy. Blood pressure problems and other issues related to her paralysis had dogged her from the second trimester onwards. He had watched her struggle with long months of enforced bed rest and vowed he wouldn’t see her suffer like that again.
But she was resilient, and strong, and she’d set her heart on a little sister or brother for Enzo. And his wife had, of course, proved very persuasive in bed...
Nico closed his laptop. He had cleared enough emails and reports for today. Marietta growled if he spent too much time working during their family vacations on Île de Lavande.
