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“You promise?” Matthew asks shakily.
I nod once. They offer me small smiles before returning to the living room. I only take a moment to get changed into something else before I’m heading back into the car and driving to the De Lucas’. I’m granted entrance through the gate, although once I step through the foyer, Roman’s waiting for me. A glass of some liquid in his hand.
An eyebrow is raised as I approach.
“Well, if it isn’t a man who dared to step foot in Russia and survived,” he says, tipping his glass in acknowledgment.
Despite myself, I smile. “Not everyone’s a coward, Rome.”
“Ehh.” He shrugs, apparently not offended by the insult. “The only reason you survived is because your family hasn’t had as many skirmishes with the Russians in the past. If I stepped foot in their territory, I’d be shot in a manner of seconds. That’s why we don’t mix. Not worth the risk,” he says, shaking his head.
“I can imagine,” I say dryly. “Where’s my wife?”
Roman’s expression grows amused at my tone. “Funny you call her that when you’re not even married yet.”
“We’re married in all the ways that matter,” I return.
I know it in my heart. Rosa and I might not have walked down the aisle yet, but she’s mine. She promised.
“That’s interesting. Just one question, did you do something to her when you left on your trip?” Dark blue eyes trail over my face. “Because my sister’s a talented artist, but I get worried when she spends such a long time locked up in that room of hers. What did you do, Russo?”
“I’ll let you know when I’m ready to start talking to you about private matters between me and her.”
His eyes darken. I remember he’s still her brother, and we’ll be family soon, so I ease up.
“We’re fine,” I say, hoping it’s not a lie. “Just a couple issues to work through. You know how it is.”
I can see in his eyes that he understands. “Fine,” Roman relents. “Just be careful with her. She’s my only sister, Enzo.”
“I know.”
“She’s upstairs in her studio. Third door on the right,” he tells me, gesturing with his hand. “Oh, and the two of you are expected at our Thanksgiving dinner in a couple of weeks. I believe congratulations are in order since your wedding will follow soon after.”
I grit my teeth and nod, too focused on reaching Rosa to think about what he means by that.
There’s no reply when I knock on the door. After knocking one more time, I enter, and the sight of Rosa takes my breath away. She’s at her work station, seated with her hands around some clay as she molds. There’s a soft, serene smile on her face. She’s wearing ear buds, which is why she doesn’t immediately react to my presence.
I should be taking in the room, the various art pieces, ones in incomplete states, the ones she has finished. But I only have eyes for her. I continue to study her for a few seconds and come to two realizations. The first is that she’s the most beautiful right here in her element. She looks like a goddess.
The second thing I realize is that I love her. I love her, and the world doesn’t shatter. Nothing crashes around me. Everything’s perfectly still as my heart beats with the knowledge. Rosa’s eyes finally lift, blue eyes fixed on mine. They widen with surprise before narrowing just as fast.
Her movements are slow as she takes out her earbuds and gets to her feet. She walks toward me.
“You could have told me you were coming back,” she breathes, expression slightly hesitant.
I need to touch her more than I need air. “Are you going to hug me or not, baby?”
“I would, but I’m pretty dirty,” she says, gesturing at the apron covering her dress and her hands.
“I don’t care,principessa.”
Her expression softens and she lets out a sigh. In the next breath, she’s throwing herself into my arms. I hold her to me, surprised when a slight tremor ebbs through my hand. It tightens in her hair as I hold her even closer.
“Fuck, I missed you, sweetheart.”
“I missed you too,” she whispers. “Despite the fact that you’re the world’s greatest asshole.”
That makes me chuckle. And then she lets out a soft laugh of her own and it feels like Heaven. Being in her arms feels like Heaven.
