"You won't have to." I grab both of her hands and clutch them in mine and kiss her knuckles. "I'm not going anywhere. Not now. Not ever."
She closes her eyes, her breath hitching. "Promise me."
"I promise." And that's a promise I intend to keep. "Let's get you to bed," I tell her softly, but she doesn't budge and this time, her rebellion is just fine with me.
I'll sit here forever if it means she stays.
Because more than anything, I did this for her and for Sofia.
And if she asked me, I'd let her go back to Naples and return to her normal life.
But after all of this, I pray she doesn’t ask.
Because I don’t want to do this without her either.
33
EPILOGUE
ANGELICA
One year later…
I awake to the sound of Dante moving down the hallway and reach for his side of the bed, which is cold.
He's been awake a while and likely, he's dressed and ready for work.
I roll over and check the clock on the nightstand to see it's just before dawn, and I smile at the thought of Sofia waking to gifts for St Lucia's day.
Last year, Dante gave them just after breakfast.
This year, I have a gift to give him too.
My stomach rolls uneasily, and I press my hand against it, willing the nausea to pass.
It's been like this for the past few weeks, waves of sickness that hit me at random times.
I haven't told Dante yet or taken a test, but in my heart, I know.
I've been through this before, more than seven years ago when Sofia was growing inside me.
I swing my legs out of bed and stand slowly, testing my balance.
The nausea subsides to a dull queasiness, manageable enough that I can function.
I pull on a robe and pad barefoot down the hallway toward Sofia's room.
The door's already open.
Dante sits on the edge of her bed, his hand resting on her shoulder as he gently shakes her awake.
"Time to get up,Tesoro," he says softly. "Today's a special day."
Sofia stirs, her dark hair splayed across the pillow.
She's almost seven now, taller and more independent than she was a year ago.
But she still sleeps with the doll Dante gave her clutched in one hand.
