Moving slowly, he climbed into the bed on the other side of his son and carefully touched his cheek with the tip of his finger, loath to disturb his sleep. Then he brushed the same finger across her cheek over the top of his son’s head and left it there.
His breath settled for the first time in days. He couldn’t bear to part with either of them for tonight.
Tomorrow, he would keep himself at a distance, until he figured out how to make this ache a little more bearable. Tomorrow, he would ration himself on how much of his wife he could have.
The next evening, Mimi’s steps slowed and she paused in the doorway, letting her gaze sweep slowly over the room. As if she were seeing it for the first time but really bracing herself for the sight that would meet her eyes.
The nursery was a haven of understated elegance—walls painted a soft dove gray accented with white crown molding. A pale blue mobile shaped like delicate Venetian gondolas hung above a polished white crib.
A tufted armchair sat in one corner, beside a bookshelf stocked with colorful storybooks she had started collecting long before Luca’s birth. Warm, honey-colored wood floors gleamed faintly under the glow of a muted table lamp.
Near the large picture window that offered a glimpse of the shimmering Grand Canal, Renzo lay propped on his elbow on the thick wool rug. He had returned late last night, and she had stepped out of the penthouse before he had been awake, sticking to her own work schedule.
He was barefoot, the casual jeans and snug black sweater fitting him with effortless perfection. Two months into their marriage and her heart still stuttered at the sight of him—all that sexy masculinity sprawled around wherever she turned—as if it were all a dream.
His dark hair was slightly tousled, a stark contrast to his usual meticulously groomed appearance.
Luca, wrapped snugly in a soft knit blanket, blinked up at his father with wide, sleepy eyes. His hands, still so small and fragile, twitched slightly as if testing their strength. Renzo’s deep voice was a soothing murmur, speaking Italian lullabies that melted the edges of Mimi’s lingering tension.
He had been gone for only two days, and yet in the aftermath of bringing Luca home, she had realized how lonely she had been.
The wool rug was soft beneath her bare feet as she leaned against the doorframe, her chest painfully tight at the scene. If there were a picture of her heart beating outside of her, it would be this—the man she loved and their son together. “You two look comfortable,” she said, infusing a teasing warmth she didn’t feel into her words.
Renzo glanced up, his gaze instantly darkening as he swept it over her. She could live to be a hundred, but the thrill of his eyes landing on her would never pass. “You look…exhausted.”
Mimi chuckled, stepping fully into the room and dropping onto her knees beside them. Instantly, a cocktail of scents greeted her nostrils—her son’s baby powder and her husband’s cologne. She felt dizzy, a rush of overwhelming love for both filling her. “I hate working out even as the trainer begins. It’s only after that I feel the rush.” She sighed and rubbed her face in Luca’s belly. “It would be nice if we could feel the adrenaline rush before we do the hard things in life, wouldn’t it? A little reminder that it would be worth it.”
Renzo remained silent. She wondered if it was because he understood what she meant or if he didn’t care. A hot prickle of tears greeted the backs of her eyes, and she blinked rapidly.
He had dragged her kicking and screaming into this marriage, given her a taste of how wonderful their relationship could be, and then distanced himself. She wanted to scream at him, demand he explain himself. Only he hadn’t done anything to break the conditions of their agreement, had he?
It was she who had changed utterly. And even though it was her fault, she couldn’t live with the unbearable ache of loving him and knowing he might never love her.
Lying down next to Luca, she grabbed his chubby hand and rubbed her nose in it. “What are you two talking about?”
Renzo shifted slightly, propping Luca up into his arms. Instantly, her son let out a long gurgle, excitement making his dark eyes shine.
God, he was tiny on that corded forearm, and yet Mimi never doubted that Renzo would temper his strength.
It was how he handled her too. Though she lived for the times when he lost control, when his raw need trumped his protective instincts and he let himself take what he needed from her. When he let her see how demanding he could be.
“I was telling him about Venice,” he said. “How the city sounds different as it gets colder. You hear fewer boats at night and fewer footsteps on the bridges.”
Mimi smiled, her gaze fixed on Luca. “Think he understood any of that?”
“Of course,” Renzo said, not meeting her eyes. “He’s very advanced for his age.”
She laughed softly, this time brushing her fingers over Luca’s feet. “I think he’s just happy to be warm and fed. Aren’t you, baby boy?”
Luca’s mouth moved slightly, and Mimi swore his eyes lingered on hers for a moment longer than usual.
“I didn’t realize what a big difference a few days makes in appearance,” Renzo said, his tone tinged with awe. “Every day, I notice something new. Like how he looks at us now. Like he knows we’re his.”
Mimi’s throat tightened as she glanced at her husband.
The light from the lamps caught on the sharp planes of his face, softening the usual intensity in his expression. There was something so tender, so unguarded, about the way he looked at Luca. And every time she caught that look, it made her realize that it was reserved only for their son.
No one else. But she wanted him to look at her like that too. She wanted so badly to be more than his son’s mother, his sensible, competent wife or his lover when the mood struck. She wanted to be everything to him.
