“Be Scarlett Rose Stone, married to Nick, going on your third kid because he couldn’t keep his hands off of you.”
“What makes you so sure that I would’ve married Nick Stone?”
“Maybe not Nick. He was a good guy, but you’ve always been destined for a ruthless king, or someone close to it. So insert any other rich bastard’s name to replace his.”
“I insert Brando. You’re my king.” I pulled him even closer. “Fate. Stars. Call it whatever you want. I can prove that you were made for me.”
He tilted his head. “Let’s hear it.”
“In Maja’s letter, she mentioned that Luca knew something about you, and that you would have to ask him. Pears, she mentioned pears. Well, I figured it out.”
“Continue, Lacey.”
I snorted, extremely unladylike but fitting. He grinned and pinched my nose. “Are you sure you can handle this?” I asked.
He went to pinch my nose again and I dodged, laughing, coming extremely close to the edge of the balcony. Brando’s sure hands pulled me closer to him, and my legs wrapped around his waist.
“Tell me, Scarlett. Don’t mess with my head.”
“All right. Maja loved those Italian pears that Rocco gets from the local deli. You know the ones? Abate Fetel.” I lifted my brow. He nodded, so I continued. “Marzio sent them with Luca to bring to Maja. Since Luca had races in the States, he could. Marzio sent her a note with this particular delivery. He didn’t trust it to be delivered through the mail, so he sent them with your father.
“Maja is the reason why Luca met Maggie Beautiful. He came to Louisiana looking for Maja but got Maggie Beautiful instead. Maja never got the pears, or the letter, but I got you,mio angelo.”
“You figured that out.”
I nodded. “I read it in her private journal. Then I put it together. She had written that she was waiting on the pears and a note. I can’t prove it, but I think Marzio was going to come clean about who killed Matteo. He must’ve found out. I just have a feeling about it.”
“Damn,” he said, looking equal parts astounded and reverential.
“Blows your mind, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah. Give me a minute.”
“Take all the time you want. But you have to see that no child is a mistake and—”
He kissed me then, shutting me up. I had a hard time catching my breath after he pulled away. “All right, Ballerina Girl,” he whispered, “you made your point.”
I nodded once, all I could do. Our eyes were low and locked. The way he looked at me made me soften, swell, sweeten, and yield. I felt like a piece of fruit in the warmth of the sun.
I had warred with telling him, because no time seemed the right time, but now… “I have something to tell you,mio marito.” I lifted my hand to fix a strand of his hair, but he wrapped his hand around my wrist, stopping me.
“Dimmi.” The command sounded more imminent in Italian.Tell me.
“All right.” I took a deep breath. Then I told him what Eva had told me in Ireland. Her dream.
He looked equal parts comforted and disappointed after. He didn’t even need to tell me. He was comforted by the dream, but disappointed that it hadn’t happened yet.
“Green eyes,” he repeated.
“It can happen,” I began to explain, but he cut me off.
“I know, baby. That’s my favorite part of the dream.”
“It is?”
“Yeah, but you being all right is the most important thing.” He hesitated, but only for a second. “Tell me, boy or girl.”
“She offered to tell me. I didn’t want to know.”
