The ring I’d given Nazzareno was a plain platinum band. I’d spun it around his finger one night after we’d made love. I could have been biased, but it looked good on him.
Excellent, in fact.
Because it was my claim on him.
I sat up like someone had stuck me with a scalding hot poker in my side.
I’mmarriedto Nazzareno Fausti!
In my eyes, the most beautiful Fausti of all.
“Shit,” I breathed, then plopped back down.
A small smile came to my lips and I closed my eyes, stretching my arms all the way over my head and pointing my toes. It felt like I could shoot lightning out of them. Instead, I groaned and flipped to my other side. The fireplace was lit, and it helped stave off the chill. I relaxed underneath the thick blankets and cuddled up to Nazzareno’s pillow. It smelled so good, and I breathed in while I tried not to think.
There was nothing I could do—then—about the situation we were in.
I wasn’t even sure if anyone knew about our marriage, but I suspected they did, because it had been longer than two days, and Renato hadn’t come to get me.
My eyes concentrated on the wavering flames, and before I realized it, I fell back asleep.
I wasn’t sure how long I was asleep for, but it didn’t seem like long before Nazzareno was kissing me awake. I rubbed my legs against the sheets and breathed in deep.
“This bed is so nice,” I muttered.
He laughed, and it was soft and raspy. “Even without your husband in it?”
“I didn’t say amazing, or even great. I said nice. Though, I never thought I’d say this, but mycucchiais thankful for the break.”
He threw back his head and roared with laughter. He leaned in and kissed me all over my face, speaking in Italian as he did. I had no idea what he was saying, but I liked it.
He was so fucking sexy.
And…deep breath…all mine.
“You have an hour to get ready.”
“Why?” My voice was warm and still half asleep. “Where are we going?”
“We are leaving.”
I grinned. “You’re going to fly me out of here,CapitanoFausti?”
He grinned, probably at how no one else in the world could fuck up the wordcapitanobut me. He tipped his pretend hat at me. “At your service,SignoraFausti.”
“Shouldn’t it still be Girardi? I thought Italian women keep their last names.”
“You will have my name.”
“Okay.” I shrugged. “I just didn’t want to seem like I was showing off or anything by taking it.”
“Showing off?” His forehead tightened.
“It’s just that…I’ve loved your family for a long time. Some would say I was obsessed with them. I always preferred the word passionate, but tomatoes, tomato, right? Anyway…because of that, I just thought it would seem like I was showing off the name.”
“You are a Fausti,” he said. “You are my blood.”
I nodded and breathed out. “Right.”
