Rocco Fausti’s beautiful love song.
Only his.
And he was mine—mine alone.
There was such power in that promise, it made me feel as though my heart levitated outside of my body as it invaded all my senses.
We hit a dip in the road and my stomach fell before it floated back into place.
My eyes slowly opened to his.
He stared at me, unblinking. “A physical representation of how I feel,” he whispered. “I have never been so fucking rooted and weightless at the same time. The feeling defies all laws. You defy all laws. You are the wildest thing I have ever held in my hands,my wife. You set me fucking free.”
His face was close to mine. His mouth a kiss away. But he held my face in his hands, like he was holding the moment between us in it, forcing it to linger.
To touch.
To caress.
To have and to hold, even in death shall we never part…
His breath washed over my skin, and mine washed over his.
His breath was mine, and mine was his.
Our eyes gazed into each other’s—the view deep enough to reach our souls.
By the time we reached our accommodations, my heart feltlike it was rebelling against my ribcage, trying to get to him, and I wasn’t sure if I could go on much longer with the amount of air I was taking in—or lack thereof. I was quivering, like I was cold, but the weather was tepid—perfect.
My eyes closed to his.
Too deep.
Much too deep.
So far of a fall if he ever let go of me.
And I wasn’t afraid of heights.
But of losing him?
The feeling went beyond terrified. That was a fear that had the power to truly haunt me.
The carriage lifted with weight being released, and after Rocco called my name, it took me a moment to open my eyes.
“Do not be afraid of what comes next,my wife,” he whispered. “I will always take care of you,cuore il mia, always.”
He offered me his hand, singing, “I Have But One Heart ('O Marenariello)” in a voice that would make the strongest of steel melt. Even Nonna would have had to admit that Rocco’s voice put the original to shame. It would have been a sin for him to keep his voice to himself. It was that rich, with a natural grit.
I didn’t even glance down at his offered hand. I took it without even looking, entangling our fingers.
My heart commanded my body, and it already knew what he was offering, and had accepted long before my mind even knew he existed.
I remembered from the map I’d been given when I’d first arrived that there were fourcastellion the island. The map dubbed them the four defining points.
Castello Sul Mare, located at the farthest point atop the island (the North Point and the newest point, though it had been builtin the late eighteenth century) was where I’d first found Rocco staring at me through the glass.
CastelloDi Sabbia(which meant sandcastle), where we’d held our reception, was the South Point, and the oldest point.
