Sistine laughed, and it was the first true laugh I’d heard from my wife in what felt like too fucking long. Her eyes almost danced with light, and then she sighed.
She ran a hand over the scar on my forehead. “What happened here?” she whispered. “I feel like I have missed so much in such a short time…I feel so left behind.”
Exactly. That was what I was trying to fucking say all along.
I closed my eyes to her touch, holding her closer, resting my head against her. “The wooden sign hanging over the entrance to the stable,” I said. “A storm must have knocked it lose. I was riding Guerriero and didn’t notice it. I hit it hard enough that it cracked, and I had a nice cut.”
“I did not notice.” Her voice was still soft. “I honestly thought I was dreaming. I feel this way often with you.” She kept kissingthe scar over and over, speaking to me in Italian—telling me how much she loved me and wanted to heal me.
“You.” My voice was rough. “Just you.” I cleared my throat. “The laughing.”
She stilled for a second, and I rubbed my head against her. Her touch was healing me, and I never wanted her to fucking stop. She started again.
“The laughing?”
I held her tighter, and she gasped. “At the banquet.” If I added more to it than that, I was going to go after Remo and seriously wound him.
“Ah,” she said, realizing. “I am a good pretender when it comes to the world, Mariano. Remo kept me safe, but still, I was sick inside. Sick inside because you were not with me. So sick that it reached the outside. Except for the ardor I felt somewhere deep inside of me. A small fire… I did not feel so alone, perhaps. It was as if a physical part of you was with me. Ah, it is hard to explain, but I can say this with true clarity: I am so thankful to be a woman so I can experience it.”
“Bene,” I barely got out, not sure what else to fucking say to that. I was thankful she was a woman too. I was a man. We were created for each other.
We grew quiet again, appreciating the silence, being lost in it, being found in it. We were together. All restraints off. Fate had spoken. Had given us the most romanticyesas a gift—the two of us—always.
She sighed, and it sounded wistful. “When can we get to the mundane part of the story where I can complain about you leaving your things around? Your socks on the floor, a shirt not in the hamper, dirt on your boots that made it into the villa...”
Her comment was so unexpected, I exploded with laughter, bringing us both down to the bed. I made a frustrated noise, kissing her, pulling her even closer. She started to crack up whenI stuck my finger in her side. She stuck me back. I growled. Then there was a moment where the world stopped.
Fucking stopped.
Our eyes connected.
“You will not do this, will you?” She almost pouted. “Leave your stuff around.”
“I was taught not to, but for you—yeah, I will.”
She smiled, fixing my hair. “I will still cook for you, feed you, my hungry, growling lion, wash your clothes…”
“I can do those things too,” I said. “All but the feed-me part. I can cook, but basic things. I was always there and then running. Food came after the fact.”
“No longer,” she breathed out. “You will sit at our table and enjoy your food. And I know that you can do all of this yourself, butIwant to do those things for you. Just as you do the dirty or heavy things around the house, refusing to allow me to.” She searched my eyes. “I will complain at times, but I will secretly love to do these things for you.”
I set my head against her forehead. “Ti amo, Sistine Evita Fausti.”
Before she could reply, I set my mouth against hers, kissing her. It was a kiss that stopped the world—my world. I wasn’t racing but settling into arms that were my home.
I made love to my wife all night long, and after the sun came up, she fell asleep on my chest—snoring. I had never heard her do that before. It wasn’t loud, more of a vibration, but it was enough that I knew she was so comfortable, she was home too.
Chapter 42
Mariano
One week.
One,fucking, week.
We would be on a plane—our honeymoon waiting in the sand, before the water, in abure(a wood and straw cabin) in Fiji. Even though Sistine knew where we were going, she didn’t have much, since her things hadn’t been delivered from Venice. I wanted her to have a new wardrobe anyway.
Mamma, Magpie, Mia,ZiaJuliette,ZiaCarmen, and Evelina (Mac’s daughter and Rio’s sister) took my wife shopping. I was almost fucking afraid of what they had all convinced my wife to buy. She had no limit, but even so, she only came back with…enough. When I asked her how it went, she only shrugged and said I would see when we arrived in Fiji.
