Pisolino yawned and closed his eyes, keeping his face toward the sun.
“Call his name,” Rocco said to me.
“Pisolino,” I said with an Italian accent in a sing-song kind of voice.
His eyes opened and he looked at me, as if to say,you rang, queen?
Guess he only answered to the name I’d given him, even ifCacciatorewas more masculine or its meaning fiercer. I laughed, and Pisolino watched me for a second before he closed his eyes again.
My husband was watching me, too, but with a guileless look in his eyes.
“What?” I whispered.
“Tell me,” he said, his tone softer, full of curiosity, “why did you name him this.”
“Oh.” I yawned. “The first time I saw him, a wave of peace washed over me. He…helped me relax. Feel at home. Safe and comfortable enough to take a nap. Such a good feeling. So…Pisolinoit was. And, I like saying it. It’s one of those fun words for the mouth.”
“Fun words for the mouth,” he repeated, like maybe the concept of this was foreign to him.
“Isn’t there a word you like saying just to say it?”
“Sì,but not truly a word, a name. Amora.”
I smiled at him. “That’s what Nonna called me too. She said out of all the beautiful names I had, that one was her favorite.”
“This is you.” He took my hand and placed it over his heart. “Mylove.”
We stared at each other, our eyes meeting in the light, and that endless wave came in, rushing over my head, sucking me under the surface with him to depths that stole my breath. Somehow, though, he kept me breathing. It brought back memories of the past, like the night before, after he got home, and I climbed on top of him, riding him deep and long until I was covered in sweat and crying out, and it also set before me a future—a future where we’d still be in bed together, holding on to each other, when we were old and silver all over.
I brought our hands to my mouth, kissing his knuckles.
He breathed out. “There is no cure for this, for you,” he whispered. “If there was one, I would refuse it. Allow me to live and die in what goes beyond the perimeters of love.”
“Does love have perimeters?” I asked him, breathing him in.
“I would have answered no to this before. I am answering yes now. Love has bars. What exists between us does not.”
All I could do was smile at him and touch his face. He had such bold features, except when his eyes would lower, when he was swept up by passion. By me.
Rarely did he check his watch, but he did, and a second later, one of his men stood at the threshold of the patio that ran the length of the house. The balcony above it ran the same perimeters, and from our personal balcony, it gave a stellar view of the courtyard area. The pool was surrounded by French statues and clinging ivy. The solider waited for permission to come forward, a woman next to him.
Rocco gave me his hand before I could pop up on my own. Pisolino hissed a little, complaining about our nap being interrupted, and jumped down, trotting toward the curtains of ivy.
“Thandie!” I called, waving to her. “Thandie!”
Rocco set his hand on my lower back as I started for her and she came toward me. We met in the middle of the yard and rocked as we hugged. She set me away from her for a second, her eyes taking me in. I smiled a little, running my hand down my outfit. Since it was hotter than it was the day before, I decided on a cream-colored matching top and midi skirt. It was soft, breathable, and the hem flowed nicely around my ankles. I looked back for a second. I had set my leopard print heels to the side and forget about them in my excitement to get to her.
I’d always preferred to walk barefoot, though. I always felt like it rooted me to the earth when my mind could be so flighty. Taking a deep breath, I felt my husband’s hand still on my lower back and knew—he was the real root of my life. The center of my world.
“You back with me, girl?”
“Yeah.” I smiled. “What are you doing here?”
“I heard you were here for a couple of days and wanted to talk to you.” She nodded to my husband. “Nice to see you again, Rocco.”
He nodded. “SignorinaParker.” Then he kissed me on the cheek and said he had business to attend to.
Thandie and I both watched as he fixed his suit and walked away, disappearing inside the house. I was left staring longer than her, though. She cracked up, taking my arm in hers, leading me to a wrought-iron table set in the garden. Then she made a turn and led us back toward the house.
