Epilogue
Six months later
“Come on, Torre, let’s go.”
I’d been up for hours, too worked up to lie still. Sitting downstairs in the predawn, going over all the paperwork and plans, I decided today was the day.
I tried pulling Torre from the bed, laughing as he held on to the sheets, whining.
“But it’s Saturday. I want to sleep late.”
“Sleep is for the weak.”
He lay beneath me, eyes blurred with sleep, hair disheveled, looking so damn sexy, I couldn’t resist kissing his bare stomach. He groaned and gave me a halfhearted push.
“Youmake me weak. Stop already.”
“You don’t mean that.” I nuzzled into his groin, savoring the hot smell of his skin.
“You wrecked me last night. I’m lucky if I can walk today.” His fingers tangled in my hair.
“Are you complaining?” My smile might’ve been a little smug.
“Are you kidding?” He caught my fingers in his. “I’m the luckiest person in the world. Sometimes I think I’m dreaming when I wake up and see you sleeping next to me.” He kissed my fingers. “No more nightmares either for you.”
For several weeks after that meeting with Luca, I’d had a recurring dream of him chasing me. I’d wind up lost in a maze of mirrors with his and my mother’s faces laughing back at me while I searched for Torre. I’d wake up drenched in a cold sweat. All that changed once Torre moved in with me permanently.
“No. Not for a long time.”
“Good.”
I kissed him, our mouths clinging as I tried to absorb all his sweetness. I gave him one last, lingering kiss before letting him go. “Go take a shower. I’m taking you out for breakfast.”
“Okay. But they better be some damn good eggs,” he grumbled and flashed his bare ass at me, walking into the bathroom.
Half an hour later we were in the car. Torre gave me the side-eye and poked me in the ribs. “I know you’re keeping something from me. What is it?”
“You’ll see.” I smiled.
“Where are we going?”
“A surprise.”
“For breakfast? Come on. Tell me.”
“You don’t think I’m going to answer that, do you?”
I held his hand while he kept stealing quick glances at me that I consciously ignored.
We turned off Broadway and drove through Nolita, past restaurants I used to review and trendy boutiques. This was my domain, where I felt comfortable. The car stopped beside a storefront situated between a women’s boutique and a home-decor store where they sold huge vases with stalks of dried flowers that probably cost as much as I paid in monthly fees for my condo.
“Let’s go.” I bounded out of the car before Torre could continue pelting me with questions.
“What the hell is going on?” I heard him mutter.
There were iron grates on the windows of what had once been a restaurant. When I peered inside, I could see the large, airy room and a bar against the far wall.
“Why are we here?” He planted himself in front of me and crossed his arms.
