“I love you,” I whisper. “I choose you. Today and every day after.”
Behind me, I can hear Katie crying softly. Even Danny is clearing his throat suspiciously.
Luca pulls me close, careful of my belly, and rests his forehead against mine. “I love you too. More than I ever thought possible. More than I have words for.”
“Then show me,” I tell him.
And he does.
When we finally pull apart, Katie is openly sobbing and Danny is grinning like an idiot.
“Congratulations,” Danny says warmly, shaking Luca’s hand then pulling him into a brief hug. “Both of you.”
Katie wraps me in a fierce embrace. “I’m so happy for you,” she whispers, her brown eyes full of tears. “You deserve this, Gigi.Allof this.”
The sun is setting as we emerge from the chapel, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. Luca pulls me close, and we just stand there for a moment, hand-in-hand, watching the day fade into evening.
“Mrs. Marchetti,” he murmurs against my hair. “Again. But better this time.”
“So much better,” I agree, turning in his arms to kiss him. “This time I mean it.”
“This time we both do.”
Danny and Katie tactfully excuse themselves, saying they’ll see us at dinner tomorrow, leaving Luca and me alone on the chapel steps.
“Come on,” Luca says, taking my hand. “I have something to show you.”
He leads me back to the house, up the stairs, to our bedroom. And when he opens the door, I gasp.
The room has been transformed. Candles are everywhere, casting soft light across surfaces. Rose petals are scattered across the bed—red roses this time, dozens and dozens of them.
“Luca,” I breathe, taking in the romance of it all. “This is…this is…”
“Too much?” He looks suddenly uncertain. “I wanted tonight to be special. Different from?—”
I kiss him, cutting off his words. “It’s perfect,” I tell him, meaning every word. “You’re perfect.”
He laughs against my lips. “I’m really not.”
“Perfect for me, then.” I start working on his tie, my fingers fumbling slightly with nerves. “And I’m ready for the wedding night we should have had the first time.”
His hands come up to still mine. “We don’t have to do anything,” he tells me, his dark eyes searching mine. “You’re eight months pregnant. You’ve been on your feet all day?—”
“Luca,” I interrupt, looking up at him impatiently. “I want this. I want you. I want to make love to my husband on our wedding night and actually mean it this time.”
His expression shifts, heat mixing with tenderness in a way that makes my breath catch.
“Then let me take care of you,” he murmurs, his hands moving to the zipper of my dress. “Let me show you how much I love you.”
He undresses me slowly, each piece of clothing that falls away is accompanied by kisses—my shoulders, my collarbone, the swell of my breasts that pregnancy has made fuller and more sensitive.
When I’m finally naked before him, his hands come to rest on my belly. Our baby kicks against his palm, and Luca’s face transforms with wonder.
“They know it’s me,” he says, his voice full of awe.
“They always know when you’re near,” I tell him. “They get more active whenever you’re around.”
He drops to his knees in front of me, pressing kisses to my rounded stomach. “Hey, little one,” he murmurs against my skin. “Daddy loves you so much. And I love your mama even more.”
