“I am,” she replies, her chin lifted with pride. “I hope you'll pardon an old woman's boldness, but I felt I must speak with you.”
Hope leaps in my chest. “Is she here?” I scan the room but see no sign.
“I want to ask you a question, and I hope you’ll give me the respect to respond truthfully.”
“Of course I will.”
“My granddaughter has made mistakes, but she's suffered enough. If you've invited her here out of anger or for some kind of public humiliation, please tell me now. I cannot stand by and watch her heart break again.”
That she would think I was capable of such a thing… But I understand. Valentina told me the truth, and I sent her away.Of course,her grandmother will be dubious about my intentions.
“You have my word, Lady Romano. I have nothing but the very best of intentions where your granddaughter is concerned.”
She studies my face for a beat before she says, “I believe you.”
“Thank you,” I say, meaning it. “Can I see her?”
“I will speak with her. But young man?” Her voice is sharp. “It will be her decision what she does next.”
A small smile works its way across my face. “I would expect nothing less of her, Lady Romano.”
As I watch her make her way around the dance floor, flashes of recognition appear on guests’ faces, and I bet it took a lot for her to come here tonight.
She’s here.The woman I love is here.
I can barely contain my excitement, and I have to work hard at stopping myself from tearing after her grandmother and demanding to see her.
But I gave my word, so I need to wait. Wait and hope.
And then, the doors I’ve watched for so long tonight, open and there, standing alone, breathtaking in the dress I handpicked for her, her hair dark, falling in soft waves around her shoulders, is the woman I love.
Valentina Romano.
She takes a tentative step forward, her hands clasped at her waist, searching the room. When her eyes land on mine, they flash with recognition, her lips parting as she takes a deep breath, and I can no longer contain my need for her that coils in my chest.
I can no longer stand and wait.
I rush toward her, apologizing as I bump into people, stepping on dresses, but not once taking my eyes from hers.
“You came,” I say, my heart thrumming in my ears at the sight of her. The dress is everything I imagined it would be on her when I’d chosen it. She looks regal, beautiful, elegant. She’s power wrapped in beauty, and I’m utterly transfixed.
“You look—” I begin, but suddenly, I can’t find the words. How can I tell her she’s more beautiful than I’ve ever seen her, more beautiful than I’ve ever seen anyone, a stunning, almost otherworldly vision in emerald.
In the end, I settle on, “You look perfect.”
Her full lips—the lips I’ve thought about kissing again and again, that have tormented me since I sent her away—pull into a hint of a smile, and I no longer want to be here in this crowded room with people watching us, waiting to hear what we have to say.
This is between us. Her and me. No one else.
I take her by the hand. “Will you come with me?”
“Yes,” she breathes.
With prying eyes watching our every move, I lead her to the terrace and close the doors firmly behind us. Bathed in the soft moonlight and glow from the ballroom, she looks even more beautiful, and it takes all my strength not to pull her to me and claim her as mine.
That must wait.
“Thank you for coming, Valentina,” I say, her lyrical name feeling odd on my lips.
