“Please just shut up and let me be romantic for once in my fucking life.”
“Well, since you asked so nicely…” I sulked, crossing my arms.
The vehicle pulled over after a short while and the back door swung open. The air was mild and tinted with brine. I recognized the scent instantly; it was uniquely Mediterranean.
My pulse quickened, and I tried to calm it down, but it was hard.
“Careful, there’s a step.” Achilles’s rich, low voice grumbled as his roughened palm clasped my wrist, guiding me down a pebbled pathway. Birds chirped and water gurgled. It was daylight—I could feel the sun on my skin—but since I wasn’t able to track the time during the flight, it meant little to me.
We stopped when the front of my legs hit a concrete barrier. Achilles’s scent wafted into my nostrils from the side—woods, whiskey, smoke, male—and he slowly pulled at one corner of my blindfold. I’d gotten so used to the dark, I felt lightheaded from the prospect of seeing again.
“You said if you could do things all over again, if you got your second chance, you’d retire by the Mediterranean Sea. Choose a good man. Crochet and drink a good cocktail while staring at the horizon.” His words skulked into my ears, soaking into my body, and settled somewhere so deep it was etched into my entire existence. “I can give you all of it.”
The blindfold fell to the ground, and I stared at the azure, sparkling water of the sea, vast and endless under a cloudless sky, twinkling at me playfully.
“I’ll give you a quiet life, away from the hustle and bustle of New York. I will manage the Ferrantes’ business from here in Naples, and you will be left to your own devices, to do whatever you want, however you want, as long as you’re by my side.”
I turned to look at him. Behind him was a stunning villa. Beyond it was greenery I recognized as an olive grove. It was a handsome property, and yet not gauche or over-the-top, with soft yellow arches and an inner court with roses and a fountain. I recognized the place as Posillipo, from the heart-stopping view and proximity to the sea.
“If you want kids, we’ll have them. If you don’t, we won’t. If you want to rule this city with me, we’ll share the throne. If you’dlike to spend all your days crocheting and shopping, that’s okay, too.” He gestured to his side, and I realized we were standing on a patio overlooking the beach, with lounge chairs, a small round table with yarn and knitting accessories on it. A delighted shiver ran through me.
“The world will be your oyster by my side. I’ll fulfill all your dreams. Every single one of them. All I ask is one thing—you.”
His volatile gaze landed on me. Longing. Yearning. Unapologetic hunger. My breath caught in my throat as he lowered himself to one knee…
And then the other one.
He was on both knees now, staring at me, steadfast, with a gaze that promised fighting my every war, winning my every battle, never wavering from my side.
“I thought long and hard about what ring I wanted to give you.”
Of course he did. I wouldn’t expect anything less from this man.
I wanted to throw a smartass remark his way, to ask if the diamond was as big as my head, but I couldn’t find it in me. Not sarcasm and not empty flirtation. I was speechless and completely anchored in the moment with him.
So I licked my lips instead and said, “Whatever you chose?—”
“Legacy,” he cut me off.
“Huh?”
“Money doesn’t impress you. It never did. You like legacy. History. You said you wanted a home. Roots. Something that meant something.” His black eyes shone as he produced something from his pocket. A small, black velvet box. He popped it open. “This ring has all of it.”
It was an antique signet ring, made from gold, the intricate design on it no doubt used as a stamp at some point in its long history. It had an agate cameo depicting a skull and a snake. Itwasn’t lavish or pretty. It was bold and magnificent. And I loved it even more for it.
“Any rich man can buy his wife an expensive ring. I don’t think there is much to it, really. But to find this ring, I had to visit every reputable antique shop in southern Italy. This ring dates back to the early nineteenth century. I wanted it specifically because it belonged to Queen Maria Carolina of Austria. She was the wife of King Ferdinand IV and one of the baddest bitches in the history of Naples.”
This earned him a little nervous giggle from me.
“Maria Carolina had spice and defiance; she called Napoleon a wicked bastard and meddled in her husband’s business relentlessly, not giving half a shit what everyone around her—and in their kingdom—thought. At some point, she became the de facto ruler of her husband’s two kingdoms. She was an absolutist and she was unstoppable.” He took a breath. “And she still didn’t hold a candle to you.”
“You’re insane,” I whispered, giving his shoulder a small shove. He didn’t budge. “You got me a queen’s ring?”
“The queen is the most important piece in chess,” he said gravely. “This was never a game to me, Little Flame. It was always a matter of life and death. Still is. Be my wife, Tierney, and I will dedicate my entire life to making you happy. What do you say?”
“Yes, you bastard. Of course. Yes.”
He slid the ring onto my finger, and my entire existence clicked into place. He stood up and grabbed my face roughly, pressing an urgent kiss to my mouth.
