“Truth?” he asked.
“Truth,” I whispered into our kiss.
“I loved you long before I even met you. You came to me in a dream when I wasn’t even ten yet. With your red hair and bright eyes and indomitablespirit. And you bewitched me.When I entered your room all those years ago, when I saw your hair, your face, I immediately recognized you.” He ran his thumb along my cheek. “And I knew.”
“Knew what?”
“That somehow, someway,someday, we’d end up here. Exactly like this.”
Epilogue
Achilles
Two weekslater
The water glimmered like diamonds under the weak October sun. Fucking beautiful, almost like the woman next to me.
We married a week and a half ago in Naples’ city hall. A small ceremony, consisting of our families and a few friends. We didn’t want to wait any longer than we already had. We’d wasted an entire decade pretending to hate each other.
The bride wore red and a badass smirk. The honeymoon was scheduled for next month. We were renting a vintage car and touring the French Riviera for a month. Phones off. Just her and me.
My current role as the leader of the Ferrante clan in Naples allowed it. The position was a slower pace, for sure, but I didn’t mind that shit all that much.
If she wanted quiet, I’d give her that.
And if she ever decided she wanted to go back to New York, I could provide that, as well.
I’d already resigned myself to the fact I was going to spend the rest of my life making sure this woman was happy and could think of no better role I wanted for myself.
“Your coffee’s ready, honey.” My wife swaggered from the depths of our home to the patio, where I was sprawled naked on a lounge chair, holding a steaming cup and placing it on the round table next to me. The scent of freshly ground coffee hit my senses, releasing orgasmic quantities of dopamine.
This.
Every morning.
Tierney, making me coffee.
Nuzzling into me.
Bliss.
Reaching a hand to caress her cheek while she was still standing, I smiled at her. And though I was the ugliest bastard my eyes ever saw, under her gaze, I felt beautiful. A fucking god.
“Andare in brodo di giuggiole.” I cupped her palm, bringing it to my lips and kissing it softly.
Her smile broadened. “What does it mean?”
“To be in a state of rapture. The joy you give me, sweetheart… If I could translate it into drugs, I’d be the richest man alive.”
Pouting happily, she nudged me back and settled against my bare chest, snuggling me under the sun. She had taken a break from her crocheting to make me this coffee.
She made me coffee at least three times a day these days. I hoped caffeine poisoning wasn’t a thing because I was well on my way to getting it.
I set my newspaper down, already feeling myself hardening as her long, bare leg curled around mine. Our days consisted of very little work—mainly me checking on our operations and conducting business in lobbies of hotels—and her reading books, crocheting, and walking along the shore. Healing. She still saw Dr. Andrews twice a week via virtual call.
A visible light danced in her eyes now. Something I’d never seen before.
“This is nice,” she murmured into my skin.
