His hand rested lightly on my lower back, warmth seeping through the thin cotton. Mine pressed his chest, feeling his heartbeat through the shirt.
That heart had nearly stopped. I'd almost lost it forever. But it thumped strong, alive, under my palm.
Scattered applause rose behind us. Grandma Ruth clapped twice from her chair, face unchanged, but lips curved wider. Noah whistled once, shut up by her glare. Mrs. Douglas dabbed her eyes. The bakery guy yelled, "Kiss longer!" and got smacked on the head.
Emily giggled mushily in Grandma Ruth's arms.
The wedding was wrapped in that quiet warmth.
Enzo and I lingered on the beach, unwilling to leave.
Waves lapped the shore, steady. Sun dipped below the horizon, the sky turned deep blue, first star twinkled.
I rested my head on his shoulder; his arm wrapped around my waist.
"You haven't told them about going back to New York yet."
I tensed a little. We'd planned it, but I hadn't mentioned it toanyone. Not Grandma Ruth, Noah, Mrs. Douglas. They thought I'd stay forever.
"Don't know how," I mumbled into his shoulder.
Enzo went quiet for a beat. His fingers traced lazy circles on my side, thumb rubbing the cotton.
"If you don't want to go, stay. I'll handle New York alone, sort it, come back in two months max."
I lifted my head, searched his face.
Last sunset rays softened his jawline. His dark eyes deepened in the dusk.
He'd changed. Old Enzo wouldn't ask—he'd decide and tell me it was best, do it. But now, minutes after vows, he was asking.
I shook my head.
"No, I'll go with you."
His brow twitched. "You sure? You have..."
"I'm sure." I cut in. "We're family now, Enzo. You've got a mess to fix. I won't be a burden. And," I glanced at Emily in Noah's arms, "I barely had a dad growing up. Can't do that to her. She needs you close."
His throat bobbed. Arm tightened around my waist.
"Plus," I met his eyes, slow and deliberate, "I need you too."
His jaw clenched, lips pressed, throat working twice.
Then he cupped my face, kissed me hard. Hands slid from cheeks to nape, fingers tangling in my hair, palm hot against skin.
I braced his chest, felt his heartbeat race through the shirt. My fingers bunched the fabric near the collar into wrinkles.
His other hand slipped from my back to side, breath roughening, hot and urgent on my lips. My back pressed his arm, muscles trembling taut.
Through my skirt, I felt him harden against my hip, scorching. My ears burned. I pulled back half an inch, glaring.
"Enzo Falcone." My voice broke, breathless. "Your wounds aren't healed."
His lips hovered, breath scorching my face. Dark eyes gleamed in twilight, pupils blown, breaths heaving his chest.
He ground against me teasingly.
