Page 162 of Enzo

“You developed the camera?”

“I did.”

“And you framed this photo?”

His gaze moves over it. “Yes.”

I look around his beautiful apartment, at the expensive furniture and artwork, then back at the slightly blurry photograph sitting in pride of place on his bookshelf.

“This one?”

I'm sure the tourist must have taken a few, given the amount of time I was busy telling Enzo to smile and to stand closer to me.

He puts his arms around me from behind. “I like this one.”

“But I'm not even looking at the camera.”

“I know.”

I turn and look up at him. “Neither are you.”

“I know.”

“You're looking at me.”

“Yes.”

He drops a kiss on my ear.

I stare at the photograph again, before turning around to face him. He watches me now exactly the way he's watching me in the photograph.

“When did you know?”

His expression changes. “I don't know exactly.”

“That's not very Enzo-esque of you.”

“No.” His mouth twitches. “It isn't.”

I wait. He lowers his head and presses a kiss against my lips. It doers what his kisses always do. It ignites all the cells in my body. Has the same effect on me that he always does.

“I knew I wanted to see you again,” he murmurs.

My heart squeezes. “In Venice?”

“Yes.”

“That early?”

“You were difficult to forget.”

I grin. “Because I'm fabulous?”

“Because you never stopped talking.”

I smack his arm. He catches my hand before I can pull it away and brings it to his mouth.

I set the photograph gently back in its place. “I'm keeping this.”