Page 29 of An Alliance with the Earl (Marrying for Love #5)

FLORENCE, ITALY

The air was thick with warmth, the scent of sun-ripened citrus and freshly baked bread mingling with the faint floral notes of the wisteria curling over the balcony. The golden Tuscan sun bathed the world in honeyed light, casting long shadows across the rooftops of Florence and painting the Arno River in shimmering hues of amber and rose.

From their private terrace, high above the bustling city, Olivia sat with her sketchbook poised on her lap, the charcoal in her fingers gliding effortlessly across the page. The Ponte Vecchio, with its charming, timeworn bridges and elegant stonework, was taking shape beneath her hand, each stroke capturing the spirit of the place with a precision that never failed to astound him.

Edward leaned against the railing, watching her in quiet admiration.

“Does it meet your artistic expectations, Lady Cheshire?” he murmured, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

She turned to him, her light brown eyes sparkling, a slow, knowing smile curving her lips.

“It is everything I imagined,” she admitted, setting her charcoal aside and dusting her fingers with a delicate cloth. “And perhaps even more.”

Edward reached for her hand, lifting it to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to her fingers, his gaze never leaving hers.

“I told you I would take you traveling.”

Her smile deepened, her heart swelling with so much emotion she thought she might burst from it.

“And I told you I would marry you.”

His gaze softened, his thumb tracing slow, reverent circles against her skin.

“Indeed, you did.”

Her wedding ring glinted in the sunlight, a token of forever, and Edward marveled—not for the first time—at how perfectly it suited her. How perfectly she suited him.

“You are staring,” Olivia teased, her voice a gentle lilt, filled with mirth and warmth.

“I am,” he admitted without hesitation. “Because I can scarcely believe you are mine.”

Her cheeks flushed, her lashes lowering for a fraction of a second before she lifted her gaze to his again, bold and unguarded.

“Well, you had better believe it, Edward.”

She tilted her chin, her expression a mix of playfulness and something deeper—something that sent a slow, steady heat coursing through him.

“And yet,” he murmured, stepping closer, his hand sliding along her jaw, tilting her face toward his, “I fear I shall never tire of hearing you say it.”

Her breath caught, her lips parting slightly as his fingers traced along the delicate column of her throat, his touch reverent, worshipful.

“I am yours,” she whispered.

And that was all it took.

Edward closed the distance between them, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that was tender, deep, and utterly consuming.

The first touch was soft, searching, as if savoring the moment—the taste of forever on her lips.

She responded in kind, her hands sliding up his chest, fisting into the fabric of his waistcoat as if she needed something to hold onto, as if she might lose herself in the sensation.

He kissed her longer, his hand sliding to the small of her back, pulling her flush against him, feeling the rapid rise and fall of her breath.

The world fell away—Florence, the sun-drenched terrace, the distant hum of the city below.

There was only her.

Only the way she melted into him, the way her fingers curled into his hair, the way her breath shuddered against his lips.

He tilted his head, his lips exploring, drinking her in, as if he could memorize the way she felt in his arms, as if this kiss was meant to last a lifetime.

When they finally pulled apart, a breathless eternity later, he rested his forehead against hers, his thumb stroking along her cheek.

She was smiling.

A slow, contented, impossibly beautiful smile.

“That,” she murmured, voice hushed and warm, “was worth waiting for.”

Edward laughed, low and rich, pressing another lingering kiss to the tip of her nose. “Indeed, my love. It was.”

The golden sunlight wrapped around them, the world quiet and perfect, as if Florence itself had paused to witness their love.

Edward traced the curve of her jaw with one reverent fingertip, his voice hoarse with emotion.

“We have all the time in the world now, Olivia.”

She smiled, tilting her head, her fingers still tangled in his coat, keeping him close, tethered to her.

“Then let us make the most of it, my dearest.”

He took her hand in his, pressing another kiss to her palm.

“Where shall we go next?”

Her eyes danced, her lips curving into a smile that made his heart ache in the best possible way.

“Everywhere.”

And as the sun dipped lower, bathing the rooftops of Florence in golden light, Edward knew—without a doubt—that the world was exactly as it should be.

Because she was his.

And he was hers.

Now.

And always.

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