Page 47

She blinked, surprised she’d said it aloud. She’d meant only to think it. Looking around at their smiling faces, she added, “I mean, to have all of you.”

She kept waiting for them to fill the empty silence with some sort of polite response like, Aren’t you sweet?

and then to ask, And what about your family, dear?

But they just looked at her with kind expressions.

And somehow, she felt as though that empty space they’d given her with their silence and those gentle faces were a gift, and she could do with it whatever she wanted.

That’s when she realized her heart wasn’t beating frantically, her palms weren’t sweating, and her shoulders weren’t hunched near her earlobes.

She looked at Rocco’s mother. “I never really knew my mother. She died when I was very young. I carry her photo with me.”

“Do you have it with you now?” Beatrice cried, suddenly running up and seemingly appearing from out of nowhere.

Nico nodded.

“May I see it?” Rocco’s mother asked.

Nico reached in her pocket and drew it out, handing it to her.

Sofia had joined her sister. The girls looked over their grandmother’s shoulder.

“She’s pretty,” Sofia said.

“Really pretty,” said Beatrice.

“She is,” said their mother, Isabella, who’d walked over to see.

“She’s beautiful,” said Rocco’s mother, handing the photo to Rocco’s grandmother. “Like her daughter.”

“And loved,” said the grandmother, running her fingers over the cracks and folds in the photo. “Loved deeply, still to this day.”

Nico felt her eyes sting and drew a deep breath to still any tears.

Rocco’s mother sighed. “There are all kinds of families, aren’t there? Some you’re born with, and others come to you.” She looked over at Nico. “Rocco has told us about your friend Charles. We’ve seen him at a couple of the races. Will you bring him with you the next time you visit?”

Nico was afraid if her mouth or head made any movement or her vocal cords any sound, that might make the tears her eyelids had managed to hold on to spill over.

She offered a tentative smile and hoped it was enough to convey what she was really feeling, which was a warmth and gratitude that felt bigger than the night sky.

Reaching over, Rocco’s mother squeezed Nico’s hand.

“And Templeton!” cried Beatrice and Sofia. “Can Templeton come too?”

“Of course. Templeton is always welcome.”

Nico sighed.

“It’s so good to have you here,” his mother said. “We can see how happy Rocco is.”

“Stop already,” Isabella cried. “You’re making Nico uncomfortable.”

Nico froze. She couldn’t think how to respond.

“I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable, dear. I’m not presuming anything. That’s why I put you in separate rooms.” She reached over and placed a hand on Nico’s arm. “It’s just I know my son. I know when he’s happy. And I see the way he looks at you.”

“Mamma, stop!”

“Okay, okay, but don’t tell me you can’t see the change in him.”

The grandmother nodded. “It’s true. Such a difference. That woman made the last few years absolutely hell for him.”

Are they talking about Carolyn Wickham?

“She never forgave him for ending the relationship,” said his mother.

His sister sighed. “She never forgave him for not loving her.”

The grandmother looked at Nico. “We thought she might ruin his racing career altogether.”

His mother shook her head. “She tried.”

“Yes, she did,” said his grandmother. “It’s been hard for him to trust a woman since then.”

That word trust . Why did it hurt so much? Why did it make her feel sick to her stomach?

Why are you asking why? You know why.

After that, the men came out, and talk about Carolyn stopped.

As the sun set over the Italian alps and the sky turned from dusky gray to violet, deep purple, and finally black, Nico talked and laughed.

But most of the time she watched and listened.

She could see how much they loved one another.

Really loved one another. And she was content to just sit back and absorb the warm glow that was Rocco’s family, all the while thinking how very lucky this man was.

She was still thinking it when she turned off the bedside lamp and lay gazing up at the ceiling, wondering how she was ever going to sleep.

She wanted him. Wanted him now. Next to her. Inside her.

Does counting sheep really work? Do people really do that?

She sighed.

Is it possible? Am I happy? I feel happy.

Dinner, as much as she’d enjoyed it, had been difficult. She had kept waiting for the questions—the inevitable questions. Preparing herself for how she would answer them. And what about your family, Nico? Who took care of you after your grandfather died? Where are they now? What do they do?

But the questions never came. Not even after dinner when they sat outside, listening to the river, looking up at the stars, and sipping limoncello.

That in and of itself would have been surprising enough. But what was even more surprising was her. Talking. Not about her entire past. But some of it. The best of it.

I think I am happy .

Soon after, her eyes grew sluggish, and she drifted off—no sheep required.

Rocco shut the door quietly behind him. He pulled down the covers and smiled, seeing that T-shirt, and then slipped into bed beside her. He placed his hand on her thigh and slid his fingers up her silky skin.

Her eyes flew open. “What—”

He slapped his hand over her mouth and straddled her.

Placing his mouth next to her ear, he whispered, “You have to be quiet. Really quiet.”

He removed his hand.

“But—”

His hand flew over her mouth again.

He shook his head. “You’re a naughty girl, Nico. Do you never do as you’re told?”

Those black eyes flared back at him while his other hand crept up her thighs and slipped under her T-shirt.

“Remember,” he whispered, “quiet.”

His hand slid between her thighs, and one finger slipped easily between the wet lips of her vagina.

Damn , he thought, gazing down at her.

Tell me you were dreaming of me.

Slowly, he removed the hand that was over her mouth.

Her chest moved up and down as he watched her struggle for breath.

Her lips parted. She was about to say something. As his finger skated smoothly back and forth, he held a finger from his other hand to his lips.

“If you want me to be quiet,” she managed in a harried whisper, “you have to stop doing that.”

“I don’t want to stop doing that.” He grinned as his finger slipped inside her.

The south pole definitely didn’t want to. And he made sure she knew it, pressing into her.

He slid his finger slowly out, watching her, and then dipped it back in the pool of hot liquid. She looked like she was about to scream, but she swallowed it.

He grinned. “Do you want me to stop?”

She blinked but said nothing.

“I didn’t think so.” He shut his eyes and hung his head as his breathing became more rapid and his heart began to beat so hard, it felt as though every cell in him was throbbing.

“Damn, Nico. Are you always like this?” He pushed his finger deeper inside her. “Or is it just me?”

Her lips parted. But all he heard was her breath coming and going in deeper and deeper waves.

He waited until he could feel her throbbing and clutching his finger before he took it out.

You’re evil , she mouthed.

He grinned as he lifted her T-shirt and pinched her nipple.

Lowering his head, he took one breast in his mouth, sucking, then nipping, and then biting down.

Hard. She arched her back and made a fist with one of her hands, hitting his arm.

But he didn’t stop. He only chuckled as he took the other breast in his hand, tweaking the nipple—hard.

Finally, he lifted his head, gazing down at her and grinning. “See, now these are definitely more delicious than casonsei.”

She hit him again.

He took the first one in his mouth.

“Even better than chocolate.”

Her breathing grew ragged, her breasts rising to meet his mouth.

“I—can’t,” she whispered.

He brought his face to hers, looming over her, and then lowering himself so his lips brushed hers.

“Do you want me inside you?” he whispered.

She nodded.

“Then you can.” He slid his pajama bottoms down his legs and kicked them loose.

“And you will.”

Fixed on those dark eyes, he felt himself slip into that dark abyss as he entered her.

She opened her mouth, but he shook his head.

Not yet , he kept telling himself as he moved slowly in and out.

But she was so hot and so wet. And she was gripping him so tight. He clenched his teeth, willing himself not to come. Yet.

She ran her fingers down his back and then stopped just above his ass.

She smiled. “You have dimples,” she whispered.

He pushed deeper. He wanted to be so deep inside her, she wouldn’t have breath enough to whisper. So deep she wouldn’t have breath enough to breathe.

She crooked her finger, and he pushed deeper still as he lowered himself.

She gasped. “That,” she whispered.

He pushed deeper.

She dug her nails in his back. “Little prince.”

And deeper.

He watched her throat and heard her barely choke out the words.

“Is. Not. Getting. A. Happy. Ending.”

He grinned, clutching her head, moving faster and deeper. “He’s already got it. It’s just. About. Here.”

And with one final thrust, every cell in him exploded just before he collapsed.