Page 51 of Italian Weddings

F IVE DAYS LATER, EMILIA had vague recollections of them having agreed to spend two days on this boat. But that agreement felt like something that had happened a long time ago, to two totally different people.

Everything about New York was a thousand miles away now.

Her family, her life, her work. They’d spent almost a week bobbing around the waters off the coast of Greece.

Salvatore had a skeleton crew on board, who’d seen to their essential needs like food, but had otherwise stayed completely out of sight, so Emilia had almost begun to feel as though she and Salvatore were the only two people on earth.

And against the backdrop of that fantasy, it was easy to pretend this could actually go on forever.

Because the thing Emilia had started to grapple with was just how much she liked being around this man.

How much she enjoyed talking to him, hearing his thoughts on just about any subject.

And how much she enjoyed being drawn to talk about her thoughts.

Emilia had never been backwards in coming forwards, but with two strong, dominant—and sometimes arrogant—Valentino brothers to contend with, there had been times when her opinions had been overshadowed by theirs.

When she’d found it hard to stand up and say what she was thinking.

Salvatore, despite his own alpha traits, seemed to want to dig into every part of her, to understand her opinions on just about everything.

It was flattering, and completely intoxicating, so she’d spent the past five days in a buzzy fog that had nothing to do with alcohol, and everything to do with the man at her side.

“You coming?” He called, from down below, only his head visible in the water. She looked around, as if half expecting someone to be there watching, seeing her perform what would most definitely be an ungraceful dive into the sparkling sea.

“You promise it’s warm?”

He gestured above them, to the sun, high in the sky. “As a bath.”

She threw one last, longing glance at the spa just behind her, on the expansive deck of his yacht—which was more like a five star hotel on water—then refocused on Salvatore.

The last thought she had before pushing herself off the edge of the boat and pointing her arms above her head to form a dive posture was that she would follow him just about anywhere he asked her to.

The water was cold, at first, hitting her like a shockwave when she broke the surface.

But even before she could break through, his hands were around her waist, warm and strong, pulling her against him, lifting her out.

Like he couldn’t wait a second longer to touch her.

Despite the fact she was underwater to her shoulders, Emilia could have sworn little fires had been lit beneath her skin.

She could have sworn her whole body was aflame.

One of his hands moved to brush her hair back from her brow, and then, treading water for both of them, he kissed her, so she tasted the salty Mediterranean and felt an explosion of euphoria, another hit of that drugging, intoxicating sensation.

Bliss. Surrender. Acceptance. This was just exactly where she wanted to be—and who she wanted to be with.

That same feeling wrapped around her later that night, after they’d shared a seafood platter on the deck as the sun set, then a spa, and finally, as they lay on a daybed beneath the stars, the gently lapping water rocking them in a way Emilia might have found soporific if it weren’t for the fact that being in close proximity to Salvatore made her whole body alert with need.

Two days had stretched so easily into three, then four, and now on the fifth day, Emilia had no inclination or interest in returning to Manhattan.

They hadn’t talked about that. They hadn’t talked about the fact they’d need to go back, at some point.

By Emilia’s reckoning, they had another week before their agreed upon end point.

It was like a black hole in her mind, a thing she didn’t like to think of, because of how it unsettled the breezy, intoxicating feeling she’d been relishing all week.

She didn’t think about his past, either.

Nor even allow herself to wonder, more than a few times, if he’d brought other women here.

It mattered, but at the same time, it didn’t.

Because this was different, just like he’d said.

She knew Salvatore hadn’t ever pursued a woman like he’d pursued her.

Whatever else this was, she knew that to be fact.

“It’s so peaceful out here,” she murmured, head on his chest, as his fingers drew invisible patterns along her back. “It reminds me a little of home.”

His fingers stilled. “New York?”

“My parents’ home,” she corrected, eyes chasing the silhouetted line of the landmass in the distance. Pretty little lights seemed forever away.

“In Italy?”

She nodded. “It’s a villa in the countryside, very beautiful, and very peaceful. There are these ruins on our land, ancient and falling down, now. When I was a child, my brothers and I would play all sorts of games amongst them.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, pirates, marauders, anything. They were wonderful to hide in.”

“And be crushed by, if they fell down around you?”

“Yes, a distinct possibility,” she agreed with a soft laugh.

“I’m surprised your parents allowed this.”

“They probably didn’t know,” she said, lifting one shoulder. “We were very good at grabbing the horses and just riding out for the day.”

“They must have wondered what you were doing.”

She glanced up at him. “Were you so closely monitored in your childhood?”

His laugh was something she felt rather than heard. His whole chest shifted with the force of his amusement. “ Cristo, no. We were also given a lot of freedom.”

“And what did you do with that freedom?”

“It feels like a thousand years ago.”

“Are you such an old man?” She teased.

His hand stroked lower, to the base of her spine, then back up to between her shoulder blades and she let out a sigh that bordered on a purr.

“How much do you know about my family?”

“You mean besides the fact you are the very spirit of the devil in human form?”

Another laugh. “Besides that.”

“I know that you grew up outside of Rome. That’s about it.”

“With my cousins, as well as my brothers, and Sofia.”

“Who’s not related to you, right?”

“She is my parents’ goddaughter, but was very much raised as part of our family. I think of her as a sister.”

Emilia thought then of her own brother Leandro, who they’d all recently learned had been adopted by their parents.

“And King Ares your brother?”

His smile was reflective. “We’ve known Ares a long time, as you know.”

“Yes,” she murmured. Before arriving in Moricosia, she’d presumed it would give the Santoro bid an advantage, but once she’d spent time in the city, her confidence with her own proposal had grown. She didn’t push that point now. “Why did your cousins grow up with you?”

She felt him tense, and wondered if she’d asked something he wasn’t willing to discuss. But then, he breathed out, and said, “After my aunt died, my uncle couldn’t cope. He began drinking, heavily. Womanising. It wasn’t the best environment for children, so my parents stepped in.”

She compressed her lips thoughtfully. It was strange how the Santoros had become, in her mind, villains of the highest order.

She’d never really looked beyond that visage, the reputation they held within her family, to contemplate them as people.

Yet there was something humanising about this story — about a family that pulled together with love, when needed, to protect the younger generation.

“What was that like?”

“What do you mean?”

She shrugged. “You went from a family of five to one that included Sofia, and your cousins. Did you resent that at all?”

“What part?”

“Sharing your parents?”

He laughed softly. “My parents are easy to share.”

“You’re not close?”

He stroked her hair. “On the contrary, we’re very close.

I respect them immensely. It’s more…my parents occupy an enormous space.

They love fiercely, they’re loud, joyous, there’s just so much of them to go around.

They have an indefatigable energy. I never felt that I was missing out, by having our cousins spend so much time in our home.

Instead, I gained. More family, more texture, more interest. There was always someone to do something with.

Raf and I would drive to the beach each morning in the summer and swim for miles. Marco and I would build things?—,”

“What kinds of things?”

“Elaborate structures,” he said, with a rueful grin. “We would forage timber from the woods around the house and cut them to shape, sculpting them into whatever we wanted. There’s a sense of security that comes from having so many people on your team.”

“Yes,” she admitted with a nod, completely agreeing with him.

“You know the feeling?”

She nodded again. “I only have two brothers, but they love me in the way you’ve described. Fiercely, loyally, and with all of themselves.”

He grunted, and she glanced up at him.

“Is it weird to talk about our families?”

His eyes flicked to hers, a frown etching across his face. “Surprisingly, it’s not. I like hearing about your life. That includes your family.”

Something shifted in her chest. A burst of warm, ebullient happiness.

With a chaser of worry, because this was all becoming so…

normal. And nice. The thought of walking away from Salvatore in a little over a week seemed impossible to contemplate.

Even when she knew it was sensible and essential. After all, what was the alternative?

“I feel the same way,” she said, slowly, but the lick of concern had taken the shine off her happiness, and it came across in her voice.

“What is it?”

She bit into her lower lip. “Do you think it’s strange that our families are like this?”

“Supportive?”