The words immediately formed in her mind, sent right from her heart. “You’re right.”
He jerked as if hit. When she looked at his face, he wore a resigned grimace. “Now we are in agreement. A divorce is essential.”
“We are not in agreement about that.”
Frowning, he stared at her. “What are you saying, then?”
“I’m saying—you’re right. You will hurt me. And our son.”
“I don’t—”
“And I will hurt you. And our son.”
Vico tried to pull from her again. Again, she held on.
“Love isn’t about being perfect,” she said. “It’s about loving imperfection.”
His expression went blank.
“Love is about forgiving as well as being forgiven,” she continued. “Over the years, we will hurt each other. But we’ll forgive each other and our love will grow stronger because of it. Your friend loved you, didn’t he?”
“Si.”
“You clearly loved him. Plus, you were only a kid.” She stepped closer, pressing along his stiff, heated body. “He would have forgiven you for anything you had to do with his death. I’m sure of it.”
Slowly, haltingly, his arms wrapped around her and hung on with a hard grip. “He already did.”
“What?”
“Before he died.” His words whispered on her hair and ear. “He told me it wasn’t my fault and even if it had been, he forgave me.”
They stood in each other’s embrace. The roll of the thunder faded, replaced by the soft swish of the last of the rain.
“I love you, Vico Mattare,” she murmured into the side of his neck. “And I will always forgive you. Now you must forgive yourself.”
The trickle of his tears slid down his skin and her gentle kisses licked them away. “I will always love you, mia dolce. Always.”
“Then give me the only gift I want.” She lifted her head and smiled, sure of her heart, sure of him. “Give me the gift of you.”
“Ah, Princesse.” He drew back to look at her. His tiger eyes, green and gold and brown, flashed with the life inside him, with the love for her. “When have I ever been able to say no to you?”
Epilogue
The piping tones of his son’s voice filtered through the open window of their Lake Como villa and roused Vico from reading one of his reports. Paulo appeared to be agitated at one of his two sisters. His wife’s firm voice wasn’t doing much good. Annoyed and impetuous accusations continued in aggrieved, angry Italian.
His son was rather like his father.
Demanding. Impatient.
Vico stood, clicked off his computer and strode through the office door. Pacing down the villa’s hallway, he passed the drawing room that had been converted into a family room suitable for children. He walked by the library that now stored a wide array of children’s books on the lower shelves. As he stepped onto the terrace, he quickly surveyed the cedar swing set and fort to see if any small culprits were hiding out until the dust settled.
The two female culprits, however, had decided to join in the fray.
“I hit him because he stole the ball from us.” Camila’s lower lip jutted as she glared at her mother.
“The ball is ours to play with as much as his.” Ciana, her twin, stamped her foot, making her blonde ponytail bob in the soft wind coming off the lake.
Paulo used his impressive seven-year-old height to loom over his sisters. “It’s my ball. Papa gave it to me at Christmas.”
“There are balls all around this place.” His wife sighed. The movement highlighted the lush curves of her breasts, blinding him for a moment with lust.
Who was he kidding? The lust never ceased. And after eight years, he’d concluded with some satisfaction, it never would.
“Why does it have to be this ball?” Lise continued.
He smothered a grin at the exasperation in her voice.
His children all started to complain and gripe and groan, competing for prominence in an ever-increasing roar. His children fit right in with the loud and noisy Mattares. Who would certainly be arriving at any moment to join in the fight and fun by the pool. He’d missed them during the past week while Lise’s mother had made her annual visit to the villa. Esther Helton had spent many months doggedly working her way back into her daughter’s graces. For his children, he had eventually decided to make peace with the old woman. Lise kept her mother under close watch and he trusted his wife.
Striding down the terrace, he watched his family as they all noticed his arrival.
Paulo was first to spot him, which was not unusual. The boy had a radar for his father. Lise called him the shadow as she chuckled in Vico’s arms at night.