Fran stayed where she was, unable to move. That song…had it been for her? A song about nearly having paradise, about the one girl he dreamed of, about kisses he remembered—did he mean her?
She dragged in a breath. Gio had played tonight. A proper classical performance, in front of an audience, for the first time in more than ten years. And he’d asked her to be here.
Maybe she was reading too much into this.
But if she didn’t go to see him, here and now, she knew she’d regret it for the rest of her life.
Slowly, she made her way over to the corridor that led to the office.
Gio’s parents were there. And when they saw her, Gio’s father held out his arms. Hugged her.
‘Go to him,’ Angela said softly, and pointed to the office.
Fran nodded, swallowed hard, and opened the door.
‘Hello, Gio.’
Gio’s head whipped round. ‘Fran? But…I thought you weren’t…’ His voice trailed off.
He didn’t think she’d been there? ‘I was there,’ she confirmed. ‘I saw you play. Heard you.’
‘All of it?’
She nodded. ‘That last song—was it for me?’
He dragged in a breath. ‘Don’t you know that?’
‘I wouldn’t be asking if I did.’
‘Yes. It was.’ He looked her straight in the eye. ‘I played here tonight, because you suggested it. Because you’re right—it’s time I forgave myself and played again. Without you, I wouldn’t have done this.’
‘That wasn’t all you said.’
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. ‘Ah. The bit about the fact I love you from the bottom of my heart, you mean? I do.’ His expression became bleak. ‘And when you walked out on me…that was when I realised how stupid I’d been. That I should’ve told you before. Taken the risk.’
‘So why did you let me leave?’
‘Because you were so keen to get your own space back.’
She frowned. ‘Hang on. You couldn’t wait to get rid of me. You even offered to help me paint my flat.’
‘Only so you’d stay with me for at least two more days—one while we painted, one for the fumes to go. Maybe one more for luck.’
‘So you wanted me to stay?’
He nodded.
And now he was telling her how he felt. Taking the risk. Like he’d taken the risk tonight and played for an audience.
He’d asked her to come along.
He’d said he loved her.
Maybe it was time she took a risk, too. ‘I wanted to stay.’
‘So why didn’t you say something?’
‘Because I thought you wanted to stick to your original plan. That as soon as Nonna went back to Milan, we’d end the fake relationship.’
He shook his head. ‘It wasn’t a fake. It might’ve started out that way—but when you stayed at my flat it most definitely wasn’t a fake. We didn’t have sex, Fran. We made love.’
‘You let me go.’
‘I was wrong.’ He took a deep breath. ‘The night of my birthday party, I told you there was a black hole inside me. Something missing. Well, now I know what fills it. What makes me complete.’
She waited.
‘You,’ he whispered. ‘You complete me, Fran. I love you.’
‘You love me.’ She tested the words, almost in wonder. ‘You love me.’
‘You heard me say it. In front of a crowded room when I didn’t even know you were there, I said I loved you from the bottom of my heart. That I was playing for you. And I’m telling you right here, right now. Francesca Marsden, I love you.’
Her breath hitched. ‘I…I don’t know what to say.’
‘The phrase I’m listening for is “I love you, too”,’ he said wryly.
She did. But saying it…Lord, that was hard.
‘When you walked out, I was so stunned that I couldn’t even speak. And by the time I’d recovered my wits enough to call you, you’d frozen me out.’ He spread his hands. ‘I don’t know how to prove I love you. But I do. And I know what I want from life, now. I want marriage and babies and a house full of noise and laughter and love. And,’ he told her, his voice cracking, ‘I want it with you.’
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
‘WAS that a proposal?’ Fran asked.
‘Not a proper one.’ Gio spread his hands. ‘I’m Italian. I want to marry you, yes—but I need to ask you the old-fashioned way.’
‘The old-fashioned way? What’s that?’
He smiled. ‘I’m going to ask your father for your hand in marriage.’
She stared at him. ‘This is the twenty-first century, Gio. People don’t do that any more.’