When Dante finally drove up the winding road to the Villa later Rose gave a deep sigh of relief as the lovely old house came into view. ‘Home at last,’ she said thankfully.
‘It is so good to hear you say home,’ Dante said with feeling. He got out to help her out of the car, and then picked her up to carry her into the house. ‘This is the custom for brides, yes?’
Rose wreathed her arms round his neck happily, surprised when, instead of taking her into the salone, he carried her straight upstairs to their room and carefully laid her down on the pristine bed before casting himself face down beside her, breathing hard, his arm possessive across her waist.
She lay still for a while, but then patted his arm. ‘I hate to spoil this romantic moment, Dante, but I’m hungry.’
‘I also,’ he agreed and sat up, smiling down at her. ‘So tonight we will have a picnic up here from whatever Silvia has left for us. I will bring it and you do nothing except lie there and look beautiful.’
Her eyes sparkled. ‘Oh, well, if you insist! But I’ll have more chance of looking halfway beautiful if I can have a shower first, so could you bring up some of the luggage before you start on the picnic? And I’ll ring Mum to report in and check on Bea.’
The euphoria of surviving what could well have been a serious accident cast a magical aura over their first evening together at the Villa as husband and wife. Dante, who prided himself on his driving skills, was obviously mortified about the incident, but Rose was deeply grateful for it. His anguished reaction when she was hurt had removed all her doubts about Dante’s feelings. He had no need now to tell her he loved her. She knew.
When Dante returned after removing the remains of their picnic supper he raised an eyebrow as he asked why she was so deep in thought. Rose hesitated for a moment then made a clean breast of her doubts and fears, which won her a stare of utter amazement. ‘You did not believe I love you?’
Rose tucked her hair behind her ears. ‘You never actually said so, though I knew you wanted me, physically.’
‘How could you not? At your slightest touch I am on fire, amore!’ He sat down on the bed beside her and took her in his arms. ‘But that is only part of my love for you, Rose. I want to spend every minute possible of the rest of my life with you, raise our children together, and grow old together. That is how I love you. Is it enough?’
She smiled at him through a sudden haze of tears and hugged him close. ‘More than enough—even though you were so horrible to me on our wedding night.’
Dante winced and rubbed his cheek against hers. ‘Forgive me, carissima, but try to understand. I wanted you to love me as a husband and lover, and for a moment I thought you married me only to gain a father for another child.’
‘While I was afraid that you took me on just to get Bea as part of the package,’ said Rose, and grinned sheepishly at the incredulous look he gave her.
‘How could you believe that? In Firenze I could not hide my delight at meeting you again. And I knew nothing about our child at that time.’ Dante laid his forehead against hers. ‘So, to avoid all future confusion, Signora Fortinari, I have loved you from the first day we met. Ti amo, sposa mia. Do you understand me?’
‘I do, I do. So make sure you understand, too, Dante Fortinari. I married you for exactly the same reason.’
‘For which I thank God.’ Dante slid the dressing gown from her shoulders and tossed it away. ‘You forgive me then, innamorata?’