“God! You scared me.”
Not surprisingly, he didn’t apologize. “You didn’t stop by.”
“I was dirty from digging through backstock all day. I wanted to shower first.” She closed her robe.
“Is this what you working is going to be like now? Not home until after nine, don’t even say hi, don’t return my calls? That’s not how I work. I don’t sit around and wait.”
Anger was taking its turn. “Then don’t.”
He stared at her, and she stared back. “What are you saying, Beverly?”
“I don’t know. Pussyfooting around you is exhausting. If we’re not going to talk about what happened at Carmen’s wedding, then maybe we don’t have anything to talk about at all.” As soon as she said those words, fear squeezed in and made anger step back.
“Answer the question I asked, and then we’ll talk.” He stepped forward and put his hands flat on the nearer counter.
“Jesus! Nick, come on! Why? Why can’t we talk first?”
“Why can’t you just fucking trust me?!” He slammed his hands down on the granite tile.
Bev nearly leapt backward. Nick had never yelled, not once ever, not at her or at anyone else that she’d ever seen or heard.
Once the shock had ebbed, though, she wasn’t afraid. She was moved and sorry—she’d really hurt him. She crossed the room and stood on the other side of the counter, between the two chairs that were her dining area. “I do trust you.”
He shook his head. “Not if you need me to fill out a questionnaire first. Not if you don’t know I’ll make you happy.”
“Kids, a home—that stuff is important. What if we don’t agree? Why can’t we talk first?”
“Are you saying if we don’t want exactly the same things right now, you don’t love me enough to find a compromise?”
Bev blinked. That wasn’t what she was saying at all—or it wasn’t what she’d meant. But Nick wasn’t a compromising man. She was afraid that she’d end up living the life he wanted for her instead of the life she wanted.
But why, exactly, was she afraid of that? In fact, he’d made all sorts of compromises for her. He’d been gentle and patient with her. He’d practically lived in her girly apartment for months because she was more comfortable here. He was helping her with the bookshop, even though he didn’t want her to work.
He was right. She was hesitating over things that were supposed to matter, not things that actually did. She was trying to wedge their real love into her adolescent fantasy of what her married life would be. She’d choked, was what it came down to. And she’d fucked up a beautiful moment and the weeks that had followed it.
So had he, though, with his cold way of pouting.
Walking around the counter into the kitchen, she stepped behind him and circled his waist with her arms. He dropped his head. “Nick, I love you. I know you’ll make me happy. I want to make you happy. So my answer is yes. I’m so sorry I didn’t say it right away. I should have.”
“Yeah, you should have.” He turned in her arms and took her face in his hands. “Don’t fuck with me like that again.”
“I wasn’t fucking with you. I was just scared.”
“Why? Of me?”
“No. Of losing myself again. I just got myself back.”
He stared into her eyes as his thumbs caressed her cheekbones. “I’ll never let you get lost again. I love you, bella.” With a quick peck to her lips, he pushed her away. “I’ll be right back.”
With that, he went around the counter, through the room, and out her door. Bev, expecting a much deeper kiss and also not to be alone, stood where he’d put her, dazed.
He was only gone a minute or two, and when he was back, he had a small box in his hand. He came into the kitchen and led her out to sit on her sofa. She loved this white sofa. Without it, she might not have been sitting here with Nick Pagano on his knee in front of her.
“I’ll say it in Italian, since you like it so much when I do. Bella, con te voglio passare la mia vita. Sei tutto ciò che voglio. Il mio cuore è solo tua. Sei il mio sole. Sposami.”
Italian was so pretty. She didn’t know most of the words—though she heard the one about being his sunshine many times and loved that above all—but she knew what he’d said was beautiful.
He opened the box. Inside were two rings. The band of the engagement ring was delicately ornate, slender twists of rose gold rather than a solid band. Tiny diamonds were scattered around it. A large diamond solitaire in a tall setting dominated the center, and around it, in a separate setting, a ring of small diamonds. Like a halo around a bright sun. It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. The wedding band seated next to it was a similarly delicate band of diamonds.