He took a breath. “Turn it over.”
She did, with the care of someone who had never touched a piece of jewelry four hundred years old in her life, and stilled at the gold seal revealed on the other side. Her finger felt the shape of the gold very carefully. The roses growing up out of the ground. The gold bloom at the top. The words…her finger hesitated over them. “I thought you said the motto was…”
“I guess we changed it, over time,” he said. “Apparently what Niccolò said was ‘It all starts here’.”
“I like that. Not a resting place, but a starting place. A place to help you bloom.” She stroked it again, her face wondering and a little wistful. “That’s incredible, roots like that.”
“Yeah,” he said softly. “I thought you might like it.” What an idiot he’d been in the church.
“It’s amazing. It’s even a rose. It’s perfect for you.”
He took the chain and slipped it over her head, settling the seal over her breastbone. “It’s perfect for you.”
Her hand covered it. “What?”
“I want you to have it.”
“Matt, you can’t—”
He put his hand over her mouth before she could throw his heart back at him again. “Because I thought,” he said carefully, “that it didn’t have to be an either/or choice. That maybe you could stay here and bloom. And pursue your career. Maybe you, you know…needed me. And…I can give you that. Me.”
“Your valley is not you, Matt. I mean—”
“It is,” he finished for her. “It really is. And I want you to keep that, too. But I also meant…me. I can give you me.”
“Oh.” Her loose fist rose to her lips, and she bit into the side of her index finger, staring at him.
“Don’t give it back,” he said anxiously, gesturing to himself.
“But—but—” She looked from him down to her chest and back. “You can’t give me something so old.”
A little smile ghosted through him. “It’s a bit younger than the valley.”
She gave a tiny, indignant shove to his chest. “I was trying to give that back! And anyway, someone else gave it to me. You know what I mean. This should stay in the family.”
His smile grew inside him, even while his cheeks heated a little. It felt good, though, that heat in his cheeks. Like warmth escaping his heart to expand all through him. “I know.” He rubbed his thumb over the seal, resting the heel of his palm against the swell of her breasts. “But I bet if you let me, I could figure out a way to fix that problem.”
Her breath caught. She stared at him, her eyes such a beautiful green. Just like rose leaves in the early gray morning.
“I, ah…” He touched his chest, his cheeks heating more to try to say these words. He meant them, that wasn’t the problem. They just sounded so untough, so soft-hearted, so exposed. “You know I’m crazy about you.”
There. He could say that. It wasn’t so…raw. It wasn’t so open.
And she liked it. Her cheeks flushed a little, and she bit her lip, staring up at him in pleasure.
But…yeah. She deserved the rawness. The openness. He bent his head to slide his face into her curls until his lips were by the lobe of her ear. “I love you,” he said, and his cheeks flamed like fire. Because it was true, and saying something so true could sometimes take all a man’s courage. “Moi aussi, je t’aime.”
It was worth the courage, though, for the way she wrapped her arms around him and held on tight, as if she would never let go.
She fit in his arms just right.
Chapter 22
“She’s really good, isn’t she?” Tristan said, stopping beside him at the side of the stage, their shoulders brushing.
Matt beamed with pride, his arms folded to try to contain his chest before it swelled so much it exploded. “She’s fantastic.”
Layla was chatting with her audience, teasing them by playing bars of “La Vie en Rose.”
She had ended up calling her producers and stating flat out that she needed to delay the album. Her producers had said, “Better a delay than crappy music.”
I told you so, Matt had said. Layla had gotten indignant with him about that, but her relief had been enormous. She’d actually gone out on a blanket on the hillside and slept the whole morning in the shadow of the pines after that phone conversation, her face so relaxed and peaceful. Her joy in her music grew back from that point like a plant taken out of a dark closet and given some sun, her energy and pleasure more and more vibrant. He’d loved it, how excited she grew to share with him something she’d been working on, when they met for lunch, or she came down to the fields to sit on the back of the truck and play a while, or in the evening. When she was no longer under pressure, when she was in the shelter of his valley, when she had all kinds of things that gave her life and worth besides her music, it was amazing how attached she was to that guitar.