Page 109 of Sinful Promises

“But that’s a good thing too. Mamma thinks you are the best thing since ravioli and my sisters think you are way too good for me.”

I burst out laughing, not sure how to react to all of that. “But they’ve only known me for about six hours.”

“I’ve been talking about you for months.”

I still couldn’t comprehend that. Leaning forward, I kissed him. But soon the kisses grew from sweet and tender to as hot as the sun casting its rays over us. I forced my tongue into his mouth, tasting him. His hands squeezed my ass that was out on display for the whole world to see.

In a flash, he stripped naked, and I admired Roman’s mighty erection—good Lord.

For months, I’d been trying to picture Roman’s package. Oh my god, none of my daydreaming did him justice. And out here in the glorious sunshine it was even more heavenly.

Our sheltered beach had no waves, just a gentle ebb and flow as the wind moved the water and it was just like us, moving together in perfect harmony.

We made love right there on the shore. Out in the open, we were so free. No tangled sheets. No constrictive clothing. No worrying that someone would hear us.

We were as one, and united we cried out, reaching our climax at the same time.

I fell onto his chest, panting, and as he glided his fingers up and down my back, I closed my eyes, inhaled the salty air, and thanked the Universe for giving me my wish.

Making love with Roman on that beach was one of the most incredible moments of my life. Hopefully the first of many, many more to come.

Eventually, when we left the hideaway, I rode a wave of euphoria as we cruised over the aquamarine water back to the marina.

But as we neared Manarola, concern once again barreled through me like a tsunami. Yet again, we hadn’t discussed what we were going to do when I had to leave Europe. By the time he tied the boat up at the jetty, the mind-blowing euphoria that’d enamored me on our secluded beach was long gone.

That afternoon, Roman asked me to do something that was so far from my wish list that it had my gut clenching enough that I thought I’d throw up.

He wanted me to join his family in attending a funeral.

When we started our trek up the massive hill where the church was positioned, I nearly did throw up. But I fought it back. Mamma and Papà and just about all of his family were with us. And while they all talked during the hike, I could barely breathe. Clearly, they’d had plenty of practice climbing this hill. Our journey took us through many back alleys that had their fair share of what looked like stray cats, and around every corner was another spectacular view and yet another path to climb.

Roman must’ve noticed that I was struggling to breathe, let alone speak because he refrained from talking to me for the last part of the climb. There was a god.

At the top of the very steep hill was Chiesa di San Lorenzo, a small fourteenth-century church with Gothic facades. Normally, I’d want to go straight in and explore such a beautiful ancient building. But not right now, not when just standing was an issue.

Easing to the side of the church so no one could see me, I sucked air into my lungs. And through my blurry vision, I tried to enjoy the spectacular view overlooking the red-tiled roofs of the colorful Manarola homes and the dazzling sea beyond that stretched all the way to the horizon.

Roman’s hand caressed my lower back. “You okay?”

I nodded. “Just very unfit.”

He wriggled his brows. “You seemed pretty fit to me earlier.”

I slapped his arm, giggling. “Shush.”

He chuckled. “I’ll take you to the cemetery one day. It’s up even higher, but trust me, it’s worth it.”

I glared at him. Once again, he was talking like we had all the time in the world to be together.

The church was situated on a little paved piazzale, and several dozen people were milling around all dressed in black and looking somber.

I’d never been to a funeral before, and I didn’t want to be at this one now. I’d expressed my hesitance right from the moment Roman had asked me to join the family in sending off the elderly woman who had been, according to Roman, the town’s only spinster who had made it her mission to know everyone’s secrets.

When the guests started moving inside, Roman clutched my hand and we strolled through the giant wooden front door together. The church was quaint and simple. A man whose back was curved over so badly that his perpetual view must be of his own feet, was playing a beautiful melody on the piano-organ.

We strolled over checkered marble tiles, and Roman and his family began sitting in the front four rows of pews.

I’d been in many, many churches in my life, but for each one of those visits I’d been either a tourist or a tour leader, so I’d been observing the architecture or stunning artwork. Now my focus was on the people around me. Roman sat at my side, our thighs touching, and held my hand with our fingers interwoven. On my other side sat Donatella, looking regal and as beautiful as ever.

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