Page 49 of Forbidden Until Midnight

Things were falling into place in a way that he’d never dared hope for. He had asked for Pietro’s approval just before flying out here, knowing that had Eleanor not come tonight, he would have searched the world for her.

And as she stood before him, beautiful beyond his comprehension, exquisite in scarlet, he held open his palm and lifted the lid on the box that his mother had given him. It wasn’t her ring—that had been buried with the man who had never earned their love—but her mother’s ring, hisnonna’s.

The women of his family were some of the strongest people he knew, and Eleanor was no different. He loved her with a fierceness that would never weaken, and it was the bare minimum of what Eleanor deserved from her future.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Edward Carson throw back his drink and make a fuss leaving the room. He knew that Eleanor had seen it too, from the way that she stilled. Outwardly, no one would have seen her move, her gaze didn’t falter from his, but Santo knew the courage that she’d needed to brave this and marvelled at how strong she had become.

‘Eleanor Moretti,’ he said loudly for the whole room to hear, ‘would you do me the greatest honour of letting me love you, honour you and worship you for the rest of my days?’

‘Only if you’ll let me do the same,’ she said with a smile that could have lit the world. The strength of her love felt like a wave of heat.

‘Do you always have to argue with me?’ he mock growled from the floor.

‘I will be needing the last word in all arguments, yes,’ she confirmed happily.

‘Only if I get to kiss that word from your lips,’ he replied, rising from his knee to his feet, his hands reaching for her as he drew to his full height, lifting her from the floor, her legs wrapping around him so that he could feel her all around him once again.

With his entire heart full, he leaned to whisper in her ear, ‘Say yes. Please,’ he all but begged. ‘I just want to hear it.’

She turned her lips to his and replied, ‘Yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes,’ she said, over and over again, and he would never tire of hearing it.

Mads and Kat led a round of applause that gained volume and strength throughout all the guests in attendance, aside from Tony Fairchild, who was as red as a beetroot, and Dilly Allencourt, who was practically green with envy.

Neither Santo nor Eleanor cared one bit. This would be the last time they ever attended a New Year’s Eve event with these people, they knew it, and Santo marched from the grand ballroom with Eleanor still in his arms without a second look.

‘Where are you taking me?’ Eleanor asked him, laughter and happiness filling her in the way that only Santo could make it.

‘Home,’ Santo announced. He was taking herhome.

EPILOGUE

New Year’s Eve four years later, Puglia

SANTOWOULDNEVERgrow tired of the sound of children’s laughter. It pealed through the house and out on the wind, carried to him as he made his way home from the olive groves. There had been a time, in the not so distant past, when he would never have thought it possible to feel such a thing, knowing the promise he’d made to himself growing up with Gallo’s fury. And now he was determined to fill his estate with as many different cries of joy, laughter and happiness as he could.

Since walking out of the Fouriers’ party in Brussels four years ago, his life had changed considerably, and he didn’t regret a single moment of it. Thankfully, the work he’d done to disengage himself from Edward Carson in the preceding years had significantly lessened the financial blows that fell.

But he was still hit hard. Some of the families had followed Carson’s lead in wreaking their revenge, but a surprising number of them hadn’t. And even more surprising was how quickly the group of twelve families had fractured and broken apart in the years following. Some of the younger generation had little inclination for the cut-throat backstabbing that their forefathers had gone in for, and there had been an exodus as they followed Santo’s suit.

The Sabatini Group had been forced to trim down operations in the wake of existing stakeholders’ internal fighting. However, the resulting loss of their income had forced them to cut their losses or sell out. All of which was more than fine with Santo. It had simply meant that he could focus his business life on his venture with Mads Rassmussen and his personal life on Eleanor, on his relationship with his mother, with Pietro...with himself.

Santo had started that process four years ago and it hadn’t been easy to work to rebuild some of the damage his father had done in his early years. Becoming a father himself had been the most incredible moment of his life, but also one of the hardest as he’d struggled to understand his father’s actions and his complex feelings about his mother.

Eleanor had been there to support him every step of the way, but the help he’d needed went beyond her abilities. He’d started to see a counsellor for himself, but also for his children, wanting to make sure that he didn’t repeat the pain of his childhood on them. And while it was one of the hardest things he’d ever done, every single minute he spent with his children showed him how much it was worth it—to make sure that they grew up with the kind of emotional strength and stability that he’d never had.

Eleanor had borne his emotional storms with a love and patience that astounded him and no one had cheered him on more as he’d created a charity for victims of domestic violence here in Puglia. He’d wanted her to be a part of it, but she was right, again, in that it was something that should be his alone.

He looked up at the light in the children’s window and saw Eleanor’s outline in the gauzy curtains billowing in the cool dusk breeze. She was getting them ready for the New Year’s party that evening. He checked his watch; if he didn’t get a move on he’d be late.

Santo cut through the garden and came into the villa by the back door, taking the stairs up to the second floor at a jog, stopping the moment he heard that sound again.

A fit of near hysterical giggles.

Only one thing caused that sound. His wife tickling their oldest. Little Pietro had inherited his mother’s skin and sensitivity, but his father’s humour and cheek. It was a lethal combination.

Their daughter Lucia had his eyes and from the first moment he’d looked on them he’d felt the erasure of pain when seeing his own reflection. His eyes were his daughter’s, not his father’s, and that meant more than he could ever hope to put into words. She had a mop of adorable blonde curls, but his mother informed him that they would eventually darken over time, just like they had with him. Personality-wise, though, she took very much after her mother and he adored her.

‘Santo?’ Eleanor called and he smiled to himself. She always knew when he was near.

---