Page 184 of Modern Romance Collection February 2025, 1-4

So much emotion. And with one name—only one.

Love.

He had said it, declared it, and she had too. So what use was it for her to try and deny it still—to deny what he had said?

None.

And never again would there be denial.Never.

She clung to him as he kissed her, possessively, cherishingly, and she kissed him back, just as possessively, as cherishingly. Tears sprang in her eyes...tears of diamonds, of rainbows...

He drew back a little, but only to lift his mouth from hers and smile at her, looking deep into her eyes. She said his name, low and loving, and for a long and timeless moment he simply held her, his gaze pouring into hers. Then his eyes slipped from her, going to the crib beyond the bed. Their son slept still, oblivious to all that was taking place around him. She saw Vincenzo’s expression soften. Saw the lovelight in his eyes for her and for their precious son, loved and adored by them both.

‘He brought us together by his conception—and now he brings us together by his birth,’ he said.

‘And now,’ Siena said softly, her gaze aglow with all the love filling it, filling her whole being, lifting her into a joy she had never known or thought possible, ‘we will stay together as he grows, and be there for him all our days.’

She leant back against her pillows, taking Vincenzo’s hand, holding it fast. So infinitely much was filling her.

She gazed at him.

The man she loved.

The man she had desired, then hated, then, oh, so slowly come to feel love for—then fled from in fear of those very feelings. And now... Oh, now...

‘Is it possible to feel happier?’ she asked.

He shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Unless...’ His eyes held hers. ‘Siena, I once, in my arrogance, said we should marry.’ His voice was rueful, eyes glinting. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘I simply ask you. Be my wife, Siena. Take me for your husband so that the only day we will be happier than we are right now will be on our wedding day.’

She gave a laugh of joy, of love, of a happiness that stretched into the infinity around them. And as she did so another sound came. A tiny mewing sound.

Their eyes flew to the crib.

Their son was waking.

Carefully coming around the bed, Vincenzo lifted him up to place him into her arms.

This token of their love for each other.

This living symbol of their love.

The cause of their love for each other.

For without him...

Thankfulness poured through her as she put her precious infant son—theirprecious infant son—to her breast.

Her joy was complete.

And gently...so gently... Vincenzo—the man she loved, with whom she had made the long, strange, difficult and tormented journey to where they now were and aways would be—brushed his mouth on her forehead as she nursed their newborn son. The reason and the proof and the future of their love.

EPILOGUE

SIENASTOODINthe quiet churchyard, her hand resting on the arm of the man beside her. They both stood looking down at a tiny grave, its little white headstone nestling between two other graves.

Tears choked her voice as she spoke. ‘Thank you...thankyou for coming,’ she said. ‘It means so much to me.’

The man beside her pressed the hand on his sleeve with his own hand. ‘And to me, too. I am glad to be here.’ He paused a moment, his eyes going back to the little white headstone. ‘He’s safe here, isn’t he? With his grandparents. And that is the way I shall think of him and remember him—here, at peace, out of pain and illness. Knowing that you and his new cousin will keep watch over him. And knowing that he will have a brother, soon, who will live to be strong and healthy and with a full term of life.’

---