Page 137 of Nine Months to Love
“Stefan, I’m still full from lunch.”
“Trust me. You’ll want this.”
He crosses to the door and opens it. But instead of Mariolina with a tray of pastries, it’s Giancarlo. And he looks worried.
“Signore Safonov,” he begins, sounding almost flustered. “C’è un incendio nel giardino.”
I’ve picked up enough Italian to get the gist of what he’s saying.There’s a fire in the garden.
Stefan’s entire body goes rigid. “What?”
“Fuoco. Fire. In the garden.”
Stefan leaps into action. He grabs my hand and pulls me toward the stairs. We rush down the stairs together. Through the villa, out the back doors and into the garden. The smell of smoke hits me first. Then I see the glow. Orange and flickering. Dancing in the darkness.
My heart lurches. “Oh my God?—!”
Stefan’s grip on my hand tightens. We round the corner and?—
I stop.
It’s not a fire.
It’s candles.
Hundreds of them. Maybe thousands. Arranged in neat rows across the lawn. And in the center, spelled out in flickering light:
WILL YOU MARRY ME?
My breath catches. I turn to Stefan. He’s watching me, eyes hooded, face calm. “What is this?” I whisper.
“You’re a smart woman.” He smiles. “I’m sure you can figure it out.”
“But you… I… We... I didn’t think marriage was something you wanted?”
“It wasn’t,” he agrees. “Until I met you. You’re the only woman who can bring me to my knees,lisichka.”
And that’s exactly what happens. He drops to one knee right there in the garden, surrounded by candlelight and the scent of roses. From his pocket, he pulls out a small velvet box.
My hands fly to my mouth.
“Olivia Aster.” He opens the box. Inside is the most beautiful ring I’ve ever seen, a solitaire diamond that catches the candlelight and throws it back in a thousand directions. “I already want you to be the mother of my child. But now, I’m asking you to be my partner, my person, my wife. Will you?”
Tears blur my vision. I can barely see him through them. “Yes,” I manage. “Yes, of course I will.”
He stands and slides the ring onto my finger. It fits perfectly. No surprises there.
Then he’s kissing me. His hands frame my face and I taste salt from my own tears on his lips. “How did you—when did you?—”
“I’ve been planning this since we left Boston.”
“The whole trip?”
“The whole trip.”
“That’s why you were so distracted.”
“I was terrified you’d say no.”
