Page 38 of The Scandal Behind The Italian’s Wedding

“I see myself in Isabella. A vulnerable child. There is little outright good I have done in the world, but if I can spare her the realities of life, that harshness, until she must absolutely face it, then I will. I will be her wall against all that is behind her, all that would seek to harm her, and the brilliant future that she can have. I will be a man she can call father safely. I will not harm her.”

Minerva’s green eyes were glistening now. He knew that he had said the right thing.

“All right,” she said, setting Isabella down on a blanket beneath the shade. “I agree. I’ll be your wife. Really.”

What shocked him most was the roaring in his ears. It took him a moment to realize that it wasn’t the waves. That it was some kind of hot flood of triumph that was rallying through him like a river. He closed the distance between them, and pulled her into his arms, and then, he claimed her mouth for real.

Not because of their farce.

Not because there was an audience.

Because she was his wife.

And she was his.

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