Page 50 of The Convenient Cosentino Wife

Clare bit into her lower lip, struggling with her answer. “We both need you,” she said unsteadily. “And we both miss you.”

Her eyes began to fill with tears and Rocco drew her down onto the white couch, and wrapped his arm around her, holding her close to his chest, and for a moment Clare was afraid to breathe, afraid to move in case this was a dream, but no, she could hear the steady beating of his heart, and the warmth of his skin, and the hard muscle of his chest.

This was real. He was real.

Gradually she relaxed, his warmth soothing her, his arm holding her secure and she wasn’t going to think, or let her brain take over. For now, she would just savor being here with him.

It had been so long since she’d felt like things might be okay, and while she didn’t know the future, in this moment, right now, in Rocco’s arms, her cheek above his heart, she felt peace. She felt as if she was home. Rocco was home.

Her eyes stung and she blinked hard to hold in the emotion.

Love, she loved him, and it had been so hard to be away from him. And it came to her—how did one forgive? You forgave because you loved.

You forgave because you wanted more.

Clare desperately wanted more, not less. She desperately wanted to feel like she belonged somewhere and with someone. Rocco would always be home. Why had she taken so long to see it? Believe it?

Rocco kissed the top of her head. “Don’t cry.” His voice was low, husky, comforting.

She felt like Adriano when he came to her room late at night, unable to sleep, wanting to feel safe. Everyone needed love, everyone craved family and security. Everyone needed second chances and hope. Good God, she needed hope. The tears she’d been struggling to hold back fell.

“I don’t want to lose you, too.” Clare said thickly, finding it so hard to talk and breathe while crying. “I don’t understand any of this, but I know we should at least talk. Try to have a conversation.”

“I agree.” He pulled her onto his lap so that both arms could hold her more firmly. “But I think we should have a conversation later when you’re done with the tears. So cry now, and I promise you, we’ll talk when you’re ready.”

They did talk later. They talked for hours; they talked and went for a walk, then talked again and kissed.

The kiss had surprised him because she’d been the one to reach out to him. She’d caught his face in her hands and studied it, looking deep into his eyes before whispering, “I do love you. And if you still love me, is there a future for us?”

“Yes.” He kissed her, once and then again. “You are my future. You, and Adriano, are everything to me. But since you are here, let me show you just how much I’ve missed you and want you.”

“I think that’s a very good idea,” she murmured, shivering as his lips brushed across her neck, and then lower, light kisses along her collarbone and then lower still.

He did show her how much he loved her. He showed her all night long.

Love is patient.

And true love forgives.

EPILOGUE

THEBESTMONTHSto visit the Caribbean were in the fall, between October and December, and as Rocco wanted the children to grow up with an American Thanksgiving, they began to go to their island late November, where they’d remain until mid-December, when they’d return to the seaside villa outside Rome.

Adriano was always thrilled to return to the island. Fortunately, so were his younger brothers and sister as each arrived, growing from infants to toddlers and from toddlers to proper playmates. Adriano was always very careful to teach them about the dangers of the ocean, as well as all the different fountains and pools.

One early December when Adriano was nine years old, Clare emerged from the house with arms filled with towels as they were all going to the pool for a swim. The children were waiting for her on the patio, but she could hear Adriano speaking quite sternly to his five-year-old brother, four-year-old sister and the two-year-old baby, Jaco, whom Adriano was holding by the hand.

“See this,” Adriano said gesturing to the infinity pool that overlooked the ocean, “this is dangerous. You can drown, Jaco. If you fell in you’d die. So never,evergo near the pool or touch the water unless Mama and Papa are with you.”

Hidden by the shadow of a potted tree, Clare bit her lip, fighting her smile, proud of her very responsible oldest son. Adriano was more like Rocco than any of the younger ones. Five-year-old Marcus was the wild one, constantly on the go. Four-year-old Daniela was a little timid but terribly loyal and sweet. While two-year-old Jaco was in awe of the older siblings.

Adriano wasn’t just a good brother, but a good son, always aware of the dangers, and determined to protect his family. He didn’t like risk. He thought carefully about potential problems, and never believed that one nanny should watch all the kids because something could still happen.

“But I can swim,” Marcus said exasperated, annoyed that Adriano was once again giving a lecture. “I swim even better than you, Adriano.”

Daniela made a gasping sound. “Adriano is a great swimmer. He is the best, Marcus, and he’s the oldest.”

Rocco emerged then from the house, joining Clare in the shadows of the tree. He saw her watching the children, and whispered, “Who are we spying on, and why?”

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