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Maddie nodded her agreement, watching as Marcia wandered off to the other side of the garden, her eyes chasing the view of the rolling Tuscan countryside.
“She is a little demanding but it’s no matter, eh?” Lilliana said, when they were alone, rubbing her fingers and thumb together in a gesture of money.
Maddie diplomatically stayed silent. “I’ll need a marquee set up on sight—or a room from which to work—and a cold room dedicated to flower storage, ideally with battery backup.”
Lilliana’s eyes widened.
“This is a serious amount of flowers. The cost alone will be enormous, let alone my labor. I’ll need to start immediately to satisfy Marcia’s requirements.”
“Of course.” The coordinator scanned her phone, pressed a few buttons then nodded. “My assistant will arrange it by the end of the day.”
Money sure could talk, Maddie thought, taking her leave of the meeting and walking on a crunchy gravel path around the outskirts of the stunning villa. It was Rocco’s cousins’ family home, the place they’d grown up, but according to Rocco, he’d also spent a lot of time here, and she couldn’t look around the lush gardens and rolling hills without imagining him here. As a little boy, an adolescent, as he was now, a fully grown man who took such pride in this family, and his place in it.
Unexpectedly, in a way that brought her to a complete standstill, a lump formed in her throat, a hard lodging of emotions that made the world stop spinning.
This, right here, this, was everything she’d ever wanted.
The security that came from a home like this. The love of a big, entwined family. Siblings, cousins, parents. It was all just so perfect, so ideal. A ripple of jealousy tugged her lips downwards, but not jealousy in the traditional sense. There was no accompanying resentment of Rocco, just a frustration at what she’d never had, and always wanted.
Oh, her grandparents had done their best. They’d loved Maddie in a way that left her in little doubt as to how badly they wanted her to be with them, and it had been almost enough to patch together the hole in her heart. Almost, but not quite. Her mother had dug it too deep, had practically cut the damned thing in half. But this? This many people, this much noise, this much love? It would be impossible to doubt yourself here, impossible to doubt how loved and wanted and necessary you were. Impossible to wonder if you were the reason your mother left, if you were so unlovable, so unworthy, that even your own parents didn’t want a bar of your existence.
Her eyes stung with the threat of tears, and she blinked quickly, unwilling to take even the smallest risk of being spotted having an emotional moment in the gardens of this stunning villa. She sucked in a breath and, with her emotions still in a state of turmoil, stepped off the path and onto the lawn, looking around to be sure she was alone as she made her way towards a rich patch of garden sloping away from the house.
Rocco watched from the upstairs window. He’d caught sight of her quite by chance—he’d been heading to Dante’s office, having promised his cousin and good friend a private chat once he arrived. No doubt Dante had thoughts on Raf’s wedding, thoughts that were too delicate to air publicly. Neither of them cared for Marcia, but Dante was the only one Rocco had been honest with about how they’d met. The fact she’d hit on him, before realizing he was connected with Raf.
And he’d damned near taken her up on it because he hadn’t known she was dating his brother. Despite her obvious beauty, there had been something about Marcia, though, that Rocco hadn’t liked. Something he hadn’t trusted—a quality that had seemed conniving to him. He’d turned her down, flatly, and the next time they’d met, she’d been attending a charity benefit on Raf’s arm. They’d been dating three months.
Dante had hated her from that moment on—Rocco had tried to reserve judgement. Marcia had pleaded with him to keep the secret. It was a mistake, a terrible mistake. I’d been drinking, and I just—wasn’t thinking straight. I love your brother. Please don’t ruin this.
He’d agonized about it. Of course, he had. But after the shit show they’d lived through following his mother’s death, their father’s never-ending relationships, and his casual disrespect for women, Rocco had been secretly hopeful that Raf might have been the one brother who’d been capable of breaking the spell and actually falling in love with someone.
So, he’d sat back, biding his time at first, keeping a close eye on things, making sure Marcia didn’t misstep again. And she hadn’t, so far as he knew. They’d been together a couple of years now—what choice did Rocco have but to accept that they were the real deal? Raf seemed happy enough.
Only Dante had always had a difference of opinion with Rocco, something he’d made very clear to both him, as well as Marcia. Dante’s ultimatum had been delivered in private, but he’d spelled it out to Marcia that he was watching her, that he would never accept nor trust her, and that she should think very carefully about whether or not she was up for the fight that would come from sticking around.
Apparently, she had been.
As Rocco watched, Maddie reached for a tree, picking a small branch with several leaves and a delicate blossom, lifting it to her nose and smelling it, smiling. It was like the sun was piercing a storm. Brightness. Beauty. Warmth. He felt each of those qualities bathe him, and despite his promise to Dante, found his feet carrying him closer to the window. She twirled the branch between her finger and thumb, appearing lost in thought. His eyes were glued to her.
“Rocco, you’re here.”
Dante’s voice was as unwelcome as it was familiar. He didn’t want to look away from Maddie. He almost couldn’t. It was like some force greater than him was holding his gaze steady, locked to her, forcing him to watch her every move. But then she took a couple of steps, behind a shrub, and Dante came right up behind Rocco, putting a hand on his shoulder.
“Thinking about a race?” Dante asked with a quirked brow, reminding Rocco of the summers they’d spent tearing down that exact same hill, weaving in and out of the ancient gardens, seeing who could navigate the difficult course fastest—ideally without knocking down any of the statues that had pride of place.
“I wouldn’t put you to the humiliation,” he responded quickly, turning around and forcing a grin, holding out his hand. Dante shook it, then put an arm around Rocco’s shoulders, drawing him in for an embrace.
“It’s been too long.”
It had been a while, Dante was right. “The Hamptons business,” he explained. Then he reminded his cousin, “And your marriage, and baby.”
Dante grinned, and it was so, so heartwarming to see his smile. It had been years without. Years of Dante in mourning, after the death of his first wife and child, Dante finding it impossible to get on with any kind of a life, because of what he’d lost. Dante miserable and carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. And now he was back, their Dante, returned to them in a way they’d never dreamed possible.
“Right. Georgia can’t wait to see you.”
“I’m looking forward to that.”
“You’re staying for dinner?”
