Page 160 of Unwritten Rules

My lover, and my very best friend, is a belly sleeper, and that’s how she is right at this moment as I watch her sleep. As I drink up each moment that I can, grateful for each and every precious second in her presence.

My eyes will never get their fill. Because, just as I’d told her fifteen months ago at Yankee Stadium, no amount of time will ever be enough.

“Stop that.”

I snort at Mila’s mumbled words. “I can’t.”

She spins her head to face the opposite direction. “You mean, you won’t. There’s a substantial difference, Nathaniel.”

Chuckling deeply, I ease my naked body from between the sheets, the morning breeze from across the lake blowing the sheer curtains and cooling my skin as I straddle her hips.

“Oof! What the hell?”

Running the palms of my hands along either side of the curve of her hips, I knead the soft skin, unlocking the kinks from our cycle around Lake Garda yesterday afternoon.

“Ooh.” Her tune changes instantly, and I chuckle quietly to myself. “A little higher there, grump.”

I draw her long, dark hair from her bare back, noting several small bruises from our rougher-than-usual lovemaking last night. Then, bending forward, I drop a peck on each one as she squirms beneath me.

Our trip to Italy has many reasons behind it, but primarily, at least in Mila’s eyes, it’s to celebrate our new release.

Yes, our new release.

Mila, having not one, but two, New York Times bestsellers under her belt within the last year, had come to me one rainy Sunday afternoon at the Lake House with an idea that felt so right I could never have denied her.

* * *

“Nathaniel?”

“I’m on the couch.”

Mila, barefoot and wearing a white maxi dress, looking every inch the angel that she is, floats into the living room from one of the two spare bedrooms with a shoebox in hand.

She settles herself beside me, cuddling close.

Chills race down my spine. “What is that?”

It looks uncannily similar to the one Wetherby left for me.

“Look what I found!”

Mila’s eyes are glowing with excitement as she hands me the box, tearing off the battered lid to reveal the contents within.

There are no less than ten small notebooks stacked neatly, a layer of dust covering them to indicate it’s been a while since these have been touched.

My heart clenches almost painfully when I gently lift the top one and crack the first page open to find a neat script.

PROPERTY OF ANA DE LA CRUZ

Mila’s small gasp beside me makes me tear my gaze from the box and its contents, finding her wide-eyed gaze pinning mine.

“I don’t know if we should read—”

She stops, clearly torn between wanting to know the contents and the idea of violating my mother’s privacy. I waver beside her, the same dilemma on a loop in my mind until I flip the next page, something inside me telling me that this is okay.

It feels right.

Each notebook is from a different stage of Mum’s life, from girlhood to womanhood, right into motherhood. The contents are fascinating and paint a larger-than-life picture of the love my parents shared.