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“Married people are supposed to share things, sweetheart.” He licks the rest of the juice off his lips, then off his fingers. “To be honest, I didn’t make any for myself.”
“Your mistake, not mine, mister,” I murmur with a smile. “But since I want to start this off being a great wife, I’ll share with you.”
He chuckles. “Oh, thank you.”
The casual intimacy of us joking around and teasing each other makes my belly flutter. I drag the food tray to the center, and we dig into the meal in comfortable silence. I’m saving it all to my memory, because these happy moments with him are just like I dreamed. Marco must sense the direction of my thoughts, because his hand finds my knee under the covers, resting there like it’s always belonged.
“So…” I set down my fork, wrap my hands around my coffee mug, and let the warmth seep into my palms. “What about the honeymoon? We never actually planned one, what with the shoot-out, the interrogation, and the whole almost-dying situation.”
“We were a little busy.” His thumb traces slow, hypnotic circles on my knee. “But I have ideas.”
“Oh yeah?” I raise an eyebrow as heat climbs my cheeks. “Do elaborate.”
“I’m thinking…a private cottage on a beach that no one else knows about and you in very little clothing for days. Maybe weeks.”
The blush spreads down my neck. “That sounds more like a fantasy than a plan.”
“It’s both.” He bends forward and kisses the corner of my mouth with his soft lips. “I’m very good at multitasking. Fantasies become plans. You’ll learn this about me.”
I’m about to volley back when he draws away. The change in his expression is subtle, but I’ve learned to read him.
“I have one more thing for you.” He pulls out a folder from the nightstand that I hadn’t noticed, its edges crisp and unmarked. “A wedding present of sorts.”
I take it, confused, and when I open it, photos of a building spill out. The first shows three stories of brick wall and large windows that I immediately recognize as the vacant storefront two blocks from the hospital, the one with the faded “For Lease” sign out front. I’ve walked past it a thousand times.
Each photo reveals the square footage in detailed diagrams. He planned a clinic on the first floor, a gym on the second, and the entire third floor is open and big enough for a residence that could contain enough bedrooms and bathrooms for whatever suits our purposes.
I glance up at him, and the question comes out thin. “How did you know I liked this place?”
“Jenna told me you always mentioned it when you guys drove by.” He’s watching me carefully, like he’s not sure whether I’ll laugh or cry but will accept either outcome. “You talked about what you’d do if you could start a practice there, so I’ve drawn up options. You could have a clinic, run a service that doesn’t turn anyone away. I could build a gym and a community where kids could learn to defend themselves while also teaching them about responsibility. And the top floor could be a proper living space. Our home.”
When I shared this dream with Jenna, I never imagined I’d be handing out a map to my heart that my husband could follow back to me.
“It’s ours.” His voice is vulnerable and stripped of all his usual armor. “Your name’s on the deed. Mine’s on the mortgage. We can build this together.”
I set the folder down, trying to blink back the mist in my eyes. The paper rustles as the photographs slide against each other. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything.” He gathers me against his chest, his arms encircling me like they’re the only force keeping me together. “I just wanted you to have a place of your own. This isn’t about me or my world or any of the chaos we’re still wading through. It’s for you.”
My tears spill in quiet, controlled heaves that leave me breathless but lighter, like a knot has been cut loose. Marco cradles me through it, his hand stroking my hair, his heartbeat steady under my ear, and his breath warm against my skin.
When I finally draw back, my voice is wrecked. “I don’t deserve you. That’s the truth.”
“That’s not how this works, tesoro.” He rests his forehead on mine, his right hand reaching up to thumb away my tears. “We choose each other every day, both when it’s easy and when it’s hard. That’s the deal.”
I sit up straighter to kiss him, but the abrupt ringing of my phone interrupts us. Jenna’s name flashes on the screen.
“Mrs. Santori, get dressed and get out here. Everyone’s waiting, and Sophia will kill me if you’re late.” She hangs up before I can respond.
“The reception?” Marco raises an eyebrow.
“Apparently our famiglia has thrown us a party.” I grab his hand and pull him off the bed. “We can’t keep them waiting.”
Twenty minutes later, after reaching past everything new in the closet for the one garment that feels like me—the green dress Sophia swears makes my eyes otherworldly—and watching Marco button a fresh shirt with the focused precision of a man more comfortable loading a weapon, we wander over to the compound’s east garden and weave through the crowd. Sophia has transformed the space by threading string lights through the old olive trees, and long tables covered in white linen feature enough food to feed a small army.
The Benedetti famiglia has turned out in force, and for once, the guns are hidden, the guards are relaxed, and the only agenda is toasting the new couple until the champagne runs out.
Half an hour into the party, I’m dancing with Jenna and giggling at her description of the capos attempting the chicken dance when Enzo’s voice cuts through the noise.
