Page 150 of Bottles & Blades

His brows furrow and I table the paranoia. No one has seen or heard from Angela since that night at the arena six months ago—a good thing for her, considering the FBI has issued a warrant for her.

There’s no way she’s here in Italy.

That requires visas and passports and…

Well, showing her face.

So, I shrug off the weirdness, lift up on tiptoe, and press my lips to his cheek.

“I saw a gelato stand,” I say. “Can we get some?”

“Beforedinner?” he teases.

“The Italians eat late,” I argue, even though he’s already giving in and drawing me over to the shop filled with mounds of delicious-looking gelato. “So we need something to tide us over.”

A couple of minutes later, we both have cones and we’re walking toward the center of Florence. The Arno river flows quietly, halving the city, and we pause, admiring the view as we finish our gelato.

Breeze ruffles my hair, the sun sinks lower in the sky, and I lean back against the man I love.

At least until he takes my hand.

“Come with me.”

“More orders.” I mutter.

That earns me a grin and a light swat on my bottom as he starts us walking along the river again. We pass some of the famous bridges—and then themostfamous one, the Ponte Santa Trinita, with its four statues at the ends that symbolize the four seasons.

But it’s not until we’re walking up a flight of stairs and he’s drawing me out onto a balcony that my mind finally clues into what the look he and Marie had shared earlier was about.

What they wereplanning.

A round, marble table is pushed close to the balcony’s railing and set with gorgeous flatware and plates and glasses. Roses and—myheartcan’t take this—Ranunculus Persian Buttercups fill silver vases.

I turn to the man who owns me, body and soul.

Only he’s no longer standing beside me.

He’skneeling.

“Jean-Mi.”I whisper, my hand coming to my throat, my heart threatening to pound out of my chest.

He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a box.

“Oh my God,” I whisper.

Then again when he opens the lid, shows me the gorgeous ring inside.

“Buttercup, will you?—”

“Yes!” I squeal, dropping to my knees in front of him, throwing my arms around his shoulders. I know I’m stepping on his spiel, cutting off what was probably a practiced speech.

But there’s never any question of forever.

Not when it comes to this man.

He chuckles then stands, drawing me to my feet, touching my cheek. “Now that I have the answer…” His lips quirk, but he kneels again, ring up, free hand wrapped around mine. “I’ll ask the question.”

I nibble at my bottom lip, strive for patience when all I want to do is kiss him.

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