Page 98 of Dangerous Deception

“I love you too,” I say, pressing another kiss to his lips.

“What?” Open surprise washes over Raffaele’s face. “You don’t have to say it back to me, you know.”

“I know. But it’s true. You make me feel safe and protected. Loved. You stood by me through Marie, even when I was being an ass to you. You came for me and put your life on the line for me. You’ve never once belittled my art or tried to persuade me to give up on the hospital. Except for when you forbade me to leave, but even then, you didn’t make me feel bad for my passions. You make me feel supported. And the day I found out I was pregnant, I was excited. Scared, sure, but a part of me was excited because it means a future with you. A real future.”

By the time I pause, tears shine in Raffaele’s eyes.

“So I mean it,” I say, my voice betraying the wobbling emotions inside me. “I love you, Raffaele.”

“I love you too.” Our mouths clash together in a fierce kiss that differs from the usual passionate, biting kisses. This one is deep as we pour every ounce of our love and truth into the kiss, as if we can imprint on one another so neither of us will forget just how loved we are by the other.

“Thank you,” Raffaele says, pulling me close in his arms. “Thank you for bringing color back into my world.”

EPILOGUE

It’s February twenty-third. The sun is shining, peeking out from behind white, fluffy clouds. The air is filled with laughter and music and my heart is overflowing with love.

Raffaele carries me in his arms like I weigh no more than the baby nestled in my own arms.

Our baby.

Our darling little Lucille was born happy and healthy, with eyes as blue as my own and a mop of blonde hair matching her father's. I’d read countless books in the later stages of my pregnancy to try and prepare myself for what it would be like when she was really here in my arms, but the books turned out to be useless.

Nothing could prepare me for the sheer joy of holding my baby in my arms for the first time, nor the overwhelming surge of warmth that flooded up from the depths of my soul. It was also the first time I ever saw Raffaele properly cry.

“Comfortable?” Raffaele sets me down on one of the loungers next to the pool and quickly drags one of the heaters closer.

“Very.” I smile up at him. “Although the heater might be too much. We are in Italy.”

“It’s still cold for a baby,” Raffaele insists. “We’re taking no chances.”

“Of course not. Come here.” I motion him closer with a finger, and once he’s within reach, I grasp his tie and jerk him down for a kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

We moved to Italy not long after Caterina was released from the hospital. I didn’t want to be pregnant or raise my baby anywhere near the toxicity my father had left behind, and not just what he did to the water. There was so much bad energy around the property that coming to Italy to live out my pregnancy and the early months of Lucille’s life was the best choice.

And it’s been beautiful. The air has always been crisp and fresh. Winter was cold, but the snow was incredible, and ringing in the New Year at the vineyard was just perfect. Now, Lucille is here and our little family is complete.

“Sit with me.” I pat the space next to me. “Please?”

“Always.” Raffaele sits beside me and leans down, lightly kissing Lucille’s sleeping face. “She looks exactly like you when you sleep.”

“What, all wrinkly and old?”

“No.” Raffaele laughs softly. “Sweet. Cute.”

“Mmhmm. I think you just don’t want to admit that our darling baby looks like an old man.”

“She does a bit.” He grins. “She’ll grow out of it. Here.” He offers his fingers and pops a grape into my mouth. “She’ll be as stunning as you.”

“I know,” I say, chewing around the sweetness. “We made something perfect.”

So much has changed in the last year that it’s hard to believe I’m even here. The loss of a fiancé, a wedding to a man I hated, a whirlwind romance, the loss of my best friend, and the startof my hospital empire, followed by the insane revelation that my father was poisoning the water supply for his Irish overlords because all he cared about were money and power.

Now, the Irish powerhouse lies in dust at our feet with their dreams of a hold on the government in absolute tatters. Caterina is surviving and healing not just her physical wounds from the attack, but also her mental scars. Although, as I glance across at her leaning over the wall and flirting openly with the groundskeeper on the other side, I get the distinct impression that she’ll be healing faster rather soon.

“Vito was here earlier,” Raffaele says. “He’ll be back for dinner.”

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