Paradise Found: Cain (Paradise #2)(45)

“I …” I brushed back damp hair from her forehead. It was too much to look into those inquisitive blue eyes. “Because I believe that you’re good for me. Too good for me, but I want you all the same. I feel a strange calmness with you. A peace, I’ve never known. I want to feel it all the time, and you’ll be my salvation.”

We were silent for a moment, while I continued to comb back her hair. It was only when I finally found the courage to meet her eyes that she spoke.

“Yes,” she whispered and I claimed her mouth. We couldn’t repeat what we’d just done as a way to seal this commitment. We were both spent, but in another twenty minutes, we were going to go again. I was going to remind her repeatedly why she should be my wife.

“I promise to be true to you,” I said, needing her to feel my words, as I returned to kissing her after I spoke them. My hands delved into her hair and held her head steady, while my body folded over hers again. I wanted her to accept my apology. I needed her to know that it would only be her from this day forward.

Within minutes, I was hard, but I took my time to kiss her, reinforcing my words. I wanted more words, three important words, but I would take her yes and savor it, like I savored her. Our mouths meshed and melded to one another, like they had earlier in the day. I assumed that kiss would be my last with her, and yet here we were, promising to make more kisses, make more love to one another. As much as I wanted to f*ck her hard, I enjoyed loving her soft. She responded to me like no other, and our connection was unlike anything I’d ever felt with another.

We eventually broke off with slowing pecks and I told her I wanted to take her home. We dressed quietly, then gathered the picnic items. She drove the golf cart through the darkened paths of the vineyard and pulled up silently next to the private entrance. I didn’t worry about sneaking into her room; her great-grandfather knew our secret. It was one of many hurdles to cross, the greatest of which would be my father.

As we entered the back door that led to the family kitchen, we were bombarded by bright lights and two older people sipping coffee at a table. Her grandmother looked like Sofie might in fifty years. Dull, dark hair, but eyes still bright, though brown, compared to Sofie’s blue. It was the grandfather at the table whose eyes sparkled like hers. Both pairs of eyes looked concerned.

“Bella, tell me it not true,” the grandfather spoke in broken English.

“Sweetheart, are you married?” her grandmother added.

Sofie stood perfectly still, and I decided I needed to make a statement on her behalf. Reaching for her hand, she entwined her fingers with mine. I stepped further forward, and then extended a hand to introduce myself.

“Cain Callahan, sir,” I spoke to her grandfather first.

“Francisco Vincentia,” he muttered in a heavy Italian accent.

“Isabelle Vincentia,” her grandmother said meekly, almost shyly. She flushed like I’d seen women do around me. She wasn’t flirting, though. It occurred to me that she was now family. I didn’t have grandparents.

“Sofie?” Francisco questioned. The disappointment in his voice was clear and Sofie broke into tears instantly. She didn’t want to upset them. I understood that, but she belonged with me, and I didn’t want her to be ashamed of us.

He extended his arms for her and she folded into him. Her grandmother rubbed her back, then looked up at me. Her eyes questioned how, when, and why me, and I hated that look of trepidation in her dark eyes. I didn’t need their approval, but for Sofie’s sake, I wanted it.

“I’d like to have a wedding here, someday. We could renew our vows,” I offered as a form of retribution.

“Did you get married in a church?” her grandmother suddenly asked, appalled that the answer might be anything other than that truth. We’d been married here, right under their noses, while they slept in their marriage bed, and Sofie and I drank too much. Sofie peeked at me from where she was enveloped in her grandfather’s arms. She nodded to let me know I had to lie.

“Well, we must celebrate,” Mrs. Vincentia decided, taking a deep breath as she scanned down my arms. She was doing the most to make the best of what was a difficult situation for them. Sofie had never done anything to cause them concern in the past. She was the dutiful grandchild, who did as she was instructed and didn’t need reminding. She never gave them cause to punish her or question her motives. She never talked back to them, because she didn’t have to stand up for herself. She didn’t have to fight to protect siblings. I didn’t begrudge her, but I couldn’t support the disapproval of her grandparents. Sofie had done nothing wrong.

She must have sensed my irritation because she reached for me. Her hand wrapped around my arm, and she coiled her arms around it, holding onto me. Her grandfather eyed the motion as her hands covered the exposed tattoos. Her grandmother watched Sofie. Their gazes were heat lamps, the pressure oppressive. Their scrutinizing eyes inspected me for signs of danger. Sofie gripped tighter. She was rubbing up and down my arm so aggressively, I thought she’d peel the skin off of me, as if underneath was a different layer that her grandparents would approve of.

Holding out a small glass of wine for each of us, her grandfather raised the glass.

“Salute. Amore. Felicità,” her grandmother offered and Sofie translated. Health. Love. Happiness. We toasted then I drank the wine in one swallow and wiped at my forehead. Meeting her family in this manner was stressful, but nothing compared to what announcing her to my father would entail. We spent a few more moments in awkward explanation of how we were recently married but were keeping it a secret due to my profession. We surprisingly worked well together, feeding off one another to build a story that sounded plausible. When we finally made our exiting good night, Sofie led me to her room.