The Consequences of That Night (At His Service #6)(54)

“Over here!” She waved her hands over the bushes, trying to make him see her. “By the orange grove!”

The garden had been transformed. Just like her life. The gold-digging supermodels of London would have been shocked and dismayed to learn that, as a billionaire’s wife, Emma now spent most of her days right here, with a dirty child, growing fruits and vegetables for their kitchen and beautiful flowers to fill the vases of their home. Except, of course, when they had to fly down to the coast and go yachting along the Mediterranean, or take the private jet to see friends in London or New York. It was nice to do such things. But nicer still, she thought, to come back to their home.

The wedding had been even better than she’d imagined. After their breathless declaration and kiss by the lake, she and Cesare had gone back to the chapel arm in arm—only to discover their guests had already given up on them and started to mill back to the villa to gossip about them over some well-deserved limoncello. Even Irene looked as if she’d almost given up hope.

They’d called them all back to the chapel, and with some small, blushing explanation, the wedding had gone forward as planned. Right up to their first married kiss, which had been so passionate that it made all the guests burst into applause, and made Emma’s toes curl as she’d thought she heard angels sing. The priest had been forced to clear his throat and gently remind them the honeymoon hadn’t quite started yet.

She exhaled. They were a family now. They were happy. Cesare still had his international empire, but he’d cut back on travel a bit. Especially since they’d found out she was pregnant again.

“Cara.” Cesare came into the clearing of the garden and took her in his arms for a long, delicious kiss. Then he knelt by their son, who was still playing in the dirt, and tousled his dark hair. “And did you have a good day, piccino?”

Watching the two of them, father and son, tears rose in Emma’s eyes. Slowly she looked over the beauty of the garden. The summer trees were thick and green, and she could see the roof of the Falconeri villa against the bright blue Italian sky. How happy her parents would be if they could see how her life had turned out. Cesare’s parents, too. She could feel their love, every time she looked at Cesare. Every time she looked at their son.

And soon, their daughter would join them. Emma’s hand ran over her huge belly. In just a few weeks, their precious daughter would be born. They had already picked her name: Elena Margaret, after her two grandmothers.

Emma felt the baby kick inside her, and smiled, putting both hands over her belly now. “You like that, do you?” she murmured, then turned her face back to the sun.

“What happened while I was gone today?” Cesare rose to his feet, a frown on his handsome face. “You are crying.”

Smiling, she shook her head, even as she felt tears streak down her cheeks.

Reaching out, he rubbed them away. “What is it?” he said anxiously. “Not some problem with the baby? With you?”

“No.” The pregnancy had been easy. She’d been healthy all the way through, in spite of Cesare’s worry. All her checkups had put her in the clear. She was safely in remission, had been for over a decade, and all her life was ahead of her. “I can’t explain. I’m just so—happy.”

“I’m happy, too,” he whispered, putting his arms around her. He gave a sudden wicked grin. “And I’ll be even happier, after Sam is tucked in bed...”

She saw what he was thinking about, in the sly seduction of his smile, and smacked him playfully on the bottom. “I’m eight months pregnant!”

“You’ve never been more beautiful.”

“Right,” she said doubtfully.

“Cara.” He cupped her face. “It’s true.”

He kissed her until she believed him, until she felt dazed, dazzled in this garden of flowers and joy. She knew they would live here for the rest of their lives. If they were lucky, they’d someday be surrounded by a half-dozen noisy children, all splashing in the lake, sliding up and down the marble hallways in their socks, screaming and laughing like banshees. She and Cesare would be the calm center of the storm. The heart of their home.

He pulled her against him, and they stood silently in the garden, watching their son play. She heard the wind through the leaves. She exhaled.

She’d gotten everything she’d ever wanted. A man who loved her, whom she loved in return. Marriage. A snug little villa. As she felt the warmth of the sun, and listened to the cheerful chatter of their son, she leaned into her husband’s embrace and thought about all the love that had existed for the generations before them. Their parents. Their parents’ parents. And the love that would now exist for generations to come.


We’re all going to die someday, her husband had once said. Emma realized he was wrong.

As long as love continued, life continued. Love had made them what they were. It had created Emma, and created Cesare. It had created Sam, and soon, their daughter. Love was what lasted. Love triumphed over death.

And anyone who truly loved, and was loved in return, would always live on—in this endlessly beautiful world.