“It’s so exciting to meet someone who remembers Papa,” she choked out.
“Yes, we were at school together,” the woman confirmed. “He was a few years older than me, and always in trouble. He had the devil in him, that one.”
“His daughter is just the same,” I smiled, gazing at Caro.
The woman laughed. “And how is dear Marco? Did he make his fortune in America like he said? He was crazy for your American movies. Said he was going to be a big star, like Valentino.”
Caro swallowed and her body tensed, unable to get the words out.
“Mr. Venzi died some years ago,” I answered for her.
“Ah, I see,” the woman said, her smile faltering. “Forgive me, young woman, my condolences. Your father was always so full of spirit. Too big for this little town.”
“Do you know if he had any relatives here?” I asked, trying to move the subject on from memories that were painful for Caro.
“Well, there was his mother, but she died a long time ago. Marco had a sister who was much older than him, I remember. But she married and moved away, to Naples, I think. I’m sorry, I don’t remember the name of the man she married, so that’s all I can tell you.”
Caro looked devastated. The woman ducked her head in sympathy and left us alone.
“We could try and find her,” I suggested. “She might have had kids—you could have cousins you don’t know about.”
Caro took a trembling breath, making an effort to pull herself together. God, she was so strong.
“Yes, I might,” she acknowledged, forcing a watery smile. “I probably do.” Then she closed her eyes and shook her head slowly. “It doesn’t matter, Sebastian. Signora Carello was right: even if there are cousins, they’re not my family—not really. I have my friends…” she paused. “And I have you. You’re my family now.”
I’d waited so many fucking years to hear that. It almost destroyed me that she said it here, now, in the village where her father had been born. I’d only known Marco Venzi for two short weeks, but in that time he taught me more about family than my own parents had in 27 years. And now I was here with his daughter—a woman I loved more than life.
My heart thundered in my chest and I started to panic, wondering what the fuck I was doing. What did I have to offer a woman like Caro? Nothing. Fuck all. Just my heart and soul—and I didn’t know if that would be enough.
My head dropped and I held onto Caro’s hand like a drowning man holds onto a life preserver. I kissed her fingers reverently, then on shaky legs, I sank to one knee.
“Carolina Maria Venzi: I love you, and I want to spend my life with you. Will you marry me?”
And then I waited. Shock registered on her face and I swear my heart stopped. But then she took a deep breath, and a gentle smile spread across her lips.
“I love you, too, Sebastian. And the answer is yes.”
I let out a shout of pure fucking joy and leapt to my feet, pulling her into his arms, squeezing her so hard that she gasped. She rested her head over my heart, and I thought it would leap out of my fucking chest.
When I spoke, I hardly recognized my voice, it sounded so choked.
“I’ll do everything to make you happy, I promise, Caro. Everything, baby. You are my life.”
“And you are mine, tesoro,” she whispered. “We’ll find a way—we always do.”
I collapsed back onto the hard, wooden seat and pulled her onto my lap, burying my face in her hair, kissing her neck.
Then my head slammed back, knocking against the wall hard enough to shake some sense into me.
“Oh, fuck!”
Stupid useless, clueless, pathetic jarhead!
“What? What’s wrong?” she asked nervously.
“I forgot to give you the fucking ring. Fuck it! I wanted this to be so smooth. I said it enough times in my head.”
She started to smile, and her hand covered her mouth as if she was holding back laughter. I couldn’t blame her—I was a freakin’ idiot.
“You did? You practiced this?”
She had no idea.
I grinned at her, slightly embarrassed. “Yeah, once or twice. Maybe a few times more … maybe a lot of times more… Ah, fuck it, Caro. See if the damn thing fits.”
I yanked the ring box out of my pocket and slapped it down onto the table. By now Caro was laughing at me openly; it was catching.
“You’re in danger of sweeping me off my feet again, Sebastian,” she laughed, the sound wrapping around my heart and warming it. “How can I resist such sweet words: I’ll treasure your proposal forever, ‘See if the damn thing fits’.”
Then she opened the box. It wasn’t the biggest diamond ever, but I knew she wouldn’t want anything too showy. Besides, her hands were so tiny, anything bigger would have looked like bling—and my Caro was nothing but fuckin’ classy. Besides, it was a blue-white diamond—the best quality you could buy. Or so the jeweler had told me.
The diamond threw rainbows across the table as she stared at it.
“Sebastian, it’s beautiful!” she gasped. “Where on earth did you get it … and when?”
“Try it on,” I suggested, lifting the ring out of the box and sliding it onto the third finger of her left hand. I hoped she couldn’t see my own hands shaking. “Perfect,” I said quietly.
“Yes, it is. Thank you, tesoro.”
She twisted around to kiss me, and I felt like I’d single-handedly raised the Stars and Stripes at Iwo Jima.
“So, fiancé,” she said, “what should we do now?”
The name took me by surprise. I guess my brain was still parked in neutral.
“Wow, fiancé, huh? I didn’t think it could sound so cool.”
“I disagree, Sebastian,” she said, her voice sultry. “I think it sounds hot. Maybe we can agree to disagree, or just accept that it’s an all-temperature sort of title.”
I laughed loudly, happiness filling me that I never thought I’d feel again.
“Well, fiancée,” I grinned, “I thought we could check out those gnarly bends on the Amalfi coast. What do you think?”
“I think you’re crazy, probably certifiable, and I’m horribly afraid it’s contagious.”
I winked at her, holding out my hand as we left the village behind, having made our promise to live our lives together.
Fuck me, that felt good.
And now for part two of my plan to sweep her off her feet and convince her that marrying me was a good idea.
I don’t remember the walk back to Signora Carello’s villa. I just remember the sensation of the sun on my face, Caro’s hand in mine, and happiness in my heart.
That memory would be the one perfect thing in my life.
But if I knew then what was coming, I’m not sure I’d ever have left Italy.
Signora Carello was standing in her garden, watering the plants.
“Did you have any luck finding your family, my dear?” she asked kindly.
“Yes, I did,” said Caro, smiling up at me, her ring glinting in the sunlight.
Signora Carello clapped her hands together and kissed us each three times.
“Oh, felicitations, congratulazioni per il vostro fidanzamento, my children! I’m so happy for you.”
I couldn’t shake the feeling that this is what it would be like having a mom who cared, or maybe a grandmother. I wasn’t too good at judging women’s ages, but the signora must have been pushing 70, at least.
“And now for your surprise?” she said, patting me on the arm. “But some lunch before you go? I was going to fix myself insalata tricolore—you’re welcome to join me.”
Caro nodded her agreement, and we ate lunch in the signora’s backyard, enjoying the peace. Being this happy was energizing and exhausting all at the same time. Weird.
“So, when will you marry?” Signora Carello asked, as we sipped our coffees.
We answered simultaneously.
“I don’t know,” said Caro.
“As soon as possible,” I replied.
The signora laughed.
“Oh, you two have some talking to do, I can see that. Never mind, my dears, you’ll work it out. Have you decided where you’ll live?”