For her and Riccardo this past year had been simply a twist in the road of a lifetime together.
And tomorrow was another day.
EPILOGUE
Westchester, New York
“I DON’T KNOW about you, but I think he needs a strong, manly name to match his personality.”
“Papà.”
One-and-a-half-year-old Marco ducked under Lilly’s arm and ran as fast as his short, stumpy legs would carry him across the terrace to where her husband stood, indecently attractive in a navy pinstriped suit. Her heart contracted as her son flung himself around Riccardo’s legs. The two males had a love affair going on that was a joy to watch.
She would normally have let herself drool a little longer over the suit that set off her husband’s swarthy good looks to perfection, but the squirming bundle of fluff in his arms demanded her attention.
It looked suspiciously like a chocolate-brown Labrador Retriever puppy.
“Cucciolo!” Marco squealed, tugging on his father’s pant leg. “Giù,” he ordered, in an imperious tone that was already so close to his father’s Lilly was afraid he was going to skip the baby stage entirely and move straight to domination.
Riccardo bent and set the puppy on the ground. Marco grabbed onto its fur so hard the puppy backed up and cowered against Riccardo’s leg.
“Dolcemente,” her husband instructed, scooping the puppy up in one arm and Marco in the other. “You are a brute, Marco De Campo.”
“Just like his daddy.” Lilly sighed. “Well, most of the time anyway,” she teased, standing up on tiptoe to kiss him. But between the squirming, licking puppy and the delighted Marco it was a pretty fruitless effort.
“Hold that thought,” Riccardo murmured. “I have a surprise for you too, but you’ll get it later.”
Heat rose to her face.
He laughed—a low, sexy rumble that did jittery things to her insides. “That is a given, tesoro. But I also stumbled upon something else I thought you’d like.”
Mortified that her thoughts always seemed to involve her husband and some sort of naked activity, she took the puppy from him and felt her heart melt at the tiny bundle of fur, the big brown eyes and giant paws. “I thought this was happening in the spring?”
He lifted his shoulders. “The breeder had someone cancel at the last minute. I made the mistake of going to see him, and well...”
She smiled as the puppy licked her face with boundless enthusiasm. “I wouldn’t have been able to resist him either.”
“His name’s Dutch. But we can rename him.”
She lifted a brow.
“Dutch chocolate?”
She hated it. “We’ll rename.”
“Thought so. You were about to swim?”
She nodded. “We didn’t expect you for hours.”
Her husband’s gaze rested on her face with that singular intensity he devoted to everything he focused on. “I ducked out early. I missed you.”
A lump formed in her throat. Her life was as close to perfect as a life could be. So perfect, in fact, that some days when it seemed too perfect, as if it could never last, she retreated to the back porch of the house here in Westchester, where they’d move for the summer, and stayed there until her heart stopped racing and the feeling went away. It was where Riccardo inevitably found her. And instinctively he’d always know what to say, because this beautiful, autocratic man who’d suffered plenty of his own heartaches knew her better than anyone.
He’d been there every step of the way.
She ran her fingers down the hard lines of his face. They still had their blow-outs—and, boy, were they blow-outs when they happened. That had never changed. But they were few and far between, and beneficial from the point of view that they both got their feelings out and moved on.
Marco scrunched up his face and shoved a beefy little hand against Riccardo’s chest. “Swim. Cucciolo.”
Lilly laughed. “Maybe no swimming for the puppy today. But we can.”
They splashed in the shallow end of the pool and Riccardo changed, then joined them. Lilly sat on the edge of the pool, dangling her legs in the water while her husband tossed Marco high. Her son’s delighted yelps filled the air.
Her husband lifted a brow. “Enjoying your part-time life?”
“Oh, yes.” She’d opted to cut back to part-time hours after Marco had been born, sharing her workload with another physiotherapist who also had a family. It allowed her to focus on work and her family, and she was loving every minute of it.
Marco slapped his hand on the water and sprayed water in Riccardo’s face. Her lips curved. He was not only a solid little dark-haired mirror image of his father he was just as much of a daredevil. Fearless. Willing to try everything. Nothing like his mother had been like as a child. And she was glad for that.
Marco Alfonso De Campo. Named after Riccardo’s racing hero and former teammate Marco Agostino, who’d died in a crash just weeks before their Marco had been born. His second name was after Riccardo’s grandfather, who had built the first De Campo vineyard in Tuscany.
She blinked, her eyes stinging with the bittersweet emotion that seemed to define her life now. With the naming of Marco her husband seemed to have moved on, to have made amends with the past. He no longer shut down if racing came up. He acknowledged the subject, then moved on.
She had moved on too. It would never be a perfect relationship, but she was making strides with her parents. They were in love with Marco, and she visited a few times a year to give them a chance to spend time together. And somehow that was enough.
Riccardo caught her eye across the water. “Lisbeth’s met an investment banker. She had stars in her eyes when he dropped her off the other night.”
Oh, no. Of all the men in New York, investment bankers had to be the most arrogant. “Did you do something about it?”
A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “What was I supposed to do? Put the fear of God in him?”
“Yes. You should have.” Her sister had been in remission for six months now. She’d come to live with them in New York after her treatment and was set to start college in the fall. She was so much like her former vibrant self it felt almost as if a miracle had happened, but Lilly was still fiercely protective of her. She was so vulnerable in so many ways.
But then again, she reminded herself, she’d been the same way when she’d moved to New York, and it had done her a world of good to stand on her own two feet in a city as tough as Manhattan.
“On second thought,” she murmured, “maybe this is a good thing. She should have her heart broken a few times. It’ll teach her how to deal with you alpha males.”
His dark eyes glittered. “Maybe so. You’ve figured out how to have this one hopelessly within your power.”
She glanced at him from beneath lowered lashes. “You think so?”
“Undoubtedly.”
She put the heat in his gaze on hold while they enjoyed the afternoon, took care of the puppy, then fed and put their son to bed. Riccardo read to Marco while she changed. Her soft, cream-colored jersey dress that showed an ample amount of cleavage was meant to put his theory to the test. Her husband’s deep velvet stare as she walked out onto the terrace gave her the answer she was looking for.
Just tamable enough.
He finished mixing their drinks. “New dress?”
“Yes.”
“Come here.”
Her heart went pitter-patter in her chest as she closed the distance between them. “What is that?” she questioned, staring at the murky dark liquid in the glass he handed her.
A satisfied smile touched his lips. “It so happens Lewis, our Bajan bartender friend, has become an international celebrity. The recipe for his house specialty has made it into one of the top food and beverage magazines.”
“You’re kidding?”
“Would I lie to you about something like that? He calls it his ‘love potion’. The ‘ultimate aphrodisiac.’”
An all-over body flush consumed her. A love potion? She could only think of three words. Hottest. Sex. Ever.
Riccardo read her expression. “Exactly,” he drawled. “Drink up.”
She took a sip. “Doesn’t taste any better than I remember.”
“It gets better the more you drink. Remember that?”
She sipped on the potent drink, wincing as the alcohol hit her empty stomach.
“What’s that?” she asked, pointing at the tabloid he’d set on the bar. “I thought we weren’t reading that stuff.”
“You should read Jay Kaiken’s column.”
Ugh. “Really?”
“Yes. Read it.”
She took another sip of her drink, thinking she might need it. Jay Kaiken’s column was an account of the posh benefit she and Riccardo had attended for former supermodel Gillian King’s Manhattan clinic for eating disorders. A friend of Gillian’s, Lilly had instantly seen the value of a place where women could go to be surrounded by those who were going through the same thing they were. And when Gillian had asked her to speak at the event she’d decided it was time for her to tell her story publicly. Even if it only helped one person, that was enough.