EPILOGUE
LANASTOODBESIDESalvatore, her emerald silk evening gown brushing the smooth black of his evening jacket, leaning against him as they both gazed down at the sleeping baby in his cot.
‘He is simply the most perfect baby that ever there was!’ Lana breathed, her gaze filled with devoted love.
Salvatore’s arm came around her waist. ‘Absolutely the most perfect,’ he agreed.
For a few moments longer they stood there, gazing down in joint admiration of the son, who had been born in the early summer. Now it was August, and the palazzo, ablaze with lights,was preparing to receive its guests for the summer ball that was to take place that night. Already, through the open windows, they could hear the strains of the orchestra tuning up on the terrace, now bedecked with fairy lights, and the bustle of the staff as they made everything ready for the glittering occasion.
First, though, Lana and Salvatore were dining with their closest friends, who were staying with them at the palazzo.
Salvatore led Lana downstairs from the nursery, leaving their precious son in the reassuring charge of Signora Guardi’s niece, who would babysit for the evening.
In the saloni opposite the dining room Giuseppe was opening the champagne, and Lana paused to thank and praise him and all the staff for their efforts tonight. He bestowed a smile upon her, and Lana returned it warmly. Now she truly felt herself the chatelaine of this beautiful palazzo, she thought fondly, her eyes going to Salvatore, the man who was the love of her life. It was her home for ever, and she was no longer the imposter she had thought herself when she’d first come here, uneasy at being treated as the signora and successor to Salvatore’s mother.
Now I truly belong here!
It was a good feeling—a wonderful feeling...
The arrival of her and Salvatore’s dinner guests into the saloni drew her attention. Laura and Stephanie—both, like Lana, dressed to the nines in couture gowns and diamond jewellery—hugged Lana, and then Vito and Luc, as resplendent as Salvatore in their evening dress, bestowed hand kisses with Latin gallantry. As the champagne circulated Lana was filled with a happiness that permeated every cell of her body. How happy she was...how perfectly, absolutely happy!
Lana’s smile radiated from her and Salvatore’s breath caught, his gaze fastening on her, his heart turning over with all that he felt for her. His Lana! His wonderful, beautiful Lana! His very own most beloved of women.
My wife.
His true wife—his one and only wife—his one and only love.
He closed his eyes for a moment. Had he really once thought it was impossible to fall in love, to want to spend all his days—and, oh, all his nights!—with one woman and one alone? Had he really thought that? Now every day, every night, every waking moment gave the lie to that.
Quietly, blinking suddenly, he raised his glass a little. Giving a silent toast.
But, slight though the gesture had been Lana caught it.
She met his eyes. ‘How right she was,’ she said softly, for him alone.
She knew what he was doing, and why, as the others chatted amongst themselves, laughing with the conviviality of good friends.
‘Your mother knew you better than you knew yourself.’
She kissed him lightly on his cheek and he caught her hand, pressing it.
‘And how happy she would be, seeing you so happy.’ She paused for a moment. ‘And I think, too, you know, that your father would be happy as well, knowing you have found a happiness in marriage that he never did.’
She bit her lip for a moment, throat tightening.
‘One day you’ll be taking your son off fishing, telling him how your father taught you and now you’re teaching him.’
Salvatore smiled. ‘It will be a year or two yet, I think. And who knows...?’
A sudden glint lit his deep, dark, long-lashed eyes, sweeping over Lana in a way she knew only too well. She felt her whole body quiver, the way it always did when he looked at her like that.
‘Perhaps by then he’ll have a younger brother for me to teach to fish as well.’
‘Or a sister,’ Lana said.
‘Or a sister,’ Salvatore agreed.
He raised his glass again, to her, his beloved wife. ‘To our children and to us—and to our parents too.’