Prologue
FRANKIE
I’ve never met a man like Rico Correa.
He’s hotter than a Calvin Klein underwear model, he brings me a single red rose every time we meet, and when he whispers in my ear in Italiano it makes me shiver down to my toes.
And the best part is, he’s all mine.
The Tuscan sun glows overhead as we walk along a path beside the sea.
The water is pure turquoise here, dotted with tiny waves that sparkle like diamonds glittering on the surface.
We’ve spent the day strolling across the sandy beach of Spiaggia delle Marze and through the cool, dappled shade of the sweet scented pines of Pineta del Tombolo.
We stop every so often to frolic in the water or get snacks from seaside vendors: bomboloni—airy Italian donuts filled with pastry cream—and cool coconut gelato, paper cones filled with a mix of fried seafood called fritto misto, and skewers of tomato, basil, and mozzarella drizzled with olive oil and fresh herbs.
The scent of the Tyrrhenian Sea is clear and invigorating.
An ancient stone wall acts as a crumbling barrier between us and a steep incline leading to the white sand below.
I pause and pull Rico close to me, then angle my cell phone high to take a selfie of us. I love the way his golden Mediterranean skin contrasts with my peachy complexion, his dark hair against my blonde, his deep brown eyes next to my blue ones.
“How did it come out?” Rico asks afterward.
“What do you think?” Grinning, I tilt the screen toward him so he can see the photo.
It turned out Insta perfect—so much so that I don’t even need to use a filter. Which, naturally. We look perfect together and we’re on the coast of freaking Italy.
He wraps a strong, muscular arm around me and pulls me against his chest. His heart beats steadily beneath my cheek and butterflies explode in my middle as I breathe in the scent of his cologne.
It’s been weeks of this, him and me, spending every free minute together.
He dotes on me, gazing into my eyes as he strokes my hair or my cheek, kissing me constantly, holding my hand, calling me bella—beautiful.
No man has ever paid this much attention to me, or made me feel like this when his mouth is on mine, when our bodies are interlocked.
That’s how I know that what we have is real.
This is what love feels like.
I post the photo to my social media and then pull Rico close for another. I can’t help ogling that one, too. His jawline is amazing. So is the way his mussed hair falls across his brow.
“We are perfect together, Francesca,” he murmurs in his sexy, Italian-accented English.
“I was just thinking that,” I say with a smile, but when I try to show him the picture he barely glances at it.
Instead, he drops to one knee, looks up at me…and pulls out a small diamond ring.