Epilogue
Chiara
The sun hangs low over the water, turning the waves off the Valdez coast bronze at the edges while warm air drifts through the open terrace doors behind us.
Somewhere farther down the beach, music carries faintly from the resort bar, softened beneath the steady crash of the ocean.
Ciro stretches out beside me on the lounge chair with one arm hooked behind his head, his sunglasses pushed low on his nose while he watches me over the rim of them.
“You’ve checked your phone three times in ten minutes,” he says, lifting his beer bottle toward me slightly. “For someone supposedly on vacation, your commitment to anxiety is impressive.”
I lower the phone onto my stomach. “I’m important now.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
“It is.” I smile and turn my face back toward the sun. “Apparently, I’m intimidating in leadership meetings.”
My eyes are shut as I lay in the sun taking in the rays. “You’ve always been intimidating.”
“You say that like it’s attractive.”
“That’s because it is.”
The warmth in his voice pulls another smile out of me before I reach for the drink balanced beside my chair. Nine months ago, I was hiding behind colored contacts and fake names. Now, half the jewelry industry apparently knows exactly who I am.
And somehow the world didn’t end.
Ciro reaches over and slides his fingers slowly along the inside of my ankle.
“So, what am I going to do to you this afternoon?”
I drag my fingers through the condensation running down the side of my glass and look back toward the ocean below us. Waves roll steadily against the shore beneath the villa while the last of the afternoon light burns gold across the water.
Ciro’s thumb moves slowly against the inside of my knee where my legs rest across his lap. “I was thinking we could go back to our room and put that big shower to use.”
I lean my head back against the lounger and watch a couple walk barefoot down the beach below us before finally looking over at him. “You might be able to talk me into that.”
The corner of his mouth shifts slightly like he already knew that I struggle to say no to him.
Music carries faintly from somewhere farther down the shoreline, softened by the wind and the steady crash of the tide. The air smells like salt and sunscreen and the beer balanced loosely in Ciro’s hand.
“You know, you’ve rejected me an unreasonable number of times.”
I laugh softly. “That feels subjective.”
“It’s not subjective.” He takes another drink before handing me the bottle. “It’s statistical.”
“How many are we counting now?”
“Six.”
“Seven.” I steal another sip before giving it back. “You forgot Milan.”
His expression tightens immediately. “Milan barely counted.”
I turn toward him more fully on the lounger. “You proposed in a penthouse overlooking the Duomo.”
“I was jet lagged.”
“You hired a string quartet.”
“That could’ve happened accidentally.”
I laugh again, quieter this time, and the sound seems to pull something softer out of him too.
Ciro stretches his arm along the back of the chair behind me, his fingers brushing absently against my shoulder as the breeze pushes my hair across his chest.
“You turned me down in four countries,” he says.
“You kept asking. That sounds like you’re a glutton for punishment.”
“And you kept saying no.”
I glance back toward the water, smiling to myself. “You’re very difficult to discourage.”
“That’s one of my better qualities.”
The tide pushes farther up the beach below us while the sun drops lower behind the cliffs, catching briefly against the gold chain at his throat.
Nine months.
Nine months without pressure. Without ultimatums. Without trying to force me into a decision before I was ready to make it.
The old version of Ciro would’ve tried to control the outcome long before now.
Maybe the old version of me would’ve run from it too.
I turn my head against the cushion and look at him properly.
“You know,” I say quietly, “maybe we should get married.”
His eyebrows lift slowly above the rim of his sunglasses. “Did you just propose to me?”
I grin. “I think I did.”
He considers me for a second longer than necessary before nodding once. “I’ll think about it.”
I hit his chest lightly with the towel draped across my lap. “You’ve been trying to convince me for almost a year.”
“Yes, but I was emotionally prepared for rejection. Now, I think I’m scared of commitment.”
I laugh under my breath. “You proposed after two glasses of Barolo.”
“That was romance.”
“That was alcohol.”
“It was excellent alcohol.”
I shake my head, smiling as I look back out toward the water.
Beside me, Ciro goes quiet for a second longer than usual. When I glance over again, he’s already watching me instead of the ocean now.
“Chiara,” he says, lower this time. “Come upstairs with me.”
I take his hand and pull him up from the lounge chair before he can recover enough to start talking again.
Ciro lets out a low laugh as he follows me across the sand. “You realize I had an entire speech prepared at one point.”
“That sounds horrifying.”
“It was actually very good.”
“I’m sure it was.” I glance back over my shoulder as we reach the terrace steps leading toward the villa. “Did it involve helicopters?”
“Only briefly.”
“Ciro.”
“What?” He slides one hand along my waist as we walk inside. “I’m a complex man.”
The room is cooler after the heat outside, the open terrace doors letting in the sound of the ocean while soft light spills across the hardwood floors. I kick off my sandals near the entry rug and turn toward him as he locks the door behind us.
For a second, neither of us says anything.
His gaze drifts slowly over me.
I step closer first this time and slide my hands beneath the collar of his shirt, pushing the fabric slowly back from his shoulders while his palms settle automatically at my waist like they already know exactly where they belong.
“You’re staring,” I murmur.
“You finally asked me to marry you.” His thumb brushes lightly against the small of my back beneath the fabric of my dress. “I’m allowed a minute.”
“A minute seems excessive.”
“I’m trying not to scare you away before we tell the world.”
I laugh softly against his mouth before kissing him again.
Slower than before.
His hands move through my damp hair while I work his T-shirt up and over his shoulders.
“You know,” he says quietly against my temple, “I had fully accepted the possibility you were going to reject me forever.”
“That sounds dramatic.”
He grins. “It was emotionally devastating.”
“You recovered beautifully.”
“Barely.”
I smile and slide the watch from his wrist before setting it onto the console table behind me. His eyes follow the movement briefly before coming back to my face again.
He leads me to the shower, and he turns it on and steps back. He dips his head, and our lips meet.
I want him so much. I slide my hands down his chest, and his kisses move across my chest as our tongues dance.
He breaks the kiss as steam curls through the shower, softening the edges of the room until everything outside the glass feels distant and muffled. “After you.”
Ciro steps in behind me, reaching past my shoulder for the shampoo without saying anything at first. Warm water slides over my skin while I tip my head back slightly, closing my eyes as his fingers move into my hair.
“Too hot?” he asks quietly.
“No.”
His hands work slowly, massaging the shampoo into my scalp with careful pressure that makes some of the tension in my shoulders loosen without me realizing it at first. He doesn’t rush through it. Doesn’t move like this is practical or necessary. Every touch feels deliberate. Patient.
I rest my hands lightly against the cool tile while water runs between us in steady streams.
His thumbs drag gently along the base of my skull before he guides me beneath the spray to rinse the shampoo away. Water pours through my hair while his hand stays at the back of my neck, steady and warm.
I breathe out slowly.
Then he reaches for the conditioner.
The scent of it mixes with steam while he works it carefully through the ends of my hair, separating the strands with slow passes of his fingers. The closeness of him settles heavily in my chest. Not overwhelming. Just constant. Solid.
Safe.
My fingertips brush lightly against his waist for balance when I shift beneath the water.
His hand pauses almost imperceptibly before continuing.
“Turn around for me.”
I open my eyes long enough to look at him over my shoulder before I do.
The washcloth drags slowly across my shoulder first, warm water following in its path.
Then down my arm. Across my collarbone. His touch lingers at the places where tension still sits tight beneath my skin, easing it away piece by piece until I’m leaning back slightly against the tile without thinking about it.
He turns me, and with soapy hands, he runs his hands over my breasts paying great attention to the nipples as he works them to stiff peaks.
“I love how responsive you are.”
His knuckles skim down my stomach while he rinses the soap away, and my eyes close again automatically at the sensation.
His hand reaches down as he continues to explore me, his fingers sliding between my folds. His hand glides over my clit and I shudder. “You’re so ready for me.”
“I want you inside me. Now.”
His eyes search mine. For a second neither of us says anything.
The only sound is the water hitting tile.
Then my hand settles against his chest instead of the wall.
He backs me against the wall and lifts my right leg and positions himself between my legs. In one push, he fills me.
He plunges in and out of me, pulling almost completely out and pushing hard back in.
He groans through his clenched teeth.
I look at this man who has treated me as his partner and his lover. I love this man, and I know I always will.
I’m so close to the edge. My fingers dig into his arms as he ruts in and out me.
I can’t hold it back any longer, and my climax hits, and he follows right with me.
He lets go of my leg and touches his forehead to mine. “I say we order room service tonight.”
“Sounds good to me.”
When I look up at him through the steam, the expression on his face isn’t practical anymore. Isn’t focused on taking care of me.
It’s something heavier than that now.
Outside, the ocean rolls steadily against the shore below the villa, softer now beneath the distance and the dark.
I rest against Ciro’s chest with my fingers tracing lazy circles over his skin while his hand moves slowly along my back.
Neither of us speaks for a while.
For once, silence doesn’t feel like something waiting to break.
Ciro brushes his mouth lightly against my hair before shifting slightly beneath me. “Don’t move.”
“That sounds suspicious.”
“It’s romantic suspicion.”
“That’s usually the expensive kind.”
“It’s always the expensive kind with me.”
I smile against his chest as he reaches toward the bedside table. The drawer slides open quietly before he pulls out a small black pouch I’ve never seen before.
I lift my head slightly. “You brought jewelry on vacation?”
“I own a jewelry company. This shouldn’t surprise you.”
“It still concerns me.”
One corner of his mouth pulls upward as he loosens the drawstring and tips something into his palm.
The diamond catches the moonlight immediately.
Not flashy or oversized for the sake of attention. It’s just breathtaking.
An emerald-cut center stone sits between two smaller emerald-cut emeralds on a platinum band so perfectly balanced it almost looks architectural in his hand.
My breath leaves slowly this time.
Because of course he already had a ring.
“You already bought it,” I say quietly.
“A while ago.”
“How long?”
Ciro rests his head back against the pillows and looks up toward the ceiling for a second like he’s calculating whether honesty is going to get him into trouble.
“Milan.”
I laugh softly and cover my face briefly with one hand. “You had a ring in Milan?”
“I had three rings in Milan.”
“That’s completely unhinged.”
“You were difficult to predict.”
“I rejected you in Italy.”
“You rejected me elegantly.”
The diamond flashes again as he turns the ring slightly between his fingers.
“The center stone is yesterday,” he says more quietly now. “The emeralds are today and tomorrow.”
I look back at the ring.
Yesterday. Today. Tomorrow.
“It’s beautiful,” I say softly.
Ciro’s gaze settles on me. “I wanted you to choose it before you wore it.”
Because nine months ago, he would’ve slid it onto my hand before I finished speaking.
Now, he waits.
I take the ring from him carefully and turn it once beneath the moonlight spilling through the terrace doors. The platinum catches silver while the emeralds deepen green against my skin. Then I slide it onto my finger myself. It’s a perfect fit.
Ciro watches the movement quietly, his hand settling warm against my thigh once the ring catches the light between us.
“Interesting,” he murmurs.
I glance over at him. “What?”
“You’re finally agreeing with me.”
I laugh under my breath and lift my hand slightly, watching the emeralds flash green against the moonlight.
“Don’t get used to it, Marino.”
His hand closes loosely over mine while the ocean moves softly outside and the diamond catches the last of the light between our fingers.
“Never.”