Chapter 8
Stefan
It was well past time for Francesca to be back. She'd left with an armful of soaps, lotions, makeup remover, a robe, and a few choices of nightgowns.
An hour later, I walked into the guest room to find them giving each other facials.
Half an hour after that, Francesca had decided they needed to do mani-pedis.
Yes, I wanted my wife. But I hadn't seen my mother this happy since our father died. Even so, I figured I should go check on them.
Again.
I didn't hear any of the laughter I had the first two times I went in. As I got closer to the room, I saw that the light was dim in there now. I stopped right outside the door. I heard my mother say, “No one's slept in my bed since my husband died.”
Francesca reached across the bed they were both lying in. “Really? You're a total hottie. I would have thought you'd catch some big, strong Italian men to keep your bed warm.”
My mother giggled.
Fuck.
She actually—giggled.
Christ.
Francesca was a fucking miracle worker. I felt a distinct stinging behind my eyes.
“Will you stay with me? For a while longer?”
Francesca let out a loud yawn. “Of course. I'd rather sleep here anyway. Stefan hogs the sheets.”
Then they both laughed loudly.
But Francesca kept holding onto my mother's hand.
And that squeezed my heart something fierce as I walked back to our room. Alone.
In the early hours of the morning—right before dawn—Francesca's soft, warm body snuggled into me. “Your mom snores. She should get that checked out.” And then, without another word—she drifted off to sleep in my arms.
I tried my best not to wake her with my laughing.