Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 38670 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 193(@200wpm)___ 155(@250wpm)___ 129(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38670 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 193(@200wpm)___ 155(@250wpm)___ 129(@300wpm)
Vivienne stood and glared at me for teasing Mamma. I grinned in response.
Then she exclaimed, “We’re giving you two!”
EPILOGUE
VIVIENNE
With the responsibilities that Rafa carried on his broad shoulders as Nic’s underboss, we didn’t often take long vacations. Especially not with the hassles that came from traveling with four young children. Even though Mamma Giulia often traveled with us since she took her role as the only grandparent in their lives very seriously.
But he’d surprised me with a three-week trip to Italy for our tenth anniversary. We had already visited Rome, Venice, Milan, and Palermo. Now we were on the Amalfi Coast for our last few days.
The breeze off the Mediterranean drifted through the open terrace doors of the large villa we’d rented for this portion of our trip. The slight sound of the distant waves lapping against the cliffs below was so relaxing that I preferred to keep them open at night, much to my husband’s chagrin.
The only light in the room was from the moon and the candles on the elegant dinner table Rafa had arranged for just the two of us. After ten years of marriage and four beautiful children, he still managed to make me feel like the luckiest woman in the world.
Time had only made him more devastatingly handsome, but tonight, a glimmer of mischief in his dark eyes made him even more attractive.
“You’re staring, cara,” he murmured, reaching for my hand to press a kiss to the skin directly above where his rings encircled my finger.
I flashed him a playful smile and teased, “I’m almost positive that admiring my husband on our anniversary is allowed.”
His lips brushed against my wrist, leaving a trail of goose bumps in their wake. “Encouraged, even.”
I laughed softly, but my breath caught in my chest when he shifted in his seat to reach beneath the table and retrieve a long, rectangular box. His gaze never left mine as he set it on the table in front of me. “For you.”
I hesitated, my fingers tracing the edges of the box before I carefully lifted the lid. My pulse stuttered as I gawked at the canvas with an oil painting that I instantly recognized.
Evelyn De Morgan’s The Gilded Cage.
The original painting—which was worth at least a cool million—was even more breathtaking in person than the prints I had seen online.
My head snapped up. “Rafa…what did you do?”
His deep chuckle sent a sensual shiver down my spine. “Let’s just say I made them an offer they couldn’t refuse.”
I laughed, shaking my head at the deadpan delivery of his joke. “You’re unbelievable.”
He cupped my cheek. “You must know by now that I would do anything for you.”
“I know.” I leaned into his touch. “But this painting should still be in a museum, where it belongs.”
“Not anymore. You own it now.”
I puffed out a breath. “Like I said…unbelievable.”
“You once told me you wouldn’t be caged, no matter how gilded the bars were.” His lips brushed my ear. “I wanted you to have a reminder that with me, you’re always free.”
The sweet sentiment made my heart melt. And I didn’t really need to ask any more questions about how he procured the priceless painting. Not when I knew about how skilled Aston was. If Rafa hadn’t been able to buy this particular artwork outright, I had enough faith in his abilities not to worry about him getting caught.
“I was never caged, Rafa. Not with you. You gave me a life I never dreamed of. Love that has never faltered. And a family I cherish more than anything.” I gestured toward the painting. “This is such a thoughtful gift. Thank you.”
His gaze softened. “It’s only fair when you’re the most incredible gift I’ve ever had.”
My tears finally spilled from my eyes, and Rafa kissed them away before claiming my mouth in a kiss that would have quickly spiraled out of control if not for the giggle from the doorway. We twisted in our seats to see four beloved figures peeking around the carved archway, their mischievous eyes gleaming in the candlelight.
“Are you kissing again?” Raffaele Jr., one of our nine-year-olds, wrinkled his nose in mock disgust.
Giuseppe, his twin who we named after the grandfather he’d unfortunately never be able to meet, smirked. “You know they’re always kissing.”
Gianni, our six-year-old, let out a theatrical sigh. “Papà’s probably gonna say something romantic again.”
And then there was Viola, our four-year-old princess, who simply twirled one of her dark curls around her tiny fingers and pouted. “Is there any cake for me?”
Rafa let out a deep laugh, getting up to scoop her into his arms as the boys raced over to me for a hug. “We would never forget about your cake, sorellina piccola.”
Raffaele Jr. grinned. “Good. Because we may or may not have already started without you.”
I gasped. “You little troublemakers!”