Page 88 of His Obsession
“And I just had a baby.”
“I’m aware.”
She reaches for my hand, and I give it to her, careful not to jostle the baby between us.
“Yes,” she says, voice breaking. “Of course, yes.”
I kiss her then, gently because she’s exhausted and because our son is sleeping between us like the smallest, most important chaperone in the world.
For the first time in my life, everything I want is in one room.
EXTENDED EPILOGUE
VALENTINA
Two years later
Our son refuses to walk down the aisle unless Nico carries him. Vincenzo has been bribed with snacks, flowers, promises, threats, and one very small velvet pillow tied with fake rings because I am not stupid enough to give a two-year-old actual wedding rings. He remains unmoved. He stands in the sand in his tiny linen suit, one curl falling over his forehead, glaring at the aisle like it’s his sworn enemy.
Sebastian is at the end of that aisle, looking devastatingly handsome. He’s wearing a dark suit because apparently even a beach wedding isn’t enough to convince Sebastian DeLuca to wear linen pants. The ocean stretches behind him, the late afternoon sun turning the water gold, and Matteo stands beside him with a small book in his hand because he somehow got ordained for this.
Gia stands beside me at the back of the crowd in a champagne dress, holding my bouquet in one hand and blotting under her eyes with the other.
“If you ruin your makeup before the ceremony starts, I’m demoting you,” I tell her.
“I’m your maid of honor. You cannot demote me.”
“I can make Matteo my maid of honor.”
She looks at him, then back at me. “That would be upsetting for everyone.”
Across the sand, Nico crouches in front of Vincenzo and says something too low for me to hear. My son considers him with the intense suspicion of a tiny mob boss, then lifts both arms.
Nico picks him up.
The entire guest list laughs, which is easy because the entire guest list is about twenty people. No massive ballroom. No donor list. No photographers shouting instructions. No one trying to turn my wedding into a social event with security concerns and a floral budget large enough to offend God.
Just us. Family, a few trusted friends, and the ocean.
Nico carries Vinnie down the aisle, holding the fake ring pillow in one hand while Vinnie waves at people like he arranged the whole thing himself. When they reach the front, our son immediately reaches for Sebastian.
“Dada,” he demands.
Sebastian takes him without hesitation, and my heart does a little somersault.
“Traitor,” Nico mutters as he makes his way back to me.
Our son lays his head on Sebastian’s shoulder and looks smug.
My dress is simple, at least by wedding standards. Soft white fabric, thin straps, a low back, no giant train for me to trip over while walking through sand. Gia cried when I tried it on. Nico cried too but lied and said he had allergies. Sebastian didn’t see it until today because I may be modern about many things, but I still wanted one good surprise.
Judging by his face when I start walking toward him on Nico’s arm, I made the right choice. He looks like he forgot there are twenty other people standing there.
Three years ago, I would have hated being looked at like that. Too much attention. Too much want. Too much certainty from a man who knew exactly what he wanted and had the power to chase it. Today, I walk toward him without feeling the need to bolt in the opposite direction just to prove I still can.
I reach him, and Sebastian shifts Vinnie onto one hip so he can take my hand.
“You look beautiful,” he says.
