EPILOGUE
One year later...
HELENA PRISED THE lids off the two test pots of paint and smiled at the colours. The first, Sugar and Spice, was a gorgeous lilac with a pretty shimmer. The second, Surf’s Up, was a deep purple-blue.
Neither colour was the one she’d originally planned for this sunny room on the second floor of the Tuscan villa, but when she’d started her flurry of redecorating she’d imagined the room as a studio. A dedicated space where she could work on her projects for the interior design course she’d undertaken and, in her downtime, dabble in creative pursuits.
She’d even thought she might try her hand at painting some landscapes under Marietta’s expert tutelage. The Tuscan countryside, with its sun-drenched hills, fragrant orchards and acres of lush vegetation, offered no shortage of inspiration.
She and Leo spent most of their weekends here, escaping the bustle of London or Rome. It was calming, rejuvenating, and she wondered how he would feel about the villa becoming their more permanent home.
Her mobile whistled, indicating a text message, and she rose from the canvas sheet on the floor. Leo was en route from Rome, and he’d already texted to say he wanted her naked when he arrived. They’d been apart only two nights, but according to her husband of six months that was two nights too long.
She rarely came to the villa by herself, but she’d needed to organise some tradesmen and their short separation had given her some time alone. Time to absorb the news that made her tummy flutter with a mix of excitement and nerves every time she anticipated the moment she would tell Leo.
She swiped the screen of her phone. His message said he was thirty minutes out and—Heat flooded her as she read the rest.
She grinned, shaking her head. Her husband was wicked. And sexy. And she loved him with every atom of her being.
Half an hour later the crunch of gravel and the low purr of the Maserati’s engine heralded his arrival.
Pulse leaping, Helena put down her brush and leaned out of the open window. Leo climbed from the car and she waved to him.
‘Up here!’
He looked up, late-afternoon sunlight bathing his bronzed features, and she knew she’d never get used to him smiling at her like that. As if she was his favourite person in the entire world.
He disappeared into the house and she heard his footsteps thunder up the curved staircase.
She barely had time to run her fingers through her dishevelled hair before she was in his arms, her legs wrapped around his waist, her breath stolen by his ferocious kiss.
‘Dio,’ he growled when he broke for air. ‘You are beautiful.’
She laughed. ‘Hardly.’ Her curls were a wild mess, not a trace of make-up adorned her face, and she wore the old short denim dungarees she kept for painting and decorating.
‘Do not argue, tesoro.’ Still holding her high, he started out of the room. ‘And—speaking of disobedience—did I not request my wife be naked when I arrived?’
She giggled and squirmed. ‘Leo, wait. Put me down. I have something to show you first.’
He stopped and gave a pained sigh, but did as she’d bade him. Heart thudding, she led him by the hand to the section of wall where she’d painted a large square of Sugar and Spice and another of Surf’s Up.
‘What do you think of these colours?’
He shrugged. ‘You know I trust your choices...’ He glanced around the room and frowned. ‘But this is to be your studio, si? Had you not decided on orange?’
‘I thought we might use this room for something else,’ she said, and moved closer to the wall. She pointed to the shimmery lilac. ‘I was thinking this might be nice for a...a girl. And this one...’ She pointed to the other square, her hand trembling, her throat tightening on the words. ‘This would be good for...for a boy.’
Her breath stopped as she watched the rapidly changing expressions on Leo’s face. From bemusement to confusion and finally a dawning comprehension.
He stared at her, his jaw gone slack. ‘Are you telling me...? Do you mean...? Are you...?’
‘I’m pregnant,’ she blurted, taking pity on her gorgeous tongue-tied husband. She blinked, her eyes growing hot and prickly. ‘Seven weeks—’
She didn’t get to finish her sentence. Leo pulled her into a hug so tight, so engulfing, she couldn’t draw breath to speak. He broke into a string of Italian she partly followed, thanks to months of lessons. Mentally, she translated the words she understood.
Incredible...so happy... I love you.
At last he pulled back, his hands curling gently over her shoulders—as if she might suddenly break.