Plato had been right. Split-aparts did exist. And they were only whole when each found the other.
A rebel ray of sun burst from behind the hill and kissed Caresa’s face, illuminating her beauty. Needing to feel her in my arms, I stepped forward and whispered, “Mi amore.”
Caresa stilled. She was barely moving as it was, but now her chest froze as she held her breath. She didn’t turn her eyes to me, but I saw her linked hands begin to tremble.
When she didn’t speak, when her eyes closed and her face contorted with pain, I moved before her and dropped to the ground. “Caresa . . .”
Caresa’s lips shook, her eyes squeezed tighter, and only when a choked sob escaped from her mouth did her eyes open again. I stayed still. I didn’t move an inch as those big, beautiful brown eyes searched mine, and tears streamed down her face.
The seconds felt like hours as she remained looking at me as if I were a ghost. My stomach churned with fear, fear that I had left it too late, that by walking away I had lost her forever. But then she launched herself into my arms. Her arms circled my neck, and her grip was iron tight. I held her back, my arms slipping around her waist.
I wanted to speak. I wanted to pour my heart out to her, tell her how much I missed her. But as she cried great, racking sobs, burying her face into my neck, sadness stole my voice. So I just tightened my grip, showing her without words that I had returned for her. That I belonged to her. That she belonged to me.
“Achille,” she croaked, her throat raw with emotion. “My Achille. My heart,” she whispered over and over again as her tears fell on my neck and her warm breath ghosted over my skin.
“Mi amore,” I whispered back, and let her exorcise her sadness. I held her for minute after long minute, eyes closed, as the dawn brightened around us. It was only when I felt the sun’s heat warming my back, that Caresa pulled back her head. She pressed our foreheads together, keeping her lips just a hairsbreadth from mine and asked in her sweet, soft voice, “Are you really back? I’m not dreaming?”
I moved forward and took her mouth with my own. I tasted her tears on my tongue, but then it was just her. All her as she invaded my every cell, her touch and taste igniting my senses. I slid my tongue against hers, craving her more and more as she moaned into my mouth.
But I slowed the kiss down. This was not the time for wild and desperate. This was me showing her I had come back for her.
This was me declaring my intentions.
I broke from the kiss, breathless, searching for air. I pulled us slightly apart and met her red, swollen eyes. “I’m sorry, mi amore. I am so sorry.”
She shook her head and cupped my face. “No, baby,” she whispered. “I am sorry. Everything is a mess. You must have been so hurt. I just . . . I just missed you so much I felt like I was dying.” She laid a hand on her chest. “I couldn’t breathe, Achille. I couldn’t breathe without you by my side.”
“Me neither,” I said, feeling my every synapse sparking with happiness. “I love you, mi amore. I love you forever.” I pressed a kiss on her cheek. “And ever.” Another kiss on the corner of her mouth. “And ever.” And finally to her lips. “For eternity.”
“I love you too, Achille. Forever.”
I held her close again . . . and I smiled though my tears when I felt it. When I felt our hearts falling into step, beating in their mutual beat.
And when I pulled back and saw a small smile grace her lips, I leaned forward and captured it with mine.
“You are back?” she asked against my mouth. Her hands slid into my hair, clutching the strands tightly.
“Yes.”
I ran my nose down her neck until I heard her breath hitch. “Achille,” she murmured. I reached down and picked up the white rose I had placed on the ground. Her eyes fell on the flower, and she laughed with pure joy, taking the flower from my hand.
She brought the petals to her nose and inhaled, her eyelids fluttering to a close, and I reached into my pocket. My hands were shaking.
I took out the velvet box. I held it out between us and waited for her to reopen her eyes. When she did, her gaze immediately fixed on the box. She sucked in a quick breath, then her chocolate doe eyes collided with mine.
I swallowed, trying to find the perfect words to do justice to the way I felt.
I took a deep breath and decided to just say what was in my heart. “I know I am not what you thought you would marry. I know I am not quite from your world. But I promise you, Caresa, no one will ever love you like I do. I will live every day to make you happy and, if you let me, will never be without you from this day on.” As tears fell down Caresa’s face, I whispered, “Marry me, mi amore. Make us both whole.”
Caresa launched forward and pressed her lips to my mouth. “Yes,” she said softly against my lips. “Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!”
I smiled against her lips and kissed her with everything that I had—deeply, reverently, passionately. When we broke away, I opened the box, revealing an old gold ring with a single small diamond in the center.
I felt my cheeks flame. “I know it is not large and expensive, but” —I took a deep breath— “It was my mother’s. My father . . . it was the ring my father gave to my mother.”
“Achille,” Caresa whispered and ran her hand over the small, worn diamond.
“I know their life, their love story, didn’t turn out as it should, as they deserved. But ours will. I want this ring to see soul mates living out a happy life.” My voice broke. “I want to give my parents the happily-ever-after they should have had through us. I want it all . . . with you.”
“It’s perfect.” Caresa took the ring from the box. I would struggle with that. And she knew it. I took the ring from her hand, and for once not caring about my clumsy fingers, pushed it onto her ring finger on her left hand.
“It’s the perfect fit,” she said as she stared lovingly at the simple ring.
A simple ring for a simple man who loved this woman with his simple heart.
She blinked, then blinked again. “I want what you said. I want this ring to see us, happy. I want your mother and fathers, wherever they are, to see their devastating story turn out right.” She looked into my eyes and pressed her palm against my cheek. “I want everything with you. Achille, my winemaker. My heart.”
“And prince,” I said and watched her eyes widen.
“What?”
I rested my back against the tree and brought her against me, her back to my front. I wrapped my arms around her, and cast my gaze over the hill and on the rising sun. As the valley danced with oranges, yellows and pinks, I said, “I have spoken to Zeno. I . . . I have spoken to your father.”
Caresa’s head whipped around to face me, shock on her every feature. I kissed the end of her nose and smiled. “I . . .” I couldn’t believe what I was about to say, but I said it anyway. “I am going to embrace my title. I . . . I am going to be a brother to Zeno.” I stroked back a strand of hair from her face. I smiled wider when I saw her cheeks filling again with color. My presence was healing her broken heart. “I am going to be the man you need. I am going to be a prince. And I am marrying my duchessa.”
Caresa studied my face, then turned her body to face me. “I will marry you regardless. I will renounce my title, Achille. I will live each day with you in the vineyard, by your side, and I will be the happiest woman there ever was. You need not take on this title for me. I will want you anyway. Rich or poor.”
I couldn’t resist it, so I kissed her. But when I broke away, I said, “I love you more than you will ever know for saying that. But I am going to do it. I have lived in the shadows for too long. I have hidden myself from the world, and now it’s time to break free.” I shook my head at how strange it all sounded to my own ears. “Zeno . . . Zeno needs me. Your father, he needs me too. And I need this. When I was away, I did nothing but think.” I moved Caresa to sit back against my chest and brushed a kiss against her hair. “My aunt told me more of what happened. And I understood th
em more. I understood that they all . . .” I tried to fight back the lump in my throat, but I was unsuccessful. “They all loved me,” I croaked. “And . . . and I just want to make them proud.” A single tear fell down my face. “I want to make you proud.”
“Baby,” Caresa murmured, turning her head up to me. “That isn’t possible. I am already as proud of you as I could ever possibly be.”
I let her words drift over me. “Mi amore?”
“Yes?”
“I want to take you home.” I bent down and let my mouth graze over the skin on her neck. “And I want to make love to you.”
“I want that too,” Caresa replied on a breathy sigh.
I stood and helped her to her feet. I held her hand as we walked down the hill. Caresa rode Rosa home, and I walked beside her, never letting go of her hand.
Then, when we had put Rosa in the paddock, I led my fiancée home and shut us in the cottage, the only place I knew would ever be home to us. The warmth from the fire filled the room. Caresa turned in my arms and shed my coat from my shoulders. She moved to my shirt, and then to my jeans, and with every move she made, I watched the ring shining on her finger, the flames catching the diamond in their light.
I had never felt so complete.
When my clothes had been shed, it was my turn to undress Caresa. And with every item of clothing dropped to the floor, I kissed a freshly bared part of her body—her shoulder, her hip, her lower neck. Caresa’s skin shivered with my every touch, and when she was naked, vulnerable before me, I lifted her into my arms, and walked to the rug before the fire.
Happiness shone from the depths of her eyes as I lowered her onto the soft sheepskin and crawled above her. Caresa’s hands glided along my back and stroked along my skin. I rolled my hips against her, closing my eyes as I felt her warmth beneath me. I lowered my head and joined my mouth to hers.
“Ti amo per sempre,” I whispered.
“I will love you forever too,” she said with a smile. I skirted my body down over hers and kissed every inch of her olive skin. I ran my tongue over her breasts, Caresa arching into my touch. I continued south until I reached the apex of her thighs.
Caresa’s back arched as I brought my mouth between her legs and kissed her most sensitive part. A cry left her mouth. The sound, her taste and her warmth all spurred me on, my tongue lapping and lips sucking as her hands gripped onto my hair. My hands ran over her flat stomach and down over her thighs as I brought her closer and closer to the edge. I didn’t want to stop. I wanted to never hear her cries of pleasure stop. With a strangled moan, Caresa tipped her head back and tightened her grip on my head. I kept my tongue on her as she broke apart in pleasure, tasting her until her hands guided my head back north.
Caresa’s brown eyes were glazed, her cheeks flushed with red. “I want you,” she urged as she guided me onto my back. She climbed on top of me and straddled my thighs. My hands landed on her waist as she placed me at her entrance, then slowly sank down. My eyes rolled closed as I filled her, inch by inch, until I was deep inside. Caresa bent forward and sought out my mouth with her lips. I groaned as her tongue slipped over mine, then she moved, her hips rolling slowly and deeply. Her mouth slipped from mine, and I opened my eyes to see her face right before me. Her lips were parted and her eyes were leaden, but she whispered, “I love you, Achille Marchesi. With my whole heart.”
“I love you too.” I moaned loudly as her hips increased their speed. My hands on her waist guided her movements as I felt the pressure of my release building within me.
“Mi amore,” I whispered as her breathing stuttered and her movements jerked.
“Achille,” Caresa gasped as my hands gripped her hips like a vise. And then she stilled, crying out with pleasure, taking me over the edge with her. Light exploded behind my eyes as I groaned out my release, striving to catch my breath.
Caresa fell on top of my damp body, her skin hot from the fire’s warmth and her hair damp from exertion. She breathed into the crook of my neck as my hands still refused to let her go.
After a few minutes, I shifted her to the side, her head lying on my shoulder. I ran my fingertips down her arm, happy in the fact that I had her back. That I had her beside me again, in my home, beside the fire that she had kept lit for my return.
“Mi amore?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Mm?” Caresa said sleepily.
“You bottled for me.”
“You weren’t here,” she said softly. “I wouldn’t let this year’s vintage fail. I . . .” She breathed deeply, stifling a yawn. “I will never let you fail.”
Before she fell asleep, I said, “Amore?”
“Yes?”
“There is still a wedding date set for New Year’s Eve.”
Caresa’s head snapped up at my words. “What are you saying?” she asked.
I lifted her left ring finger and pressed a kiss to the diamond. I smiled. “This looks better than the vine ring I gave you weeks ago.”
“I don’t know about that,” she said, then ducked her gaze. “I . . . I still have it, Achille. I keep it under my pillow, so that you are always near.”
“Caresa,” I croaked. Then I laughed. “I still have mine too. In my wallet. I keep it with me always.”
“You do?” she asked softly.
“Always.” I turned on the rug to face her and ran a finger down her face. “Marry me on New Year’s Eve. A Sa . . . Savona.” I stuttered, the surname sounding peculiar from my lips. “Marry me in the Duomo, a prince and a duchessa before God and all society. Marry me because I never want to be away from you again. Marry me because you’re my split-apart and I will never let you go.” My lips curled into a small smile. “Your parents are already here, the invites have been sent. And you already have the dress.”
Her eyes gleamed. “And my veil of vines.”
“You have vines on your veil?” I asked, my heart stuttering in my chest.
“I always dreamed I would.” She smiled. “From a child I envisioned silken vines woven into the Spanish lace veil.” She breathed in deeply and laid her head back on my shoulder. “Because God knew I would one day find you. Find you when I returned home, amongst the vines.”
Just as I thought she had fallen asleep, she whispered, “And yes, I will marry you on New Year’s Eve. I would marry you today if we could. I no longer want to wait to be your wife.”
Caresa couldn’t see it, but I smiled widely. She couldn’t feel it, but my heart exploded in my chest. And she would never know it, but she had brought me back to life. She gave me hope, she gave me grace, and better yet, she gave me her.
I once asked her what I could possibly give her; she had told me she simply wanted me.
And I wanted her.
Walking toward me in a church in a white lace dress.
With her veil of vines.
As she was always destined to be.
Chapter Seventeen
Florence, Italy
New Years Eve
Caresa
“Et voilà!” Julietta announced flamboyantly in French as she threw the sheet from the floor-length mirror. I blinked as I took in my reflection. I had seen the dress many times before this day. But today it was different. Because today I was marrying Achille, a newly announced prince of Italy. The love of my life who had recently taken his place in the history books of House Savona’s legacy.
I let my eyes sweep down my perfectly fitted long-sleeved white lace dress and to the simple ring I wore on my left hand. My hair was pulled back in an intricate bun. My makeup was flawless—my eyes enhanced with shades of brown, my lips and cheeks rosy. I wore large diamond studs in my ears, but the one item that stole the show was my veil.
My perfectly designed veil of vines.
“You look beautiful, Caresa,” my mother said from beside me. She lifted my hand and pressed a kiss on the back.
“Thank you, Mamma,” I said, trying my hardest not to cry.
Marietta came to stand be
side me and wrapped her arm around mine. “My Caresa!” she said dramatically. “You look stunning.” I smiled at my best friend. Her blond hair was tied back in a low bun, and she looked radiant in her lavender silk maid-of-honor dress.
“Are you ready, Caresa?” Pia asked. She too was a bridesmaid, looking beautiful in lavender. “The cars have arrived.”
I took a deep breath and, smiling at my reflection, announced, “I’m ready.”
The staff stopped in their preparations for the wedding breakfast to watch me as I walked down the hallway. I smiled at them as I passed, nodding in acknowledgment of their support.
The past couple of weeks had been insane. A few days after our engagement, just before Christmas, Zeno had gathered the most important families in Italy at the Bella Collina estate. It was there that he declared Achille his brother. It was there that he informed the shell-shocked crowd that Achille was a Savona. And that he was also the maker of the Bella Collina merlot.
And Achille had stood beside his brother, dressed impeccably in a Tom Ford suit, looking every inch the prince that Zeno was claiming him to be.
Zeno explained that the marriage would still happen, but that I was now betrothed to Achille. I knew the gossips would be in full flight, purporting this to be the scandal of the decade—King Santo’s illicit affair with Achille’s mother, Achille being acknowledged as a Savona, and our sudden engagement. But I didn’t care.
Let them all talk.
As I rounded the hallway to the top of the stairs, my eyes fell on a portrait of the old king, painted when he was twenty-five. And there he was, my Achille staring back at me from the canvas. Zeno had always resembled the king. But as I stared at a young King Santo, looking proud in a traditional regal pose, I only saw Achille. It was clear why he had kept Achille hidden. Anyone who knew the king as a young man would have seen the resemblance in a heartbeat.