The Rinuccis: Carlo, Ruggiero & Francesco: The Italian's Wife by Sunset. Lucy Gordon

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      One of the many reasons she loved him was that when it was over he stayed with her in both body and spirit, not turning away, but resting his head against her until he slept. It was a habit that made her feel valued as nothing else had ever done.

      Tonight was no different—except that first he propped himself up on one elbow, looking down on her with worshipful eyes, as though in this way he could hold her to him. In the dim light she could just see that he was smiling.

      ‘I guess this would be a good time to talk about getting married,’ he said softly.

      CHAPTER SIX

      MARRIED.

      The word shocked her. In her wildest moments she’d never thought of marriage. A short affair, perhaps a long affair, but not for one moment had she thought of him committing to her publicly for life.

      ‘What did you say?’ she whispered.

      ‘I want to marry you. Why do you look like that? It can’t come as a surprise.’

      ‘It does—a little.’

      ‘When people feel about each other as we do it has to be marriage. You’re the one. I’ve known that from the first. Are you saying that I’m not the one for you?’

      ‘You know better than that,’ she said, touching his face gently. ‘You’re my love, my only love—now and for ever—’

      ‘Good. That’s settled then. We’ll tell everyone tomorrow.’

      ‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘That’s too soon.’

      ‘But it’s a party, a big family gathering. What could be better than telling them there’s going to be an addition to the family?’

      ‘Well, this may seem a trifle to you, but actually I haven’t said yes.’

      ‘Then say it and stop wasting time,’ he said lightly.

      It would have been so easy to speak the word he longed to hear and her heart longed to give—especially now. He’d chosen his moment perfectly, for what woman could turn away from a man who had just loved her with such fire and tenderness? Della knew that she couldn’t make herself do that—not now, anyway.

      ‘Let’s not delay,’ he urged. ‘We know all we need to—’ ‘Darling, we know hardly anything about each other.’ ‘We know we love each other. What else is there?’ ‘In a perfect world, nothing. But, my dearest love, we’re not living in a fantasy,’ she pleaded. ‘We’re grown-up people in the real world, with real lives.’

      ‘Are you talking that nonsense about your age again? We’re the same age. We were the same age from the moment me met and loved each other, and we will always be the same. Why are you smiling?’

      ‘I love listening when you say things like that.’

      ‘But you think they’re just fancy words? Is that it?’

      It was partly true, but she didn’t want to admit as much just yet.

      ‘What will it take to convince you?’ Carlo asked, moving closer in a way that suggested he was preparing for battle. ‘I don’t know. I expect you’ll think of something. You know me so well.’

      ‘Not as well as I’m going to. Why don’t we—?’

      A muffled crash from the corridor outside made him tense and look up, muttering a soft curse as they heard laughter that sounded familiar.

      ‘He did say he was in the room facing yours, didn’t he?’

      Carlo sighed.

      ‘Yes, but I hadn’t expected him back so soon.’

      A female giggle reached them.

      ‘There’s the explanation,’ Carlo said. ‘He didn’t waste any time, did he?’

      ‘Don’t tell me you weren’t the same at twenty-one.’

      ‘Ah, well—never mind that. Hey, where are you going?’ For Della was getting up and pulling on her robe.

      ‘He might want to talk to me,’ she explained.

      ‘You mean he’ll want to find out if I’m still here.’ Carlo groaned, climbing reluctantly out of bed and wishing Sol to perdition.

      As Carlo had expected, Sol strolled in casually, ready to make himself at home, but his eyes were alert, taking in the sight of his mother in a dressing gown, and Carlo in the day clothes he had hastily resumed.

      Della felt blushingly self conscious. She and Sol had never discussed her male friends, but there had been no need. He had never before discovered her in such a compromising position.

      ‘Just checking that you’re all right,’ he told Della.

      ‘I’m fine, darling,’ she assured him. ‘But haven’t you left your friend on her own?’

      ‘Yes, I must go back to her now I’ve said goodnight to you.’

      Now you’ve found out what you wanted to know, Carlo thought.

      Aloud, he said, ‘She’s welcome to join us at the party tomorrow night.’

      ‘Yes, that would be nice,’ Sol said easily, rather as though he were conferring a favour.

      ‘Did you have a good evening?’ Della asked.

      ‘Fine, thanks. Although she’s an expensive little filly. So many shops stay open late in this town, and she seems to think that I’m made of money.’

      ‘I wonder how she got that idea?’ Carlo observed, to nobody in particular.

      ‘But you managed?’ Della said quickly.

      ‘Yes—except that we came back in a cab, and I don’t have quite enough to pay the fare…’

      ‘All right,’ she said, taking some money from her bag. ‘Go and give him this.’

      From the corridor outside came a girl’s voice, calling, ‘Solly—’

      ‘Coming, sweetheart,’ he called back. Then something seemed to strike him, and he tried to return the money to Della. ‘Mum, I can’t leave her alone. Would you mind—?’

      ‘Yes, she would,’ Carlo said crossly. ‘Your mother’s not going to get dressed just to save you a journey downstairs. Do it yourself.’

      ‘Hey, who are you to—?’

      ‘Don’t waste my time arguing,’ Carlo said, seizing his shoulders and turning Sol to face the door. ‘Go down there and pay the fare. Or else—’

      ‘Carlo—’ Della was plucking at his arm. ‘There’s no need—’

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