“The look on her face was worth everything. We’ve made such progress this past week, and I knew if I let her down again, I may not get another chance. You were right when you told me to think about the consequences of both actions. It helped make my decision. How’d you get so smart?”

A chuckle reverberated in his chest. “My sisters. They drove me insane, but I learned a lot. Women know more about their inner emotions than men and aren’t afraid to dig deep. They forced me to pay attention.”

“Your sisters sound amazing, but I still think it’s you.”

“Me?”

I pressed a kiss to the back of his hand, his strong, tapered fingers entwining with mine. “Yep. You, Enzo Gagliardi, are an extraordinary man. You didn’t try to bully or influence my decision. You supported me and took care of my family with a smile. I’ve never met anyone like you before.”

He turned me in his arms and tipped my chin up. I studied the hard angle of his jaw, those gleaming dark eyes, his lower lip quirked in a lazy smirk, his stubble-roughened chin. “I loved spending the day with you, Francesca,” he said, his gaze delving deep into mine. “For the first time, I didn’t have to worry about someone spotting us or how to get close to you without anyone noticing. I loved holding your hand and kissing you in the sunlight, in front of your daughter and mama.”

“I loved it too,” I whispered, stroking back his hair.

He’d given us a perfect day. We’d walked on top of the famous walls and gazed down on the town, which reminded me of a hidden jewel in a queen’s crown. The Piazza dell’Anfiteatro was once a Roman amphitheater, and we strolled the elliptical shape lined with various shops, bakeries, and cafés, admiring the merging shades of yellow, cream, and white buildings, all with matching green shutters. He’d brought us to lunch at the popular Da Pasquale, which was usually only open for dinner, but Enzo had arranged a special meal for us. We feasted on ravioli and caprese salad and drank tart limoncello from tiny little cups. The day ended with a visit to the Palazzo Mansi National Museum, where we lingered in the lush gardens.

When we got home, Allegra and Mom had retired to their rooms, and we’d spent some time chatting on the terrace, my feet in his lap, his hands stroking my legs, while the sun beat down on us. We’d cooked dinner together—rosemary lamb chops with baby potatoes and arugula salad—and finished our wine while taking a long walk on the grounds.

Now we were left alone, under the star-filled night sky.

Enzo’s question pulled me out of my reverie. “They understand about us? They seemed to accept me today as more than your tour guide.”