The driver stopped before the villa’s great iron gates, waiting for them to open to give them access to the old estate’s private drive and exquisite gardens. But Morgan wasn’t ready to be back at the villa with Bronwyn and Rowan and the villa staff. After so many years of not being with Drakon, it was such a joy to have him to herself.

“We’ll soon find out if Rowan’s heard anything,” Drakon said, glancing out the window as the four-story white marble villa came into view.

“Hopefully he has,” she said, feeling guilty because for the past hour she hadn’t thought of her father, not once. She’d been so happy just being with Drakon that she’d forgotten why she was here in Italy on the Amalfi Coast.

“And hopefully you had a good day,” he added. “I’d thought perhaps you’d be inspired by Pompeii, but it can be overwhelming, too.”

“I loved it. Every minute of it.”

And it was true, she thought, as the car stopped in front of the villa’s entrance and the driver stepped out to come around to open their door. But it wasn’t just Pompeii she loved. She loved every minute of being with him today. This was what life was supposed to feel like. This is what she’d missed so much—his warmth, his strength, his friendship, his love.

His love.

She frowned, confused, suddenly caught between two worlds—the memories of a complicated past and the changing present. In this moment, the present, anything could happen. In this moment, everything was fluid and possible.

She and Drakon were possible. Life was possible. Love was possible.

She and Drakon could make different decisions, be different people, have a different future.

Could it be a future together?

“I enjoyed today, too,” Drakon said.

“I hope we can do it again.”

“Visit Pompeii?”

“Not necessarily Pompeii. But another outing … another adventure. It was fun.”

Drakon suddenly leaned forward and swept the back of his hand over her cheek. “It was. And good to get away from here, and all this.”

Her heart ached at the gentle touch. She’d forgotten how extraordinarily tender he could be. Over the years she’d focused on his control and his aloofness, in contrast to the wild heat of their lovemaking, and she’d turned him into someone he wasn’t … someone cold and hard and unreachable. But that wasn’t really Drakon. Yes, he could be aloof, and hard, and cold, but that wasn’t often, and only when he was angry. And he wasn’t always angry. In fact, he’d never been angry during their engagement or the first couple months of their marriage. It was only later, after they’d gone to Athens and gotten stuck in that terrible battle for control, a battle that had come to include Bronwyn, that they’d both become rigid and antagonistic.

She reached up, caught his hand, pressed it to her cheek. “Promise me we’ll do this again soon. Please?”

“I promise,” he said, holding her gaze as the driver opened the door to the back of the car.