Sophie managed to nod because he was right. Love had been wearing the green-brown uniform of a Polish cavalry officer and had not cursed or seethed when he’d been sent sprawling by her inattention and haste. Instead, love had gently helped her stagger to her feet, her hose torn and beyond salvage, her knee scraped and throbbing, and her lip split and bleeding. He’d righted her bicycle with easy motions before turning back to her, concern stamped across his features.

She’d made a cake of herself after that, in the face of his kindness and his devastatingly vivid blue eyes, babbling apologies and stammering something about needing to get back to the embassy. He had only wet a linen kerchief with his canteen and wiped the blood from her lip with a tenderness that had suddenly made her want to burst into tears. She’d fled, clambering back on her bicycle and pedaling away, realizing only when she’d reached the embassy that she was clutching his kerchief, now stained and crushed.

She’d locked herself in the loo and unsteadily put herself back together as best she could, thoroughly mortified. The practical part of her knew she’d likely never see the kind blue-eyed officer again but instead of relief, she’d felt an intense regret.

“Why did you come back that day?” she asked suddenly. “To the embassy?”

“Because the extraordinary, beautiful blond girl who kept apologizing in at least four languages stole my only kerchief, and I wanted it back.”

“You brought flowers.”

“Because she had also stolen my heart. Though I never got that back, nor do I want it returned. That will be yours forever, moja kochana.”

Sophie glanced down at the band around her finger. In the long rays of the sun that was beginning its descent over the roofs and spires of the city, the ruby and tiny pearls gleamed with a lustrous glow. “You, Piotr Kowalski, are a shameless romantic.”

“Guilty.” He flashed her a roguish grin. “It’s why you love me.”

“I love you because you are kind and brave and honourable. Because you are patient and gentle and smart.”

“What about handsome?”

“The most handsome man of all.” Sophie smiled.

“Indeed. Do go on. What else do you love about me?”

“Now you’re just fishing for flattery.”

“Yes. You can have a turn later. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

Sophie laughed before sobering. “I love you because the day I told you that I would become a professor of languages at Oxford, you asked why I hadn’t already applied. And where we would live.”

“Perfectly reasonable questions.”

Sophie toyed with the edge of the sheet. “Most men wouldn’t think so.”

Piotr caught her hand. “And I am not most men. Where is this coming from?”

“Childhood insecurities,” Sophie mumbled. “I’m sorry. This is embarrassing and not at all a romantic topic on our wedding night.”