“You should think of things that make you smile, then.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It can be,” he says, stepping toward me just as the kids come running over.
“Fa troppo caldo,” Alfonso complains, throwing his arms around.
“It’s too hot,” Annabella translates, looking at me for approval.
I nod. “It is hot.”
Derio takes a moment to peel his eyes off of me, though something is still on his mind, then he says to the twins, “Allora, why don’t we go where it’s cool, then: underground. Sotterraneo. Cripta. Catacombe.” He makes a scary face.
The way he says it makes even me feel a bit apprehensive but the twins cry out excitedly, obviously intrigued by the bones and creepy passages of the catacombs. I just want someplace cool. As long as there are no spiders ready to drop on me, I’m good.
We end up taking a cab since we’re tired and it’s all the way uphill to the Basilica of Santa Maria della Sanità. We manage to get in for the last tour of the catacombs of San Gaudioso, which is all in Italian, but I don’t care—looking at the skulls and skeletons is pretty self-explanatory. It’s pretty macabre but it’s well kept, no spiders or creepy bugs anywhere, with ambient lighting down the passageways and a lot of old paintings and frescoes on the walls depicting saints and burials. I take discreet pics with my phone and remind myself to start writing in my travel blog again. I’d been so busy with Derio and the twins that the whole “traveler” part of my persona had completely slipped my mind.
When we pop back aboveground about an hour later, relieved to have fresh air, the sun is low on the horizon and the heat hugs instead of strangles us. We take the kids to a nearby park and find a bench to sit on while they play on the playground and chase each other around the grass.
“I like it here,” I tell him, head on his shoulder as we look out over the city and the bay. Capri sits in the background, barely visible through all the haze. “But I wouldn’t want to move here.”
“Me neither,” he says. “Where would you like to move?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. In Italy, you mean?”
“Yes.”
“I’d like to see a few places. Cinque Terre sounds nice. I’ve always wanted to go to Venice. Florence, of course. Tuscany. Umbria. Sorrento and Positano were really pretty.”
“Not Capri?”
I glance up at him. His expression is solemn but curious. “Well, I live on Capri now.”
“But will you live there forever?” he asks.
“Forever is a long time,” I say, looking back at the view. Being with him feels so right. But part of me doesn’t want to be a nanny forever. There is so much more to see and do. Of course, now I can’t imagine doing anything, going to any of these places, without him by my side.
“And what if you can stay here?” he asks. “Legally. Would you?”
I swallow. A few weeks ago I would have said yes with no question. Now I’m not so sure. What changed? I look up at him and think that it can’t be my feelings for him. “How could I stay?”
“We prove to the government that we are serious about each other. We can call upon witnesses like Signora Bagglia, or your friend Shay, or maybe even Felisa if I can ever get ahold of her. We have pictures. The government looks more kindly on love than they do employment.”
Love?
He cups my face in his warm hand and looks deep into my eyes, so intently that I think he can see every hidden layer I have deep inside.
“Amber,” he says in a low, husky voice. “I am madly in love with you.”
My eyes widen. My heart fizzes like popped champagne.
“I knew I would fall hard for you, from the moment we first met. That’s probably why you got under my skin so fast. I knew I couldn’t let someone like you go. You were supposed to teach the twins, but you ended up teaching me.”
“About what?” I whisper as his lips come closer to mine.
“About love,” he says, gently tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “About life. About dreams and fears. And family. You taught me about everything I had forgotten and things I’d never known. And the only way I can repay you is with my heart. You one hundred percent have my heart. It may not be worth much coming from a troubled man like me, but it’s real and it’s yours. Ti amo, mia leonessa.”
He kisses me and it’s flush with tenderness. His look, his words, this kiss—it all reaches deep into my chest, into my soul, and shakes me loose. I feel like there’s a sun rising inside me and it’s so close to banishing the clouds for good.
If only I could let it.
I have to let it.
We break apart just long enough for me to whisper, “I love you, too.”
His breath hitches and when I look at his eyes, so dark and beautiful, they are wavering with emotion. “Is this true?”
A wide, delirious grin breaks across my face. “Yes. Si. Ti amo. I love you, Derio, I love you.”
And then, as he kisses me again, so passionately that my toes curl and my heart somersaults, it hits me like a fiery sledgehammer. I am in love with this man. This man loves me.
He loves me.
That night, while the twins are asleep in the other room, we make quiet love to each other. It is a night I will never forget as he undresses me by the open curtains, the moonlight streaming in and making us glow silver. He does this slowly, carefully, as if we have all the time in the world. His hands and lips and eyes make love to my body before the rest of him can begin.