uldn’t have understood that I have the strength to move beyond my past. You taught me that.” He came over to her then, knelt before her and took her hands in his. His handsome face was so serious. “And you of all people should know that a family is built on love, not genetics. Is Jacques any less your family because you are not related? Do your mother and sister have a greater claim on your affections because they share your blood?”
She shook her head. The lump in her throat was too big to speak. She thought of her mother, her cold cruel mother in her drafty house with her mantle of blame, and knew what he said was right. Just because someone gave birth to you did not mean they were capable of loving you.
He squeezed her hands. “Do you know why I sent you the Corazón del Diablo?”
“No,” she managed.
“Because possessing it has caused me nothing but sorrow. It is the devil’s heart, and it exacts a great price. And I’m tired of being a prisoner to my past. I want to go forward, and I want to do this with you.”
“How is giving me the necklace letting go of the past?”
“Because you are free to do with it what you wish. Donate it to a museum, give it to Jacques—I don’t care. But when you’ve done what you want, all I ask is that you come home with me. I need you.”
Hope was unfurling in her soul, the wind of his words catching it and fanning it higher. Could she really dare to believe? “It’s your birthright, Marcos. You can’t just give it up like that. It means too much. You’ve fought too hard for it.”
“I have already let it go,” he said, his eyes so serious as they searched hers. “It’s yours. As am I. The symbolism is meaningless without you.”
But she had to be sure. “You would give up the possibility of ever having a biological child? It’s not something to be done lightly, Marcos. I didn’t have a choice, but you do.”
He kissed her hands, then cupped the back of her head and kissed her lips. “I love you, Francesca. You make my world brighter. Whether or not you are able to give me a child of my blood has nothing to do with how I feel about you.”
She shook her head, so scared and so uncertain—and so hopeful. “You’ll regret it. You’ll resent me later—”
“No, I won’t. I cannot resent you when you are my heart, my soul. You make me whole again. I need you. Armando needs you.”
“Armando?”
“He’s had quite an upheaval, but he needs a stable life. We can give that to him. I want us to be the ones who give it to him.”
“But I thought you had found him a family.”
“He already has a family. Us, Ingrid and Isabelle. The bodega and everyone there.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. “It’s not fair to try and bribe me this way.”
“I don’t care about fair, mi amor. I care about you. I want to spend every day with you, talking, arguing, making love, going for walks, taking care of Armando. I want to wake up each day knowing you will be there. And I want you to know that I love you, and that I’ve never said those words to anyone other than my mother. Not anyone, Francesca. Not ever.”
Her heart was expanding with all she felt. With every word he said, she believed him. She touched his face, traced the scar at his mouth. He turned his head, and kissed her palm.
“Please, Francesca,” he said urgently. “I can’t do this without you. Say you will come home with me, that you will love me—”
“I already do love you. So much it scares me.”
“Then say you will marry me and be my wife forever.”
“Luckily, we’re already married,” she said with a watery smile.
He answered her with a sexy grin. “Then we can start immediately on the honeymoon. My favorite part.”
“Mine too.”
“Bueno,” he said, tugging her sweater up. “Because I have much I wish to do to you before this night is through …”
It was a very wonderful night, Francesca thought. But not until much, much later …
EPILOGUE
HE TRULY WAS THE luckiest man in the world. Marcos sat on the veranda of the Bodega Navarre, gazing out at the vineyards and the laughing little boy playing with Francesca. Little Armando was a dynamo at three years old. He was quick, smart, and as adorable as ever.