The doors opened.
Marco came out of the elevator with his suit coat off, his shirt unbuttoned, his eyes blazing with passion.
“Amore mio,” he said, and she went into his arms and forgot everything, everything but him.
******
Marco paced through the big living room, back and forth, back and forth, the ring he’d bought damn near burning a hole in his pocket.
It was perfect.
It was, wasn’t it?
He had looked at enough rings to make his head spin, all of them beautiful, some of them spectacular, none of them The One. The saleswoman had done her best to help. What size stone did he want? What shape? What kind of setting? Logical questions but his only answer was that he’d know the right ring when he saw it.
And, finally, he had.
It was a flawless blue-white three-carat diamond set in platinum and flanked by cornflower-blue sapphires. Beautiful yet modest and with a fiery heart. Just like his Emilia.
He grinned as he took it from his pocket and looked at it.
OK. Maybe the ring wasn’t so modest, but Emily was. And beautiful. And fiery.
He could hardly wait to slip the ring on her finger. He’d had to guess at the size but why worry about that when it suddenly hit him that what he really had to guess at was whether she would say “yes” to his proposal.
She loved him but the only certainty in this life was that Emily was the missing half of him.
He loved her in bed. He loved her out of bed. She was smart, she was fun, he could discuss absolutely anything with her, and she wasn’t afraid of standing up to him.
And he trusted her. With everything he was or ever would be. His soul. His life. His heart.
Dio, he was a wreck.
If only Emily would appear—but she had all but thrown him out of their bedroom.
“I can’t get dressed with you watching me,” she’d said.
“Why?”
“Because I want to look perfect, that’s why!”
He’d smiled, stepped behind her at the cheval mirror, cupped her shoulders and kissed the side of her throat.
“You already do.”
“You don’t understand. I’m meeting your friends.”
“And?”
She’d sighed the kind of long-suffering sigh he knew women gave when men were too thick-headed to understand the mysteries women were born understanding.
“And, I’m nervous.”
“Cara. They are nice people.”
“I’m sure they are but—but I’m just on edge. So please, wait for me downstairs.”
Well, he had waited. And waited. First in the living room. Now on the terrace. Maybe the cool night air would calm him. Maybe he’d stop second-guessing himself. Had he chosen the right ring? Should he have taken Emily with him? What if she said, It’s a pretty ring and it’s very nice of you to ask me but—