Emily: Sex and Sensibility (The Wilde Sisters 1)

“Shut up, Jacob,” Emily said, very softly.

Jake’s eyebrows shot up. He looked at his brothers. They shrugged their shoulders. After a second or two, so did he.

“It is the world’s fault that you had to become Emily Madison, cara, because it was not wise enough to see that Emily Wilde was all that it needed. And then we met.” He wanted to laugh but his throat felt too tight for laughter. “The most wonderful woman imaginable, and a man who is a stubborn fool. “

“You left out arrogant,” Emily said. Her voice wobbled a little, just enough to give him hope. “A stubborn, arrogant fool.”

“Si. I am both those things. But—”

“But,” she said, her eyes locked to his, “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I never, ever meant to do that.”

“I know that, inamorata, just as I know that what you said that night was true. Emily Madison and Emily Wilde are the same woman. Being Emily Madison was all about what you needed, not about me.” He took a step forward. She was so close now that he could smell the scent of her skin, of her hair. Carefully, he reached out, framed her face with his hands. “You were the first true thing in my entire life. And because of my selfish stupidity, I almost lost you.”

Tears rolled down Emily’s face. Her nose was running. Marco looked around; one of Emily’s brothers—it would take him some time to connect their names to their faces—plucked a napkin from the table and handed it to him.

“Grazie.”

“You’re welcome,” Caleb said, and he glared at his brothers, daring them to say something, but neither of them did.

“Cara.” Gently, he dried her tears with the napkin, then wiped her nose. His heart was racing; he had closed hundreds of multi-million dollar business deals over the last several years and he had been cool and calm through all of them but this—this was not business. This was his life. “Sweetheart. Have I lost you? Tell me that I have not. Tell me that you understand that I am a stubborn, arrogant fool—but tell me that you forgive me.”

Did seconds go by, or an eternity? Marco forgot to breathe. Then, slowly, the most beautiful smile in the world curved over his Emily’s lips.

“At the very least,” she said, “you’re arrogant. But I love you. And I always will.”

She went into his arms. He held her against him, his face buried in her hair. “Emilia mia,” he said brokenly, and she raised her face to his and he said her name again and kissed her.

Somebody shuffled his feet. Somebody cleared his throat. Somebody sniffled.

Marco let go of Emily, dug in the pocket of his jacket, found what he had never been without since the terrible night she had walked out of his life, and dropped to one knee.

“Emily Madison Wilde. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

He lifted his hand. The diamond-and-sapphire ring lay in the center of his palm, shining as brightly as the hope in his heart.

Emily gasped.

A chorus of masculine wows filled the air along with a counterpoint of feminine oohs because somewhere along the way the Wilde women and Laurel had come back.

“Emilia mia. Per favore. Will you marry me?”

Emily looked at the upturned face of her lover. She could almost see the years stretching ahead, the two of them together, happy, in love, perhaps with babies to make their lives complete.

“Yes,” she said softly, and she laughed. “Yes,” she said, “yes, yes, yes—”

Marco Santini shot to his feet, gathered Emily Madison Wilde into his arms and kissed her.

And he did it to a round of welcoming applause.

EPILOGUE

They were married on the winter solstice, at El Sueño.

Outside, a pristine white snow fell gently on the meadows and the distant hills. Fairy lights were wrapped along the corral railings and trailed up the front steps to the porch.

Inside, virtually all the townsfolk of Wilde’s Crossing oohed and aahed over the beautiful bride and her handsome groom.

The general almost didn’t get there in time—but he did, and he gave the bride away.