Rico grinned.
‘I am indeed,’ he replied. ‘Incredibly fortunate. And now, if you’ve finished making up to my bride, let’s get on with it. Better start with Ben—before he gets bored with the proceedings.’
But Ben was on his best behaviour, and clearly determined to look angelic, which he did effortlessly, in his smart new clothes.
As for his mother.
Rico’s breath caught for the hundredth time.
She sat there, on a sofa in the formal salon of the villa—a room as ornate as the dining room, but ideal for the purpose now—and looked simply—
Radiant.
It was the only word for her, and Rico could not tear his eyes from her.
As Jean-Paul took shot after shot, wonder suffused Rico. And when it was his turn to be included—first on his own with her, then with Ben, and then with all three of them—although his pose was formal, the look in his eyes was quite different.
At the end of the session, Jean-Paul set his camera aside.
‘Bon chance, mon vieux,’ he said. ‘And I wish you every happiness.’
He clasped Rico’s hand, then let it go.
There remained only the business of downloading the digital file from the camera, and offering Jean-Paul the hospitality a friend deserved before he took his leave. And then, while Lizzy took Ben off to change them both into less formal clothes, Rico was left to e-mail Luca.
There was no text. Just a carefully selected attachment.
That would be sufficient.
For a moment after he had hit send he just stared at the blank screen.
Then he logged out, and went to find his wife.
She was living in the middle of a dream. A dream so wonderful she knew it could only be a dream. An enchantment. A time out of time.
The whole world seemed suffused with a glow of bliss. Every moment, every instant of every day—and, oh, every night—was filled with a happiness she had never believed possible.
How can I be so happy?
But she did not need to ask. She knew.
Rico—
She had only to breathe his name, only to look at him, hear his voice, take his hand, feel his touch upon her, to know why happiness—deep, profound, immeasurable and infinite—was in every pulse of her blood, every beat of her heart.
She did not want to think, to ask, to question. She wanted only to be—to be this wonderful, enchanted person, caught in her blissful, beautiful dream.
It was so strange, she mused. Outwardly, the days passed in just the same way—easy, undemanding days, a perpetual holiday. Taking Ben down to the beach, swimming in the pool, lounging in the sun, doing everything and nothing, talking about everything and nothing.
And yet everything had changed—changed so utterly she could not believe it, could only float in her haze of wonder and bliss.
By day, the signs were subtle and unconscious—a passing caress, a physical closeness, the casual body language that was the daytime manifestation of intimacy. The hug for Ben that included a hug for her, the little touches of hands as they played with him, the warm, acknowledging glances as they talked and ate and did all the things they had already been doing since they had come to the villa.
But by night—ah, by night her heart lifted in still-incredulous wonder. By night the enchantment that suffused her with a subtle golden haze by day blazed into glory. Glory that burned like stars in its brilliance—glory that melted her body, caress by sweetest caress, touch by sensual touch, stroke by exquisite stroke, until her whole being caught flame and burned like a torch in the ecstasy of her consummation.
His consummation. Because she knew, with every cell of her being, that the strong, virile body she held in her arms, held deep within her own body, was burning too, in the same consummation. She felt his body burn with the same flame, setting him on fire as her arms wrapped him close, and closer still, their bodies fusing as one, until at last the incandescence burned away, leaving them twined about each other in sweet exhaustion.
‘How…how can it be so wonderful?’ she breathed at him one night, her eyes wide and bemused.