No one but tourists traveled in gondolas.

I wouldn't have set foot in one under normal circumstances but I’d missed the water-bus and there wasn't a water-taxi in sight-they were all down near the Grand Canal waiting to take tourists from Carnavale to their dinner reservations after the festivities.

I was desperate when I approached the gondolier who would change my life. He was stretched out in his gondola, which was tied to a post, wearing the usual gondolier uniform-a black and white horizontally striped long-sleeved shirt. It wasn’t warm, so he had a black down vest on over that, but the requisite flat, wide brimmed straw hat with a red sash tied around it was propped over his face against a dreary mid-day Italian drizzle. To me, he looked like an Amish referee.

I didn't even warn him-I just stepped into the boat, kicking his calf as I took a seat to wake him up.

“Eighty euro for forty minutes.” He spoke English in a thick Italian accent, but he didn’t move from his reclined position.

“No need to give me the usual tourist crap.” My Italian was nearly perfect and the gondolier grunted fully awake, peering out at me from under the brim of his hat, his eyes hidden in shadow. “I just need a ride.”

“Where to?” He spoke Italian with me now that it was clear I wasn't a tourist. “This isn't a taxi.”

“If you hadn’t noticed, there aren't any.” I waved my hand toward the empty waterway. Practically everyone was down at the Piazza San Marco, enjoying the very last day of a two-week Carnavale celebration. I, for one, was glad it was finally over.

“What's so important it can't wait?” he inquired, but he was already untying the gondola and pushing off. The initial rocking motion always made me momentarily woozy and I clutched the sides of the boat.

“I just need to post something.” I patted my bag where both letter and package waited. The Italian mail service was unreliable and slow, and I’d already waited too long to send it because Cara Lucia insisted on adding a knitted cap to go with the sweater she’d made. It had to get to the states in time for my little goddaughter’s birthday just three weeks away.

“So you don’t want the usual tour?” He spoke casual Italian with me and I smiled inwardly, proud. I’d been studying the language for years, but it had taken my immersion into the lifestyle and culture to really make me fluent. With my dark hair and eyes, I could probably pass for Italian, rather than the Midwest white bread mongrel breed I really was.

“No, grazie.” I huddled at the end of the gondola, wishing for the canopy of a water-taxi. The weather was more mist than rain. February in Italy was capricious. It could rain, or snow, or be sunny-all in one day.

I grabbed the sides of the boat as the gondolier reached under one of the seats, making the gondola rock gently as we slid through the water. I should have been used to all the jostling after living in Venice for eight months, but the fact that every time I wanted to travel anywhere, I had to use a mode of transportation that required me to move off of solid land, still made me nervous.

“Siete freddi,” he said, handing me a blanket. It was knitted-probably by his Italian mother or aunt, I guessed-quite beautiful, in fact.

“No, I’m not cold,” I lied, continuing in Italian, trying not to let my teeth clatter together.

The gondolier raised an eyebrow but didn’t call me on my bluff, putting the blanket down on the seat in front of me, taking a step back and then hopping up onto the front edge of the gondola. The whole boat tilted with the motion and I gasped, clutching the sides, gritting my teeth as he used his long pole, back and forth, to steer us through the current.

“Be careful up there!” I remarked, watching as he took a wide stance, balanced at the very end of the gondola. I never understood how they could do that.

“This isn’t the city for a woman afraid of water,” he remarked, grinning when I rolled my eyes in his direction. He was the youngest gondolier I’d ever seen, probably my age, his dark hair curling under the lip of his hat, his full lips parted in a smile.

“I’m not afraid of water,” I protested. “I just… don’t like it.”

“Like a cat.” He laughed. “You can swim, but you’d rather not?”

“Something like that.”

“A pretty girl like you should be down in the Piazza, dressed up for Carnavale.”

I rolled my eyes and tried to make myself smaller against the other side of the gondola. “I don’t like parties either.”

“What do you like?”

I glared at him. “Gondoliers who mind their own business.”

He staggered, his hand over his heart, groaning as if he were in a great deal of pain. The dramatic gesture made the boat rock and I gasped, hanging on.

“Hey!” I protested. “Don’t do that!”

“You break-a my heart.” He said this in English, like a typical Italian, and it made me laugh out loud in spite of myself. His switch back to Italian made my stomach flutter. Hearing the language spoken-especially by someone decidedly tall, dark and handsome-still made me kind of swoon a little. “That’s better. You’re a true beauty when you smile.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere.” So I lied.

“What will get me somewhere?” The mischievous glint in his eyes made my stomach do another little flip. There were plenty of men in Italy, some of them very nice-looking, all of them, young and old, flirtatious and outgoing-but so far, I’d stayed immune to charm of Italian men. Mostly by sheer will, I had to admit.

“Not rocking the boat,” I retorted, sticking my tongue out at him.

He laughed, shifting his hip, making the gondola see-saw on the water. “Ah, but I like to ‘rock the boat.’ Isn’t that what you Americans say?”

I frowned. “How did you know I was American?”

“I didn’t.” His grin stretched ear-to-ear. “But I do now.”

I couldn’t help smiling at him. “That wasn’t very nice.”

“I’m not a nice man.” His eyebrows knitted and he scowled in my direction. “In fact, I’m a very bad, bad man.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Then that bright smile was back again. “But don’t American women like ‘bad boys?’”

“Where did you hear that?”

“American television of course.”

I snorted. “Of course.”

“So it’s not true?”

“Oh it’s true.” I nodded sagely. “All American woman like bad boys. And men in uniforms. And men with big bank accounts. And great big…”

I let my sentence trail off, looking sideways at him.

“Well one out of four isn’t bad, eh?” He shrugged, using his long pole- no metaphor there, I thought wryly-to steer us through the waterways of Venice.

“Are you going to make me guess which one?” I teased. I knew I was flirting with him, encouraging him, in fact. What was wrong with me today?

“No, I would never make you guess.” He met my eyes, his look quite serious. I felt my cheeks flush and was glad for the chill in the air. The rain had finally stopped, and although the water was choppy, it reflected a bit of hazy sun trying to make its way through the clouds.

“So what are you doing here in Italia, Americano?” He changed the subject as smoothly as he navigated his boat through the water.

“I’m in an exchange program. Studying Italian.”

“Of course.” He nodded, as if he’d guessed. He probably had-there were plenty of foreign exchange students in Italy, although most were undergraduates, still in their college partying days, spending long hours drinking wine in the cafes during the day when they weren’t in class and dancing at clubs into the wee hours of the night. I was a graduate student, far more serious about my studies and the time I spent in Italy, since I had to finish my thesis in just one year.

“Do you need a study partner?” he asked, flirting again.

I didn’t rebuff him. “Are you offering your services?”

“In any way I can assist you.” He swept his hat off his head and bowed low. His balance up there on the edge of the gondola took my breath away.

“Do you think I need practice?” I protested.

“Your Italian is good,” he admitted. “But practice makes perfect, eh? Isn’t that what Americans say?”

“Oh look, yet another masked man.” I pointed toward the shore where someone was dressed up in costume. They were everywhere I turned this week, men, women and children all made up in masks and feathers, satin and lace. “I feel like I’m in an episode of The Lone Ranger. ”

The Italian blinked at me. “The Lone…what?”

“I thought you watched American TV.” I smiled. “It’s an old television show.”

“How can you come to Italy and not attend Carnavale?” He looked genuinely puzzled by my lack of interest.

“It’s just a big Mardi Gras, right?” I shrugged. “You’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all.”

“There is nothing like Carnavale!” the Italian man protested.

“Yes there is. We celebrate it in New Orleans just like you do here. Parades and costumes. Well, we’re a little more crude about it I guess. Women flash their breasts for some beads and baubles. Typical Americans, eh?”

“I like this custom.” He grinned.

“I’m not religious,” I admitted. “So I don’t give up anything for Lent or do much on Fat Tuesday.”

“Not Catholic?”

I shook my head.

“My mother is crossing herself and saying a prayer for you right now.” He winked. “So what do you Americans do on this ‘Fat Tuesday?’”

“Well, in America, mostly people go to work and eat Paczkis.”

“Paczkis. Aren’t those Polish donuts?”

“Indeed they are,” I agreed. “About five hundred calories a piece.”

He smirked. “Sounds delightful.”

“Now you start to understand why I’m in Italy instead of the states.”

“But you’re not at Carnavale!”

I glanced up at him, shading my eyes, the sun finally making a full appearance. “Neither are you.”

“Ah, true, but a man has to earn his bread.”

I looked around the empty canal. There were a few boats docked and some people on the streets, but most of them were at the Piazza. “You do a lot of gondola rides during Carnavale?”

“Yes, it’s our busiest week in the winter, although I thought about taking today off and attending the festivities. The last day of Carnavale is always the grandest.” He smiled down at me. “But now I’m glad I didn’t.”

“Do you own your own boat?” I asked, trying to change the subject, nowhere near as smooth as he was. Going to post a letter usually took me ten minutes via the waterways, tops, but taking a gondola was slowing down the whole process considerably.

“I do,” he said. “My boat, my business. I like to be in control.”

My breath went away at his words, my mouth dry. I looked away from him, not able to meet his gaze, grabbing the blanket he’d left and pulling it over my knees.

“I think the whole Carnavale thing is overrated. It’s all for tourists.” I made another attempt to steer the conversation elsewhere. “It’s been costumes everywhere I go for the past two weeks. Too much noise, too many crowds.”

“Ah, but bella, the food alone is worth the crowds on the streets!” His eyes rolled back and he rubbed his belly, smacking his lips as if he could taste some delicacy on his tongue. Italians were always so overly demonstrative-that was one stereotype that had proved to be true.

“Is it good?” I found myself thinking of the bread, cheese and fruit I had left for dinner back at my flat.

“Good?” His eyes snapped open and he threw his arms wide, nearly losing his pole. “Mio Dio! It’s to die for! Isn’t that what you Americans say when it’s too good for words?”

I smiled. “Yes, that’s what we Americans say.”

“You should come to dinner with me at least.” He concentrated now on steering the long boat down another narrow canal-we were almost to the post office.

I quickly made excuses. “Oh, I really don’t feel like going out, not with all the people…”

“Not out.” He slowed the boat using his long pole. “To my home. Come see how we really do Shrove Tuesday in Venice. You’ll leave so full I’ll have to carry you home.”

“Is that your evil plan, bad boy?” I teased as the gondola came to a stop. He used a rope around a post to pull the boat in closer to the shore.

He laughed. “Yes, that’s my evil plan. Are you a willing victim?”

“I don’t even know your name,” I reminded him.

“Nico Bianchi.” He held out his hand and I shook it, feeling the warm press of his palm against mine.

“Dani,” I replied. “Danielle Stuart.”

He nodded, satisfied. “See, now we are not strangers.”

“Let me think about it.” I accepted his help onto shore, glancing up at him. He looked so hopeful-but I knew I shouldn’t. Cara Lucia had invited me to her family’s Carnavale celebration but I had begged off, planning to just snuggle up with Jezebel and read the whole day away. “I need to post this before they shut their doors.”

It was nearly noon, and I barely made it in before they closed for the holiday. The postal workers were all in costume, chatting about Carnavale. They were headed down to the Piazza as soon as they were done and seemed annoyed to have to deal with my little package, but I was glad I’d made it.

I glanced out the window and saw the gondolier chatting with another man, a little bit older, not in costume. He was wearing a suit and carrying a briefcase, a strange sight during Carnavale, when masks and make-up were the norm.

The men laughed together and then hugged-something unheard of on the streets of America, but very common in Italy-but when the man in the suit kissed the gondolier on the lips, I nearly dropped my bag in surprise.

Hugging, yes. Even kissing each other on each cheek, or-strange to Americans-patting each other on the behind, all of those things I’d seen. But a full kiss on the lips between two men? That could only mean one thing.

The encounter was over by the time I went outside, the man with the briefcase gone, but I couldn’t help voicing my curiosity.

“Who was that?” I asked as Nico offered me a hand and I stepped onto the boat.

He glanced at me in surprise as I settled myself on a seat. “Just a friend.”

“Looked like a very good friend,” I remarked, hiding a knowing smile.

“He is, still.” The gondolier untied and pushed off, and we were on our way again. “He lives in Sicily now. I see him very rarely. It was a coincidence to run into him here.”

He was so cavalier about it, not embarrassed at all, but it was clear to me-Nico was gay. Which, I had to admit, relieved me of some of my trepidation, and I began to look back over our conversation with a different lens.

“So are you ready for a real Italian Shrove Tuesday?” he asked as we maneuvered back down the little canal. “My mother has been cooking all week for today. If we get there early enough, we can eat all the Zeppole before my sisters arrive. What do you say?”

I’d denied myself the revelry and masked silliness in the streets, but I had to admit, I’d been longing for some company, a little good food and wine and conversation. Who could turn down homemade Italian cooking on Carnavale? Why not?

Smiling, I accepted. “ Si, signor! You’ve convinced me.”

Nico smiled as we headed into the more open water of the Grand Canal, steering us toward his home.

“Carnavale.” He whispered the word into my ear. The city was laid out before us like brightly colored jewels on velvet. The lights of the parade and shows going on below in the Piazza lit up all of Venice. Each costumed dancer glittered like a piece of shiny candy we could have plucked up and eaten. I watched, enthralled, feeling Nico’s warm breath against my cheek. Even in my desperate attempt to avoid the festivities, I couldn’t help but be a part of them. Italy had a way of drawing you in, whether you liked it or not.

It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

“This is your place?” I asked, hugging myself as I looked down through the little window of the attic room.

“Yes.” He peered over my shoulder and I felt him pressed against me, long and lean. “This way, I can have my own space, but also be near my family.”

“You’re close with them?”

He shrugged. “They’re my family. I take care of them since my mother, she can’t work anymore.”

“She was a seamstress?” I remembered her talking about it.

“Her arthritis is too bad now for her to work.”

“Thank you for showing me this.” I turned slightly to look at him, his eyes gleaming silver in the darkness. “Thank you for inviting me today. About what happened… I’m sorry…”

“Come. Sit.” He led me over to his bed and we perched on the edge, side by side. If I hadn’t known he was gay, and if I hadn’t had so much wine to drink, I wouldn’t have followed him. I would have been on my guard and tense when he put his arm around me and held me close. But I felt safe with him, safer than I had with a single man in a long time, so I let him comfort me, settling in as we reclined on his bed, tucking my head under his chin.

“Do you want to talk about it, bella?”

Bella. He was just using a common Italian endearment, the word for beautiful. He couldn’t have known the memories it triggered for me.

“No.” I shook my head and held on, closing my eyes. “Can we just… not talk.”

“Si.” His lips brushed my forehead and I sighed in relief. If I’d had to explain, I would have broken down completely, shattered into a million little pieces that poor Nico would have had to pick up and somehow put back together before we went down to face his family.

Instead we held each other, the music of Carnavale playing below like the soundtrack of a distant dream. It was probably the wine coursing through me, making me far too warm in the chilly attic room. I hadn’t had that much to drink in a long time, and even all the food we’d consumed hadn’t dampened the buzzing in my head.

It was the wine-that’s what I told myself when Nico began stroking my hair, sending little shivers through me. I reminded myself that this was impossible, that he was simply comforting a crazy woman he’d had the misfortune to invite into his home. That I was lucky he hadn’t kicked me out at the first sign of insanity. And maybe we were both a little drunk and lonely and looking for comfort that night.

“Your family,” I reminded him after a while, although I didn’t want to move. I was sleepy and it felt so good to be held in a man’s arms again, even if nothing was going to come of it. Maybe because nothing was going to come of it.

“Shhh.” He kissed my forehead, tightening his arms around me. “Don’t remind me.”

I smiled. “We can’t stay here forever.”

“What happened to not talking?”

“But-”

I gasped in surprise when he silenced me with a kiss-and not a brotherly little kiss either, this was a full, hard sort of kiss that deepened the longer it went on. I felt faint when we broke apart, my limbs trembling.

“I’m sorry,” he panted. “It was the best way I could think of to keep you quiet.”

“It worked,” I whispered, looking at him in the darkness, incredulous. This couldn’t be happening. For all sorts of reasons.

He kissed me again, this time slower, exploring, his hand running down my side, over my hip, pulling my pelvis in against his. I moaned in response, shifting toward him, sliding my leg up over his.

I don’t know how it happened. I told myself we were drunk, crazy with the sights of Carnavale. Like the masked revelers in the streets, we were anonymous, just heat and friction together in the darkness. I forgot about everything in his arms, giving in to pure sensation, letting instinct and desire alone guide me.

I think I tried to protest once, questioning his motives-and my own-but he drowned me with kisses, the weight of his body on mine a welcome relief from thought. His mouth slanted across mine and he wedged his thigh between my legs, rocking us on the bed to the faint beat of a distant drum. I clung to him, just as hungry as he was.

“Is this okay?” he gasped, kissing his way down my neck, opening the V of my blouse.

“Yes,” I urged, daring to reach down and cup his crotch in response, sighing happily at the bulge found there. The heat of him through his jeans was incredible. I wrapped my legs around him, arching to give him better access as he fumbled with the front hook on my bra, the buttons of my blouse already undone to my waist. “Wait, did you lock the door?”

“Of course.” His mouth moved over my breasts, leaving hot trails of saliva. I didn’t even have time to register that he might have been planning this all along-or was it just an opportunity we both took? I still couldn’t quite wrap my head around what I’d assumed-that he was definitely gay and not interested in me sexually-with what was happening now.

I thought about saying something, asking, clarifying-but I didn’t want to break the mood.

It had been far too long since I’d let a man touch me, and with his hands and mouth roaming and the feel of his hard cock pressed against my hip, the word “no” seemed to have vanished from my vocabulary. Besides, Nico was not only attractive, he was clearly skilled. His tongue made hot circles around my nipple while he unzipped my jeans, sliding a hand inside to find the soft, hairless swell of my labia with his fingers.

“Smooth,” he murmured, his eyes widening in surprise. I hadn’t gone native, still keeping up with the American trend of shaving my pussy completely. “Oh bella, she’s so soft…”

I squirmed as he began exploring, working my jeans down my hips, wanting to give him more. He helped me, tossing them aside as he settled himself between my thighs, my panties still on, the crotch already soaking wet. Nico brushed his cheek against the silk, breathing me in, and I ran a hand through his hair, my nails digging into his shoulders when his tongue found me through the material.

I hooked my thumbs in the elastic of my panties and peeled them down. Nico took them the rest of the way, splaying his big palms on my thighs and spreading me wider for his plunging tongue. I let him take what he wanted, my limbs quivering with an overload of sensation, my hips rocking in rhythm.

He paused only a moment to murmur, “You taste like heaven,” diving back in again with stunning ability coupled with a ferocious enthusiasm that had me at the edge of orgasm in moments.

“Nico!” I gasped a warning, gripping his hair, my pelvis undulating, belly quaking, poised at the brink. His fingers sent me over, dipping deep into my pussy, drawing me out, his tongue punishing my clit with sensation, drowning me with pleasure. I tried to be quiet, too mindful of where we were, who might come knocking on the door, but I couldn’t help crying out with my climax, my body quaking as if the earth had moved beneath me.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, kissing his way up my quivering belly, cupping his whole hand over my mound as we kissed, making me whimper and melt against him. He was fully clothed still, his belt buckle nibbling at my hip, and I moved to rectify that situation, pulling his shirt off, exploring muscle and sinew and flesh in the dark.

He was just as eager as I was, helping me with his belt and zipper, shoving his jeans down his hips. His cock sprang free when I pulled his boxers down, first into my hand and then into my greedy mouth. Nico reclined on the bed, letting me suck him. It had been so long since I’d had a cock in my mouth, since I’d tasted the peppery promise of cum accumulating in clear, sticky droplets at the tip. I was dizzy with desire.

“Here.” He guided me, a fist in my hair, nice and easy, up and down his delicious length. I tasted him in my throat, an easy burn, the promise of more roiling in the tightening scrotum I held cupped in my palm. “Oh god. Yes. Oh yes, bella, yes!”

I wanted to taste him, to feel the flood of his cum over my tongue, but Nico had other ideas. He stopped me, easing his cock out of my mouth and rubbing it over my lips and cheeks and tongue. Then he reached for me, pulling me into the circle of his arms and rolling me onto my back on the mattress, kissing me quiet.

His cock was heated steel between my legs, riding the rails, dipping into the valley of my pussy. The tip teased my sensitive clit, everything slippery wet, before sliding down and finding my entrance. He did this without looking, just feeling his way, hips shifting forward when he felt my flesh give, sliding into me.

“Oh my fucking god.” I said the words in English, surprising us both.

“Good?” He propped himself up on his arms to look down at me in the darkness, the only light coming from the window, a silvery haze.

“Si!” I assured him in Italian, sliding my hands up the muscled flesh of his arms, delighting in the mountains and valleys of his shoulders. “It’s been so long… so very long…”

“For me too.” He bent his head to my neck, beginning to move inside of me, his swollen length creating a delicious friction. “I might not last so long…”

“It’s okay,” I assured him, although part of me never wanted it to end. He felt far too good.

“I’ll try…” He panted in my ear. “Ahhhh god you’re so wet…”

I was. I slid my hand down to touch him, feeling his length where he went into me, the place where we were joined. My pussy was on fire, my clit aching for more, and I touched myself as he fucked me, closing my eyes with pleasure.

“Good girl,” he encouraged, forcing my thighs open further with his, changing the angle of penetration, making us both moan. “Oh fuck.”

“Yes!” I cried, rubbing faster, faster. “Oh please, yes, fuck me, Nico! Fuck me hard!”

He gave into it, not holding back anymore, and the force of him left me breathless, driving me into the soft press of his mattress again and again. I watched him in the faint light from the window, seeing his face change, his eyes squeezing closed, his lower lip drawn between his teeth. His cock was like granite, the heat between our legs a river of lava.

“Come for me,” I begged, squeezing him hard with the muscles of my pussy, his eyes flying open in surprise. “Oh god, yes, yes, Nico, come with me, come with me!”

My climax swallowed me up in one quivering mass, spitting me back out into reality, shivering and dizzy and gasping for air. I hung onto him as he came too, hiding the sound of my name in the soft, moist crook of my neck as he shuddered into me, the hot flood of his cum pulsing through us both.

It took me a long time to recover. He rolled to the side, pulling a sheet over us, and we breathed together in the darkness. At first I couldn’t focus, but when rational thought finally returned, I remembered where I was, who I was with, what we’d done. It wouldn’t be the first time in my life I’d had sex with a stranger, but it was the first time in a very long time.

“Well, I think this was indulgent enough for Fat Tuesday,” I murmured, feeling Nico stir beside me.

He chuckled. “We don’t call it ‘Fat Tuesday’ in Italy. Here, it’s Shrove Tuesday. Do you know what that means?”

I’d heard the term but had no idea what it meant. “No.”

“It means to confess. Have you ever been to confession?”

I smiled. “No.”

“It’s very freeing, to be absolved of all of your sins,” he assured me, tracing my navel with his finger. “Today we confess, and for Lent, we do penance.”

“You deny yourself?” I asked. “What will you give up?”

“We have to give up something we really love for it to be true penance,” he explained. “I considered giving up sex, but now… perhaps I’ll give up chocolate instead.”

“Good call.” I laughed.

“So what do you have to confess?” he asked, leaning over and kissing the side of my breast, his fingers tracing light patterns over my skin.

“Far too much for the time we have.” I slid my arm around his neck and kissed his cheek, grateful when a knock came on the door.

“Nico!” It was Mama Dorotea and the sound of her voice had us both scrambling for our clothes. “Why is the door locked? What are you doing? Your sister is leaving, you should come say goodbye!”

We fumbled with buttons and zippers, Nico making excuses the whole while, assuring his mother we’d be right down. Thankfully Giulia and Will and the baby were already gone and I didn’t have to make any explanations. When Nico offered to take me home, I refused, telling him I preferred to walk. I needed to clear my head, I said. That much was true.

But it was only about ten blocks, and I would have needed a far greater distance to accomplish that goal, I realized, as I approached the front steps of Cara Lucia’s. I saw the light on in her window up front, heard laughter inside. I felt as if I’d been part of a family again tonight for the first time in so long. I hadn’t felt a part of things that way since Carrie and Doc had practically adopted me, and it had woken something in me I had almost forgotten about.

“There you are!” Cara Lucia opened her door as I made my way down the hall. How she’d known I was there was beyond me. The woman seemed to have extrasensory perception. She stood only five-foot-two and her graying hair was pulled up and back, her aging face still quite beautiful. Her daughters looked just like her-all five of them. I could hear them laughing and talking inside. “Come to celebrate Carnavale?”

I felt guilty about not accepting her earlier invitation. I didn’t see any of her other boarders-most of them foreign exchange students-sitting at the dining room table. Had she invited them as well? Or just me, I wondered? I’d had lunch with her almost every week at that table, talking about her husband and daughters, my studies, my life-before. She was probably the closest thing I had to a friend in Italy.

But I still shook my head, smiling. “No, I’m sorry, I’ve had enough celebrating today, I think.”

“I have something for you, wait.” She held up one finger, leaving the door open a crack.

“No, that’s-”

She had disappeared already, so I waited, sure she was bringing me a care package, more food to add to the calorie-laden meal I’d eaten today. I smiled, remembering Nico’s family. Remembering Nico. Just thinking about him made my head swim. What had I gotten myself into?

Cara Lucia reappeared, something small in her palm. Definitely not the care package I’d expected. She held it out, smiling, gesturing for me to take it. “For you.”

The necklace was beautiful, a gold ellipse with a green stone set in the center. “Oh, no, I can’t possibly accept this.”

“It is the emerald eye of Beatrice.” She was already folding it into my hand. “I thought of you and your work with Dante Alighieri and knew you must have it.”

She knew that I was doing my thesis on The Inferno.

“That is so sweet of you.” Of course, now I felt doubly guilty for not taking her up on attending her Carnavale celebration. “Thank you, Cara Lucia.” I leaned over to kiss her cheek.

She beamed. “Perhaps your Dante will return to his Beatrice.”

“You mean Mason?” I blinked, looking down at the charm in my hand. It had never occurred to me that my ex-husband might be my Dante-the doomed love of my life, a relationship destined to end in tragedy, at least on the worldly plane of existence.

“He redeemed himself in the end, you know,” Cara Lucia reminded me with a wink.

“And Beatrice might have been better off if she’d just let him go,” I countered, turning the charm over in my hand. I had to admit, I was thinking of Nico.

When I looked up at Cara Lucia, I saw the speculative look in her eyes. I’d told her a great deal-probably too much-about my relationship with my ex and everything that had happened when it all fell apart. “Anyway, thank you. It’s beautiful.”

“L'esperienza di questa dolce vita,” she murmured, squeezing my hand. It was a quote from Dante- the experience of this sweet life. “It is yours, Cara,” she told me, using the endearment her own man had given her years ago. Cara meant ‘beloved’ and she had been called Cara Lucia her whole life because her husband couldn’t speak her name without putting his love for her first. “It is all of ours.”

I thanked her again for the charm, promising to come by next week some time for lunch, going upstairs and down the hallway to my own room. Jezebel was waiting, mewing impatiently for her own Carnavale feast. So we sat on my little bed and listened to Venice celebrating and I hand-fed her the bread and cheese I had been expecting to eat for my own dinner.

So many things had happened that I hadn’t been expecting today. What else did the experience of this life have in store? I wondered, looking at the charm. So far, aside from a few bright moments, life hadn’t been very sweet to me. But maybe I was just being ungrateful. I put the necklace on and found myself thinking of Nico with a little spark of hope.

“Not here,” I whispered as Nico kissed me into a narrow alleyway, the cool brick biting my back, pressed hard against the wall.

“Yes here,” he insisted, and I cursed myself for wearing a skirt to school. March was flirting with April and the weather had been sunny and bordering on warm all day, prompting my choice of outfit.

“No, no,” I protested, but telling him no was impossible. He took what he wanted, when he wanted. I couldn’t deny him, and even as my mind forbid him, my body responded, my hips thrusting to meet the hard press of his cock through his trousers, my mouth opening under his.

“I can’t wait,” he murmured, his hand cupping my mound through my skirt. “I’ve been thinking about you all day. My cock has been hard for hours.”

“We could get caught,” I whispered, eyes closed with pleasure as he rocked the heel of his palm against my pussy. It was still daylight and anyone passing by the alleyway could see us. “Arrested. What would your mother say?”

“I don’t care,” he growled, yanking my skirt up to my waist, exposing the black flash of my panties underneath.

“Nico!” I gasped when he went to his knees, unmindful of the suit he was wearing, burying his face between my legs.

The truth was, I was already soaking wet-I’d been thinking about him all day too, about our date and where we would go to ease this ache. I had to sneak him into my flat past Cara Lucia. His mother guarded his place like Fort Knox. We had found places of course, the darkness our accomplice. We had christened the restroom at the Mood Cafe twice, once in the men’s room, the second time in the women’s. We’d made love in the gondola in the dark several times, tied to a post, nearly tipping it over once in a narrow canal with our fervor. We’d even done it like this, in dark alleys, cul-de-sacs, entryways to empty buildings.

But we’d never dared to do it like this, in the daylight, in plain sight. I usually felt like a naughty teenager, sneaking around and hiding our lust, but this was beyond daring-it was dangerous.

I loved it.

“Lick it,” I begged, sliding my leg up over his shoulder to give him better access. He nudged my panties aside and did just as he was told, his mouth working sweet, hot magic between my legs. My clit throbbed against his tongue, my nipples hardening under my blouse. I rubbed my own breasts, grazing them with my nails through the material, sending hot tingles down between my thighs.

“Oh god!” I cried when he grabbed my other thigh, pulling both of my legs over his shoulders. I looked down and could only see his curly head and the lust in those striking blue eyes on mine, his mouth fastened over my pussy. “Oh my god! Nico! Oh! Oh!”

I was coming, just like that, flooding his mouth, my clit beating time, like a hummingbird’s wings, against the lash of his tongue. He moaned softly, his fingers digging into my ass, when he felt the buck of my hips, the arch of my back.

“I have to have you,” he croaked, his face shiny with the juices from my pussy as he looked up at me, still on his knees, his eyes filled with something-a cross between desire and worship-that made me grateful he was still supporting me, because my knees suddenly felt weak.

When he shifted and stood, pressing me against the wall, I glanced down the alleyway, mindful now that we might be seen. I saw someone walk past, close enough I could tell it was a man pushing a cart, but he didn’t glance toward us. The other way was a dead end, but there were doorways all along the alley, backs of shops, and owners or employees could come out of any one of those doors.

“Nico, wait,” I murmured, feeling him fumble for his zipper, but once his cock was free, I truly couldn’t resist. The hard length of him pressing against my thigh as he kissed me was pure temptation and I found him with my hand, feeling him swell as I began to stroke him. He moved his hips, seeking entrance, but I had other ideas.

“Ohhh Mio Dio! ” he moaned as I sank to my knees for him, the cobblestone cold and unforgiving, but I didn’t care. I sucked the thick, mushroom head of his cock, feeling his hand moving through my hair, pushing himself further into my throat. I let him thrust deep and hard, let him use my mouth for his pleasure, my fingernails grazing his balls, coaxing the cum I knew was boiling there to the surface.

“No, no, no,” he cried, making a fist in my hair and pulling me back. I looked up at him, panting with lust, my eyes half-closed, my hand tucked between my legs, rubbing at my aching clit.

“Please,” I whispered.

That was all I had to say. He stood, turning me around roughly and shoving me up against the wall. His hands roamed over my ass as he pulled my hips back, bending me at the waist so he could take me from behind. I braced myself, hands splayed on the brick, waiting for him to impale me.

“Play with yourself,” he ordered, pulling me back into the saddle of his hips, his cock an iron rod between my ass cheeks.

“Please,” I said again, but I reached down to touch myself, my clit pulsing under my fingers.

I heard a noise behind us and turned my head to look but Nico grabbed my hair, pressing my cheek to the wall as his cock slid into the wet, waiting shelter of my pussy. I prayed it was just a cat, but then he was fucking me and I forgot everything.

He grabbed onto my breasts, rubbing them through the silky material of my blouse, his cock a driving piston between my thighs. Already in heels, I went up on my toes, wanting all of him, deeper, harder. He fucked me so hard it hurt, and still I wanted more, the motion jarring, shoving me against the brick, rattling my pelvis, my breasts swaying in his hands.

“Don’t stop,” I begged, hearing the panting of his breath in my ear, feeling sweat trickling down the middle of my back underneath my bra strap, knowing he must be close. “Make me come! Oh fuck, Nico, please make me come again!”

He grabbed my thigh and lifted it, spreading me wide and pushing himself deeper inside of me, making me howl like an alley cat in heat. My fingers worked furiously against my clit, rubbing faster than Aladdin looking for that elusive genie, the anticipation of the wish almost better than its fulfillment.

Almost.

“I’m gonna come!” I cried, my body stretched taut, something in my belly poised and ready to spring. “Oh now! Now, now, now!

My pussy clamped down on his cock, spasming around his swollen length, a wet, velvet trap. He cried out at the sensation, grabbing my breasts and squeezing hard, his hips driving in deep, thrusting uncontrollably.

“Oh mio Cara, mio amore, ” he whispered endearments into my ear, wrapping his arms around my waist and burying his face into my neck.

Self-conscious now, I pulled my skirt down, the slick slide of his cum caught only by the panties now bunched between my thighs. Nico zipped his pants, still breathing hard, and turned me to face him, kissing me deeply. I could taste myself on his tongue.

“You’re a naughty girl.”

“Me?” I gave a throaty laugh. “This alley was your idea.”

“I can’t resist you, bella.” He kissed my lips, my cheek, my chin. “I’ve never met a woman who makes me want her like you do.”

Beside us, a door opened, and a tall man stepped out carrying a bag of garbage. He took one look at us and rolled his eyes.

“Rent a room!” he growled, striding past us.

I looked at Nico and giggled. “You know we’re going to be late for dinner at Il Ridotto!”

“No we’re not. Come on.”

“I can’t run in these heels!” I protested as he dragged me along.

“Do you want me to carry you?”

I squealed when he bent and then hefted me up over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry, my hair flying behind me. It was only a few blocks, but he ran the whole way with me on his shoulders, howling all the while.

“Shhh, you little she-wolf.” He set me down and kissed me, barely out of breath. The man was in incredible shape. I smoothed my hair and my skirt, still flushed from being carried upside down-and from the sex. “Let’s go eat. I’m starving.”

Il Ridotto was so small it could only accommodate four couples and two more groups of four. The tables lined one wall with candles and a single flower in a vase in the center. The walls were light brick, the fixtures nondescript. People didn’t come for the decor and the atmosphere-they came for the food and the wine.

A rotund man in an apron and a chef’s hat came around the corner as the door closed, waving us in. There were two couples seated already, one of them eating, the other talking over glasses of wine.

“We have reservations,” I explained as the little chef came our way. “Bianchi.”

“Come in, come in!” He was boisterous and smiling, nodding his head as he showed us to our table. “I’m Gianni Bonaccorsi, I’ll be your waiter-and your chef.”

Nico had prepared me for this fact. Dinner at Il Ridotto was an intimate affair. Gianni handed over our menus and a wine list, excusing himself to let us look over the fare.

“Are you sure you can afford this?” I whispered behind my menu to Nico. As a student, I didn’t make any money. I was living off savings and had to be very careful with it.

“Shush.” He waved my question away. “Anything for you.”

And that didn’t exactly make me feel better about looking over the menu, where the items were fresh, local, gourmet, and very expensive.

“I can’t possibly decide,” I said, looking helplessly at Nico. “It all sounds so good!”

“I can order for us,” he offered, and so when Gianni returned, I let him do just that, sitting back and enjoying the exchange between the two men.

Both of them clearly loved food and talking about it. Gianni spent fifteen minutes telling us about changes on the menu, letting us know what he got fresh at the market just that morning. When they got into discussing wine, I excused myself to go to the bathroom. I knew I had to be a mess-there was only so much I could do without a mirror.

I surveyed the damage as best I could in the little mirror over the sink, adjusting my dress at the top where my bra strap was still showing, touching up my makeup, running a comb through my hair. Satisfied that it was good enough, in spite of the flush still in my cheeks, I returned to the table to find Gianni and Nico sharing a complimentary glass of port from a fifteen-year-old bottle, laughing about something as if they were old friends.

“Salute!” Gianni offered me a glass, smiling as he raised his own and gave a popular Italian toast. “Possa tu vivere cento anni!”

“Salute!” Nico agreed, and we clinked glasses. The port was smooth and reminded me of cherries.

“I’m not sure I want to live a hundred years though,” I commented as Gianni went off to get our antipasti.

“And why not?” Nico raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t life good to you, bella?”

“Sometimes yes.” I shrugged one shoulder, glancing over at one of the other couples. They were older, in their fifties, but they still smiled at each other and touched hands, offering each other bites of their food. It was a lovely sight and made my heart hurt. “Sometimes no.”

“So tell me.” He leaned closer, those dark eyes inquiring. “What has broken your heart?”

I shook my head, glad Gianni had returned with our antipasti- cappesante, canestri, carote e lemongrass — a delicious appetizer of scallops in cocoa butter and carrots puree with thyme and lemongrass. Gianni served as waiter and cook, describing each dish in loving detail.

“Delizioso!” Nico pronounced. I just moaned in response, closing my eyes in pleasure. Gianni went to serve another table, leaving us to fight over the rest of our antipasti, and we did-down to the last buttery bit.

“You are so sexy.”

I smiled, dabbing my mouth with the napkin and lamenting the butter I lost on it. If it wouldn’t have been impolite, I would have licked my finger. “Eating here is like having a food orgasm.”

“Several,” he agreed. “That was just the antipasti. We have primi, secondi, and dessert left to go.”

“Dessert!” I groaned in anticipation. “You spoil me.”

“You deserve to be spoiled.”

“No.” I took a sip of port and looked out the window where the sun was setting, melting into the water, turning it to liquid gold. “We humans aren’t entitled to anything you know. Life is just a gift, not a promise.”

“Agreed.” He cocked his head at me. “And you’re a gift to me.”

“No,” I countered again, but he leaned in to quell my protest and I let him, as if one kiss could wipe the slate clean and I could start over, right here, right now. For a moment, with his soft lips against mine, breathing in the musky, male scent of him, I thought it might be possible.

“Young love.” Gianni put our primi course on the table. I blushed but Nico laughed, taking a bite of the fettucini con ragout and praising the chef’s skill and presentation. Gianni beamed and went on to tell him about his technique, an artist talking about his work, while I took a heavenly bite of my own primi course, a perfectly cooked risotto with two types of clams.

Our secondi course was impossibly better than our primi. Nico’s was a John Dory with a fava bean puree and turnip tops in chili pepper. He had ordered the calamaro ripieno de patate for me, knowing my love of seafood-squid stuffed with potatoes, prawns and scampi. Both were fresh, delicious, and meticulously and beautifully plated. The entire meal was an artful, luxurious experience, and I didn’t think it could get any better-until Gianni brought dessert.

Nico ordered pistachio flan, which was fabulous, but for me there was a white chocolate and basil iced mousse and a sorbet made with green apple and wild fennel. I shared it reluctantly-I’d never tasted anything like it. Gianni received high praise from us both for the night and he asked us to come back, although I had a feeling we wouldn’t be for a long while, considering the bill. I glimpsed it when Gianni brought it out along with a complimentary plate of cookies and chocolates and knew just how much Nico had spent on our extravagant dinner.

The evening was cool but we walked the streets anyway, holding hands and watching the sun set over Venice. It was probably the most romantic scene I’d ever stepped into-it could have been written in the pages of a book-and Nico’s hand in mine made it perfection. If I’d learned anything in the past few years, it was to enjoy the moments, and this was one I knew I’d remember long after I’d departed Italy.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had a meal quite like that,” I admitted.

Nico smiled. “If you thought that was good, you should let me cook for you.”

“I’d like that.” I swung his hand, pondering. “Of course, that could prove a little difficult. There’s no kitchen in my flat.”

“We could use mine.”

I hesitated before saying, “It’s really your mother’s, isn’t it?”

“I live there too.”

“Nico…” I sighed. “Do you ever want a place of your own?”

He didn’t look at me. “It’s complicated.”

“I just wonder about a man who’s twenty-five and still living at home with his mother.” I knew immediately I shouldn’t have said it, but it was exactly what I was thinking. And I think he knew it anyway.

“She needs me,” he said simply.

“You could still help her, financially I mean, if you had a place of your own.”

“But then I’d be paying rent somewhere, wouldn’t I?”

“I suppose.”

We turned a corner and I knew then where we were headed. My stomach fluttered and my limbs felt tingly. I wanted him-I always wanted him. It had become a constant.

“I think we feel differently about family in Italy than you do in America,” Nico said.

I frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Perhaps we care more.” The silence that followed his statement was telling to both of us. “That didn’t sound right.”

“Americans aren’t all selfish and narcissistic you know,” I reminded him stiffly.

“I didn’t mean that.”

“Yes you did.”

He pulled me close, sliding his arms around my waist and bending his head to kiss me. I turned a little, deflecting, and he kissed my cheek, my ear, my neck, sending a white hot pulse through my veins.

“Come upstairs,” he whispered, pressing his hand to the small of my back, letting me feel how much he wanted me.

“No.” I shrugged out of his arms. “I don’t want to get in your mother’s way.”

“Bella…” He reached for me again.

“Stop calling me that!” I backed away from him, hugging my arms across my chest. “Just… please stop calling me that.”

“I don’t understand you.” He lifted his hands, helpless.

“That makes two of us.”

He took another step toward me. “Please come up?”

I shook my head, feeling tears welling and fighting them. “I think maybe we need to spend some time apart.”

“You’re not making sense.”

“I think I’m making perfect sense.” I glanced up, seeing the square of light above where his mother was peering out, looking for us. “I can’t be with a man who puts his family before me. I can’t do that. Not again.”

“Again?”

I turned away, blinking fast. I couldn’t bear to explain. “It’s a very long story, and I’m too tired to tell it tonight.”

“You keep too many secrets.” His hands squeezed my shoulders. “It’s like a weight around your neck.”

“You’re probably right.” I sighed, touching the charm at the end of the necklace Cara Lucia had given me. The eye of Beatrice, watching over me. “But they’re mine to keep.”

He murmured his words into my ear. “Sometimes you hold things so close to your heart that they crumble in your hands.”

“Too late.” I smiled. “The whole thing’s already collapsed.”

“We’re talking in riddles.”

I turned to face him, suddenly clear. “I think we just need to stop talking…for a while.”

“Do you really mean this?”

“Yes.” I nodded, telling myself I did mean it, that this was the right thing to do. I probably should have done it long ago. Beatrice would have been better letting him go, I reminded myself. Better for everyone.

He put his arms around my waist, bending his head to mine, reading my mind. “I won’t let you go.”

“You don’t have a choice.” I tried to disengage myself but he held me tight.

“Give me one.”

I stopped struggling, meeting his gaze. “What do you mean?”

“Say you’ll stay here in Italy.” The urgency in his words made everything in me go silent. He was all seriousness, his eyes searching mine. “Stay with me. Give me a choice to make.”

“Oh Nico…” I closed my eyes against the hope I saw on his face, filled with a pain I couldn’t fight or control. “I’m sorry.”

“Dani…” He said my name, soft, but he let me go.

And I walked home alone against the backdrop of a beautiful, blazing Venetian sunset, crying the whole way, feeling as if my life was fading away with the light, like an inferno in the sky.

“Dani?” Mason’s voice beckoned me back from the siren-call of Ho-Ho’s in my little kitchen. I licked the chocolate off my fingers, tucking my letter to the Baumgartners away, and padded back into the bedroom, still nude. “What time is it?”

“Midnight.” I sat on the edge of the bed, the little lamp on the night stand illuminating his sleepy face, eyes still half-closed-but his gaze was on my body, already hungry. Still hungry. “You’re still on American time.”

“Come back to bed.” His hand moved, warm, over my hip, still familiar, even though it had been so long. I couldn’t believe how easily I had fallen into bed with him, how easily I was falling… Maybe that thing about absence making the heart growing fonder really was true. Not that I had ever really stopped loving Mason. I’d divorced him knowing I would probably continue to love him for the rest of my life-but love didn’t always solve everything.

“What are you doing here?” I murmured the question, running my hand through the soft, sandy bristle of his short-cut hair, so different from Nico’s thick, dark curls. Thinking of Nico made my stomach lurch with guilt. I didn’t want to think about what my actions tonight might be doing to him, to our budding relationship. It hurt my head-and my heart-too much.

“This.” He reached for me and I went to him, relieved, without any more thought at all.

I couldn’t believe how quickly we had plunged into this, how easy it felt, being in his arms. Sex had always been something we were good at, from the very beginning. At least until Isabella. Then, things had started falling apart and we just couldn’t put it all back together again. That was probably why we’d ended up here, in bed, on his first night in Italy. We were good here. It was outside of bed that was the problem.

“I want you.” His breath was hot in my ear, his hands large and warm, moving over my back, drawing me near.

“Again?” I teased, reaching down to check, and sure enough, finding him half-hard, beginning to fill my hand.

“Always.” He kissed me, his mouth sliding deliciously across mine. Everything about him was familiar and new at the same time, and I reveled in it-the hard press of his chest, the solid weight of his hips as we rolled on the bed, the well-defined muscles of his arms and shoulders and back under my hands.

“I want to taste you.”

I moaned in anticipation as he kissed his way down my breasts.

We’d been quick the first time, too quick, tearing at each other’s clothes on the way to the bed, our lust too intense for niceties like foreplay. Seeing Mason sitting on the front stoop waiting for me had broken something open in my chest. A part of me that had been stuck and frozen solid was beginning to melt.

“God I love your tits.” He pressed my breasts together in his big hands, getting my nipples as close as he could, and tracing figure-eights there like a skater on a loop, over and over. I whimpered, trying to stay quiet, my pussy throbbing, anticipating the wet lash of his tongue between my legs.

My belly quivered, goosebumps rising on my flesh as he breathed his way down my belly, pausing to lick the jut of my hipbone, following the curve down toward my thigh. I spread my legs for him, offering myself to him completely. I was his, I had always been his. How could I have ever believed any different? Time and distance, pain and separation, that all disappeared the moment his skin met mine.

“Oh god, it’s so smooth.” His fingers brushed my lips, soft and swollen, parting them at the top of my cleft so he could look at me. “So fucking beautiful.”

I went up on my elbows so I could look down and watch. He smiled, knowing how much I loved to see his tongue lap at me, and began kissing my clit, soft, gentle kisses that sent electric shocks through my pelvis.

“Tease.” I slid my palm over his head. His sandy hair was bristly and short-there was nothing to hold onto-so I slipped my hand behind his neck and pressed his mouth to my pussy. He didn’t resist, letting me guide him, rocking my hips against the soft worry of his tongue, back and forth, round and round. “Oh god, yes, like that…”

But he knew. There was no need to tell him what I liked, what I didn’t. His mouth knew just the right places, the exact timing I wanted, needed, moving faster, matching my breath. The excitement rose in my belly like a glorious phoenix from the ashes of a Persian mystery, something waiting to be reborn.

“Mason,” I gasped, my fingers looking for something to hold onto and finding only the soft stubble of his hair. My nails dug into his shoulders and my hips shot up off the bed as my climax found me, zeroing in on my pelvis and shaking me like a kitten in the mouth of a pitbull. Mason hung onto my hips, licking my pussy fast and hard, holding me tight as I bucked on the mattress, biting the flesh of my forearm to keep from screaming in release.

“Oh fuck.” I gasped, rolling away from his persistent mouth. He followed me, nipping at the soft curve of my ass, his hands roaming the length of my body as I stretched out on my tummy on the bed. I moaned into a pillow when he grabbed my hips, lifting my ass and using the head of his cock to search for entrance.

I clung to the sheet, my hands balling into fists as he found what he was looking for, rocking his hips forward and sliding his cock deep into me. I heard his sharp intake of breath, felt the way his fingers dug into my hips, and knew he was far closer to coming than he wanted to be. I smiled, closing my eyes and rhythmically squeezing the muscles of my pussy.

“Ohhh god,” he moaned, his grip tightening. “You brat!”

“Feel good?” I teased, squeezing faster, harder, trying to mimic the hard flutter of my orgasm. He groaned in response, pulling out almost completely, leaving just the head of his cock at the opening of my pussy.

“Are you determined to make me come?”

“Eventually.” I reached back to feel him, slick and hard.

“It’s gonna be sooner rather than later if you keep that up.”

My hand cupped his balls, rolling them gently. “Come all you want, we’ll make more.”

“Brat,” he said again, slapping my ass and making me squeal. I giggled as he turned me onto my back, but then my mouth was too full to do much of anything else except suck his cock. He knelt over me and fed me his dick, inch by delicious inch. When I’d caught a good rhythm, he let his hips do the work, fucking my mouth, his thumbs grazing my nipples, making my pussy ache at the loss of his cock.

I gasped when he pulled out of my mouth, rubbing the head over my lips. They felt swollen and even a little numb, but I didn’t care. I licked at the sensitive ridge of his cock, tracing the pulse of his veins, his dick so full it had turned magenta in color. I grabbed him in my hand, watching his face as I stroked him against my tits. His eyes lit up, a slow smile spreading.

“You want these?” I pressed my breasts together around his length, feeling his hips already beginning to move. “You want to fuck these pretty tits?”

“Spit on my dick,” he ordered, shoving his cock up toward my mouth. I did as he requested, rubbing my saliva into the head and down into my cleavage. “Oh yeah. That’s so fucking good!”

His cock rode the ridge of my breastbone, his hands cupping and kneading the flesh of my breasts as he began to fuck them. With each pass, I tried to capture the head of his cock with my mouth, eager to taste the pre-cum developing at the tip.

“You like having your tits fucked, don’t you, baby?” He thumbed my nipples, sending heat down between my thighs.

“Yes,” I admitted, wedging my hand under him, searching for my clit. It seemed so far away, but it was still begging to be touched. Finally, I reached my destination. God, I was wet. Soaked. My fingers followed the groove of my pussy like a Slip-N-Slide, up and down, as Mason used my tits for his pleasure.

The feel of him rocking my whole body, my nipples hard, my breasts squeezed tightly around his cock, made me crazy with lust. I rubbed my clit furiously, trying to catch up to him. He was panting, sweat beading on his chest, sheening his belly. I wanted to lick it off, tongue his navel, but couldn’t reach. I could barely reach the head of his dick as it neared my mouth, but I put forth the effort, rewarded with a low growl every time I caught it between my lips.

“Where do you want me to come?” he panted, eyes half-closed.

“In my pussy,” I insisted, plunging my own fingers into my hole, aching to feel his cock there. “Please. Fuck me. Do it, fuck me!”

He surprised me, rolling to his back and pulling me on top of him.

“Come on, Dani,” he urged. “Ride me.”

I found his cock trapped between us and slid down his length, sighing blissfully when I felt him bottom out. I rested there, just rocking, feeling him shift deep inside of me. He groaned, biting his lip, his thumbs digging into my hips as we began to rock together. I leaned over to kiss him, wanting more, sucking his tongue into my mouth.

We moved together in perfect rhythm. Mason’s fingers found my clit, knowing just what I needed, flicking it faster and faster as we chased down the finish line like two race horses, panting and slick with sweat. I felt the first tremor of my climax beginning in my thighs. They tightened and quivered at his hips, his cock plunging deep into my pussy, his tongue into my mouth.

I couldn’t stop it and didn’t want to try. My pussy clamped down violently onto his cock, all sound receding as I came, the feeling so intense I had to break our kiss and bury my face into the crook of his neck, as if I could hide from the sensation. My toes curled under his thighs, my arms wrapping themselves around his neck as he pounded up into me like a jackhammer, making my teeth rattle.

“Gonna come,” he growled, wrapping his arms around my waist and shoving himself up so far into me I thought I could taste him at the back of my throat. “Oh fuck, Dani, I’m gonna come inside you!”

I cried out at the brutal force of his orgasm, still recovering from my own, his hips lifting me off the bed, his cock convulsing wildly inside of me, filling me with heat. The strength of it left me breathless and I hung onto him, quivering with emotion, as we slowly came back down to some semblance of reality.

It was a while before I could think, let alone speak, but eventually my mind remembered what my body couldn’t seem to hold onto. This was my ex-husband-and he was my ex for a reason. Many of them. And all of those reasons came flooding back, along with the memory of Nico the last time I’d seen him, leaving him standing at his front stoop, and I felt suddenly overwhelmed with it all.

“Mason?”

“Hmm?”

I traced his navel with my fingernail. “What are you doing here, really…?”

“I told you. I have business here.”

I shook my head in disbelief. “In Italy?”

“I’m bringing the chain to Europe,” he explained. His father owned a popular restaurant franchise in the states. I supposed it was plausible. But the Mason I had left back in the states had few ambitions aside from getting to the next level playing Dungeons and Dragons with his friends. Who was this Mason, the one who arrived in a business suit?

I laughed. “Just what Italy needs-hamburgers and fries.”

“Listen, Ms. Ho-Ho…” He reached over to tickle me and I giggled, pushing his hands away. It was hard to stay serious-so hard to resist him.

“Who are you calling a ho?” I protested.

He kissed me hard on the lips, smiling down at me. “God, I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

“Really?”

“Obviously. You wouldn’t be in my bed right now if I hadn’t missed you, Mason,” I reminded him. “But I have bad news. You can’t stay here. We’re not supposed to members of the opposite sex in our rooms.”

“That’s okay,” he said, pulling me close again. “I need to get my own place.”

I raised my head to look at him in the dimness. Who was this man and what had he done with my husband? Er- ex — husband. “How long are you staying?”

“At least a month. I have to finalize plans here, find some prime real estate for our locations.”

“A month.” I blinked. When I’d left, I didn’t think he was even on track to graduate, but here he was, talking business as if it was second nature. “You’re really here just for business?”

“Well…” He cleared his throat and I waited, just looking at him. “Expanding into Europe was kind of my idea…” he admitted. “And… so was starting in Italy.”

“So you came to see me.” I would have denied the thrill that went through me at the thought, but it was there nonetheless.

“Is that bad?” He kissed the top of my head.

“No.” I settled my cheek against his chest. “Yes… I don’t know.” I paused, thinking, and decided to just come out and ask. “What happened, Mason?”

“What do you mean?”

I hesitated. “When I left, you weren’t too interested in much of anything, except hanging out with Darron and playing D amp;D. Now you’re here in Italy talking about expanding your father’s business. So… what happened?”

He was quiet for a moment, and then his arms tightened around me and he said, “I lost you. That’s what happened.”

I could barely breathe.

“You weren’t the only one hurting you know,” he reminded me, his voice low. “But you leaving… that was a wake-up call for me. At first, I tried to just keep doing what I’d always done. What my parents wanted me to do.” He sounded angry, bitter. I winced. “But I couldn’t. You took my whole world with you, and I had to get it back. At least, I had to try.”

“How did you know I’d take you back?”

“I didn’t.” He chuckled. “I’m as surprised as you are that I’m here in your bed, you know.”

“Are you?”

“I fully expected you to slam the door in my face.”

I laughed. “And you came anyway?”

“Yes.” His arms tightened around me.

I was thinking about Nico. Mason felt so good, familiar-comfortable. Being in his arms was like coming home. But what was I going to do? I couldn’t just drop everything because Mason had come for me. Besides, the problems we’d always dealt with would resurface, I was sure of it. Why wouldn’t they?

Unless Mason really had changed…

I sighed. “I just don’t know how this is going to work.”

“Let’s just see where things go, okay?” His fingertips brushed over my arm and shoulder, making me shiver. “I’ll be here. We can talk. Take it one day at a time. See what happens.”

I shrugged, doubtful still. “If you say so.”

“I also wanted to ask you a favor…”

“Uh-oh.” I rolled my eyes. “Here we go.”

“Doubting Thomas.” He laughed. “Actually, I’d like to offer you a job.”

“A… job?”

“I need an interpreter,” he explained. “I’m going to hire one anyway, but I thought you might like the extra cash.”

I half-sat, blinking at him. “Is this a bribe?”

“No strings attached, I promise.” He crossed his heart. “Would you be willing to work with me?”

“I don’t know.” I frowned.

“Work on us?”

“Oh, Mason…” I snuggled up again, closing my eyes, wishing I could believe.

“Let’s sleep on it.” He kissed my forehead and that’s just what we did.

“Easter means you can eat chocolate again?” I asked Nico, holding one of his sister’s homemade truffles just out of his reach.

“Don’t tease the animals, dear.” Mason snatched the chocolate from my hand, tossing it to Nico, who caught it and stuffed it into his mouth before I could even protest.

“Meanie!” I stuck my tongue out at him. “You never let me have any fun.”

“Are they good?” Giulia asked, shifting the baby over her shoulder. He was bigger now, a few months old, able to hold his own head up, gazing around at us with big, dark eyes. Just looking at him made my uterus hurt. Literally. The cramps came in waves, although my period wasn’t due for another week.

“Fantastic, as always.” Nico kissed his sister’s cheek, leaving a smear of chocolate there. She laughed, wiping it off, as her brother reached for his nephew, lifting him high in his arms, making the baby giggle. When Luka’s eyes got wide, being so high, Nico handed him back to his sister before the baby could begin to cry.

“You’re such a tease.” Mason sat next to me on the sofa, putting an arm casually around my shoulder. Nico saw this and sat on my other side, taking my hand. I couldn’t help the heat filling my cheeks, seeing Mama Dorotea frowning in our direction, the way Nico’s sister Anna and her husband glanced at us from where they were playing cards at the dining room table with the kids.

Caprice, being the precocious teenager she was, looked between the three of us with big eyes and started asking the questions everyone wanted to know-in English, of course, because Mason didn’t speak much Italian. “So you’re married?”

“We were married,” I corrected her. “We’re divorced now.”

She wrinkled her nose, looking between Mason and her brother, the confusion apparent on her face. “But… what are you doing here then?”

“Visiting,” Mason replied.

“So you’re not together anymore,” Caprice went on, pushing him to clarify.

“Hey, Anna, did you get your landlord to fix your leaky sink?” I inquired, trying to change the subject.

I could hear Mama Dorotea in the kitchen muttering something in Italian. She hadn’t said much to the three of us, but I caught the word “bastardo” and winced, glad Mason didn’t know the language. She was still angry that Nico had moved out. I was surprised she’d invited us to Easter at all, but then again, I’d overheard Nico saying, “If they can’t come, I won’t be coming either,” so that might have had something to do with it.

“Of course not.” She rolled her eyes, slapping a card down on the table. “Ha! I win the re bello!”

“What’s that?” I asked, getting up off the sofa and going over to the table. It was a good excuse to get away from Caprice’s questions.

“The beautiful king,” Anna said in English, kissing the card and holding it up to Sal, who scowled in her direction. “It’s Scopa. Do you want to play?”

“No thanks. I’ll just watch.” Although I knew the rules, I’d only played a few times. It was a lively game, and the family quickly slipped back into speaking Italian, laughing and slapping cards down on the table. Soon Mason and Nico had wandered over to the table to watch as well, but I was glad to see that Caprice had decided to stay with Giulia and Will in the living room so she could cuddle the baby.

I didn’t like to get too close to the baby. When he’d been such a tiny newborn, with all that dark hair, he’d reminded me so much of Isabella it physically hurt me to look at him. Now it was better, although I swear my belly contracted every time I glanced over there, as if aching for a life of its own. I’d sworn, after she was born, that I would never have another. I said I’d never risk going through that again, whatever the chances might be.

Mason had been heartbroken. In spite of our young age, in spite of his parents’ relief-yes, relief-at our daughter’s death, in spite of our precarious financial situation, in spite of everything, he’d wanted to try again right away. It was one of the things that had driven us apart. Just thinking about having another baby brought a stab of fear and pain so great it made me feel faint.

“Are you okay?” Mason asked at my elbow.

I glanced back at him and smiled. “Fine.”

“You look pale,” Nico said. He was behind me, on my other side, watching the game. In the other room, the baby cried, and the pain in my middle increased as if in response. I gasped, my hand instinctively moving to cover my lower belly. The cramping, which had been dull and constant, suddenly became a sharp, stabbing thing.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Mason again.

I struggled for breath to speak. The pain had taken it. “I don’t know.”

“What is it?” Nico turned me to face him, frowning.

Everyone was looking now. Even Mama Dorotea, who had heard the concern in her son’s voice, had appeared in the kitchen doorway, a turkey baster in her hand. In the next room, I heard the baby crying in earnest now. Probably hungry, I thought, remembering how my breasts had ached after Isabella was born, making milk for a baby who would never eat.

“I’m just a little dizzy,” I managed to whisper, but the room was receding, going black at the edges, and I knew it was more than that. Something was suddenly very, very wrong.

The last thing I remembered was Mason and Nico kneeling over me, the sound of a baby crying far away, and me, speaking my daughter’s name like a prayer.

The doctor poked and prodded and confirmed that I had indeed developed an infection. The antibiotics were working, however-my fever was gone and I felt lighter already. There was no pain, and I’d inspected the incision sites. They’d done the surgery laproscopically, just four small cuts in my abdomen that were healing nicely. I’d have some scars on my belly to go with the stretch marks from Isabella, but considering that they’d saved my uterus, somehow I didn’t mind so much.

The boys were in the lobby-I’d refused to let them follow me in, much to their chagrin. I took the opportunity to ask the doctor, “So about sex…?”

He raised his eyebrows and smiled. “Any time you’re feeling up to it.”

“Really?” I wasn’t sure if I was hoping for a yes or a no, but leaving it up to me? That wasn’t fair. I had enough choices to make, didn’t I?

He assured me that it was perfectly safe, although I was glad Mason and Nico didn’t hear him say so. He told me to continue to take it easy. I’d been anemic when I was admitted to the hospital, and although they were supplementing my iron and had given me a transfusion, he was concerned about fainting spells.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” I assured him, going out to find Nico and Mason talking in the lobby. They were laughing and the sight of something other than a scowl on either of their faces when they were together shocked me.

“Ready to go?” Nico looked up as I approached. I nodded, and Mason stood, taking my hand.

“I need a shower.” Being submerged in ice was my last experience with bathing, and the memory wasn’t a good one. I’d pretty much just slept in Mason’s bed since, tucked between the two of them, trying to recover from my fever.

“We can do that,” Nico piped up, taking my other hand.

I rolled my eyes. “I’m sure I can shower by myself.”

“Actually, I’d like someone to supervise for a few days.” The sound of the doctor’s voice through the little lobby window startled me. He was handing a chart over to a nurse and had clearly overheard our conversation. He directed his words to Mason and Nico. “She may be unsteady on her feet for a while. Just keep an eye out.”

Mason saluted. “Will do, Doc!”

The doctor saluted him back and Nico laughed. We took a water-bus back to their place, although I protested.

“I want my own bed, my own shower,” I complained. “And Cara Lucia-”

“We’ve already told Cara Lucia all about it,” Mason assured me.

“And I brought your books and I contacted your professors,” Nico added.

I blinked at them. “Did you bring me underwear too?”

“Actually…” Nico and Mason looked at each other. “We did.”

“Then I guess you’ve thought of everything.” I grimaced, crossing my arms over my chest and watching the rain fall. I was glad we had the cover over us. It was really coming down. According to Nico, the weather had been beautiful while I was in the hospital, unseasonably warm, almost like summer, but spring had returned with a vengeance.

Mason and Nico talked over my head-something about a football game, which really meant soccer. I was surprised Mason was interested, given his usual disdain for most sports, but from the gist of the conversation, they’d apparently watched an exciting game together while I was in surgery, and now Mason was hooked.

“I’m going to have to go back to my flat eventually,” I argued as we got off the bus.

It was only a few blocks to their place, but by the time we reached it, I was really starting to feel tired. Maybe I had overdone it a little bit on my first venture out.

“You put her to bed,” Nico said to Mason as soon as we got up the stairs. “I’ll make her some lunch.”

“But I need a shower!” I protested, nearly tripping over Jezebel, who wound herself around my feet and mewed plaintively.

“Okay, shower first.” Mason nudged Jezebel out of the way but they all followed me to the bathroom. I stood in the doorway while Nico started the water and Mason got a towel out of the closet.

“Thanks, you guys.” I waved them out. “I can handle it from here.”

They exchanged looks, some sort of communication passing between them.

“I don’t think so.” Mason shut the door, leaning against it and looking at me. It locked behind him.

“Remember what the doctor said?” Nico reminded me.

Mason had my shirt peeled off before I knew what was happening. Nico worked the button and zipper on my jeans, wedging them down my hips. I protested, but then my bra and panties were gone too, and they were putting me in the shower.

“I really don’t need two babysitters.” I sighed, reaching for the soap. I could smell myself, rank and strong. How could they even stand to be in the same room with me?

“Are you doing all right?” Nico called.

I rolled my eyes, turning around and tilting my head back so the water could wet my hair. That’s when I nearly passed out. The whole bathtub moved, or at least I felt like it did, and I stumbled, my palms slipping on the slick tile, trying to hold onto something to keep from falling. I think I cried out, I’m not sure, but Mason was in the shower with me in an instant, still in jeans and a t-shirt, holding me up.

“What happened?” I whispered, clinging to him.

“You lost a lot of blood,” Nico reminded me. Not to be outdone, he’d stepped into the shower to rescue me too, still in his clothes as well.

I looked between them and laughed. “This is ridiculous.”

“You’re right.” Mason grinned, pulling off his t-shirt and tossing it outside the curtain. Nico followed suit, and before I knew it, they both had their jeans and boxers off too, and we were all standing there naked in the shower together.

“You two are crazy.” I shook my head, still laughing, but I was overwhelmed with gratitude when they both grabbed a washcloth and some soap and started washing-not themselves, but me.

“I still feel really weak,” I admitted. It was strange to have them touching me like this, together, but familiar too.

“Let us do all the work.” Nico soaped my hair and Mason helped him rinse it, both men massaging my scalp, making me tingle.

Then they turned their attention to my body, Nico’s big hands moving down over my back and shoulders. I giggled when he made me lift my arms so he could scrub under them from behind.

“It’s a hard job, but somebody’s got to do it.” Mason grinned, giving up the washcloth and using his hands to soap my breasts and belly. “Sorry, buddy,” he said to Nico, looking at him over my shoulder. “I got all the fun parts.” Mason’s hand moved down between my legs, soaping me there, too. I gasped.

“Not all of them.” Nico was close behind me and I felt his hand slip down the crack of my ass.

“You’re bad,” I whispered, biting my lip when Nico’s soapy fingers probed gently at my asshole, Mason still cupping my mound. “Oh god.”

“Let us take care of everything,” Mason murmured, his fingers slippery against my pussy. I buried my face in his shoulder, my arms around his neck, the warm water falling all around us, creating a cloud of steam. I felt even weaker in the shower than I had on our outing and I let them both hold me up, pressed between their flesh.

“It feels so good,” I murmured against Mason’s neck, arching, feeling Nico’s hand probing my pussy too from behind, Mason’s from the front, both of them seeking my heat.

“Sweet bella.” Nico kissed my wet head and I felt his cock against my ass, incredibly hard. Mason was hard too, rising up toward my navel. How could I have expected anything less? And still, it surprised me to be sandwiched between them like this, their kisses gentle on my shoulders, my cheeks, both of them saying my name.

“I love you, Mason,” I whispered, pressing myself more fully into the circle of his arms. I glanced over my shoulder as Nico wrapped his arms around my waist, nibbling my shoulder. “I love you, Nico.”

God help me. I did. I loved them both.

“I’m feeling dizzy,” I said, my breath coming far too fast. They both rinsed me off and helped me out of the shower, drying me first and wrapping me up in a towel, and then themselves. They led me back to Mason’s room, to the bed. He’d changed the sheets from when I was so sick, so they were clean and fresh.

“There you are.” Nico tucked me in, a towel still wrapped around his waist. Mason was pulling on a pair of boxers.

“Don’t go.” I grabbed his hand, pulling him toward me.

“I have to make lunch,” Nico said, but he slid under the covers beside me anyway, taking me into his arms.

“Mason,” I called, reaching for him too. He pulled the covers aside and spooned me from behind. I smiled, pressed between them. “I like this.”

That was an understatement. When we’d first been like this, I was sick, practically delirious. Now, although I was still a little weak, I was far more aware of the feel of their bodies against mine, the long press of Nico’s thigh, the grip Mason had on my hip. Neither of them could seem to keep their hands off me, roaming over my bare skin under the sheet, exploring hills and valleys.

I arched back against Mason, wiggling my behind into the saddle of his hips, feeling the hard length of his cock tenting his boxers. He made a small noise in his throat, his fingers digging into my hip.

“I got you both all excited,” I whispered, watching Nico’s eyes darken when I reached under his towel. He was hard too, pulsing in my hand.

“You did,” Nico agreed, biting his lip, eyes half-closing in pleasure as I began to stroke him.

“Can you blame us?” Mason kissed my shoulder, my neck, his cock wedging itself further against the crack of my behind.

“You really should rest, bella. You’re still not well.” Nico moaned when I thumbed the head of his cock, rubbing at the frenulum, so sensitive.

I stuck my tongue out at him. “The doctor said I could.”

“He did?” I heard the hopeful tone in Mason’s voice and chuckled, rolling onto my back and reaching for his cock too.

“You should still take it easy,” Nico warned, but his cock was swelling in my fist.

“This is easy,” I murmured, drawing them both closer by tugging on their cocks. Nico had lost his towel and Mason’s boxers were pulled down, the elastic caught under his balls. I pushed the covers away so I could see, working each cock in my fist, stroking them into the crook of my thighs.

“Oh god.” Mason groaned, cupping my breast, the one closest to him. Nico did one better, lowering his head to suck my nipple between his lips, making me whimper and squirm between them.

“You’ve got such beautiful breasts,” Nico whispered. My flesh filled their hands, both of them thrusting against me.

“Doesn’t she?” Mason joined him in sucking my tits, their tongues making hot, wet trails. “Oh fuck, Dani, you jerk me off so good.”

Nico moaned against my breast, his hand finding its way down between my legs. I was still a little moist from the shower, but I was more wet from having their hard cocks in my hands, knowing how much they both wanted me. His finger moved down my slit, opening me, finding my hole.

“Is that a good idea?” Mason frowned, watching Nico’s fingers move in and out of me.

I moaned, rocking up against his hand. “I’d say it’s a very good idea.”

“Are you sure?” Mason reached down, parting me with his fingers, giving Nico more room to fuck me with his.

“Rub my clit,” I whispered to Mason, shifting my hips up. He strummed it gently, making me shiver, his cock getting bigger in my hand. They were both breathing hard, playing with my pussy and letting me stroke them, all of us finding an easy rhythm.

“Who’s gonna come first?” I teased, thumbing the head of Mason’s cock and squeezing Nico’s tight in my fist. They both groaned against my breasts.

“You are,” Mason panted, making fast circles over my throbbing clit. Nico redoubled his efforts too, plunging his fingers into my pussy.

“Nuh-uh.” I gasped, jerking them faster, pointing them toward my pussy where their hands were busy trying to get me off. And they were going to succeed, sooner rather than later. Nico’s fingers squelched in my pussy, fucking me hard, and Mason was incredibly skilled, knowing just where to touch me, pushing me closer and closer to climax.

“Oh god.” I groaned, thrashing on the bed. Their tongues made hot circles against my nipples and they glistened like dark jewels in the lamp light. “Oh yes! Yes!”

I bucked my hips up, sure that Mason had been right-I was going to come first. His cock was stiff, Nico’s too, both of them like steel thrusting in my hands.

“That’s it, baby,” Mason urged, looking at my face, my eyes half-closed with pleasure. “Come for me.”

“Come for me, ” Nico insisted on my other side, and I could have sworn there were a thousand fingers working between my legs, sending white-hot sparks through my limbs.

Mason met Nico’s eyes and grinned, moving his fingers down to join Nico’s, his thumb staying on my clit. They were both fucking me now, their fingers stretching me wide.

“Come for us,” Mason panted, thrusting hard into my fist, aiming toward my aching pussy. “Come on, baby, come for us!”

“Yes, bella,” Nico urged. “Come for us. Come all over our hands.”

I glanced between them and groaned, unable to hold out any longer. My pussy was on fire, the wet sound of them finger-fucking me filling the room.

“I’m gonna come,” I whispered, glancing down to see them working my pussy over, their cocks like arrows pointing the way. “Oh yes! Yes! Make me come!”

“Oh fuck!” Mason groaned and shoved his hips against me, his cock spewing cum all over my pussy, their fingers plunging hard and fast. “Oh my fucking god!”

Nico moaned on the other side of me, his dick swelling in my hand and then bursting, showering my pussy with cum, shooting it so far it left ropy strings all over Mason’s cock and balls. I cried out, shuddering with astonished delight, my pussy clamping down on their fingers, a delicious flutter that spread outward from my pelvis in pulsing waves.

“What a mess,” I gasped, laughing, looking down between my legs.

“I have just the thing.” Nico, still out of breath, wiped his hand and cock off with the towel he’d brought to bed, handing it to me. I cleaned myself up too.

“Were you a boy scout?” Mason asked, taking the towel and rubbing his crotch clean.

Nico cocked his head. “What’s a boy scout?”

I laughed, snuggling up to him.“Boy scouts must not be big in Italy.”

“What’s a boy scout?” Nico asked again, looking over my head at Mason as he spooned me from behind.

“Never mind.” Mason smiled, kissing the top of my head. “Let’s just get our girl down for a nap.”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m not a baby.”

“You’re my baby.” He kissed me softly and pulled the covers up over all of us.

I closed my eyes and drifted, safe and warm in their arms.

“I told her we’d come by for half an hour or so.” Nico squeezed my hand as we climbed the stairs to his mother’s flat. I could hear Mama Dorotea calling to one of Nico’s siblings, something about setting the table. “She wanted to do something nice for your graduation.”

“Are you sure you guys want me tagging along?” Mason asked, standing behind us as we stopped at the door. “I don’t think your mother likes me very much.”

“I don’t care.” Nico’s jaw tightened. “Besides, we won’t stay long, I promise.”

Everyone was already there, Nico’s sisters busying themselves setting the table, except for the younger Caprice, who was holding the baby in her lap. He was smiling and laughing, almost sitting up by himself already. Anna’s husband, Sal, and Giulia’s husband, Will, were parked in front of the television, and Anna’s two kids were on the floor playing a card game.

“There she is!” Mama Dorotea spoke in English, her accent thick. “The graduation girl!”

There was a big banner “CONGRATULATIONS DANIELLA” hanging on the wall. I didn’t quibble about the spelling.

Mama Dorotea hugged me, rocking back and forth, patting me on the back, saying “Congratulazioni!” again and again. I thanked her, finally disengaging myself, only to have her turn her attentions to her son, hugging him even harder than she had me, crooning over him.

Mason watched this with a mixture of unease and amusement on his face. I took his hand and squeezed it, leading him into the room.

“Cute kid.” Mason sat on the sofa, looking down at Caprice playing with Luka on the floor. “He’s getting big.”

“Want to hold him?” Caprice offered, lifting the baby up. I glanced over to see Mama Dorotea whispering something intently in Nico’s ear.

“Ummm.” Mason didn’t have much choice. Caprice plopped the baby in his lap, standing and brushing off her jeans.

“I’ll be right back,” she said, heading down the hallway toward her room.

“Okay then.” Mason lifted Luka up under the arms, looking at him. The baby drooled, giving us a toothless smile. God, it still made my uterus hurt to look at a baby, but it was different than before. Now it was the pain of wanting, instead of the pain of loss.

“You look good with a baby in your arms,” I teased him.

He smiled over at me, letting the baby bounce on his knees.

“How’s the heir to the throne?” Nico asked, joining us in the living room. Mama Dorotea had finally let him go and had busied herself instructing her daughters to rearrange place settings at the table.

“Drooling,” Mason informed him, watching a dark spot growing on the thigh of his dress pants where a pool of Luka’s saliva had fallen.

“He’s teething,” Giulia called from the dining room where I could see her folding napkins. “Breastfeeding is murder nowadays.”

“Oh.” Mason blinked. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“At least he’s getting some,” Will grumbled. He said it in Italian and Mason raised his eyebrows at me when I laughed.

“Tell you later,” I whispered.

“So Daniella, what are you going to do now that you’ve graduated?” Anna asked, coming into the living room. She sat on the arm of the chair her husband was kicked back in. Everyone was speaking English for Mason’s benefit.

I shrugged. “Look for a job, I guess.”

“In Italy or back in the states?” Giulia joined her sister in the living room, reaching for the baby. Mason gave Luka back and I smiled at his reluctance.

“I’m not really sure…” I glanced at Mason and then at Nico.

“You have to hear this!” Caprice came into the room waving a CD case. “I’m in looooooove with this singer!”

Will and Sal protested but she put it on the stereo anyway, some American pop singer I’d never heard of named Rick Astley.

“Everything okay?” I leaned in so just Nico could hear me over the sound of the music.

He shrugged one shoulder, looking up as Mama Dorotea appeared in the doorway.

“Well, in honor of Daniella’s graduation,” she said, her accent heavy. “I have something to give to her.”

Nico and I exchanged amused looks. She was talking like I wasn’t even in the room.

“Girls, help me,” she said, urging them to follow her.

“What in the world?” I mused, watching as Anna and Caprice followed their mother out the door. It wasn’t long before I found out. All three of them reappeared in the doorway carrying a ton of cream-colored satin and lace.

Nico half-stood, his jaw dropped. I just stared, aghast, as all of them held up the dress, spreading the train out on the floor. It was the most beautiful dress I’d ever seen, and looking at Mama Dorotea’s face, I knew I was going to have to break her heart.

“For you,” she said proudly. “I made it myself. I can’t wait for you to be my new daughter.”

She was actually blinking back tears, which just made it worse, and brought tears to my own eyes.

“Nico,” I whispered, gulping.

“Mama, you shouldn’t have done this.” He stood fully now, looking back at me. “I can’t believe you did this.”

“Well I know it’s a little premature,” she said by way of apology. “But your sister said you bought her a ring, and I know she’s going to say yes.”

Mama Dorotea beamed at me and I smiled weakly back, feeling sick. Then it dawned on me, exactly what she’d just said.

“You… what?” I blinked up at Nico. “A ring?”

He shrugged, reddening. “It was before… before I knew.”

“Knew what?” Mama Dorotea demanded, arms crossed over her chest.

Mason cleared his throat, standing. “That Dani’s agreed to marry me.”

“Again?” Anna exclaimed.

“Yes,” I replied. “Again.”

Mama Dorotea drew herself up to her full height-all of about five-foot-two-and shook her finger at me. “How dare you come into my house! How dare you do this to my son!”

Nico stepped between her and me-she was heading straight for me, like a cat, claws out-grabbing her wrists. Everyone stared-even the baby had stopped fussing to watch.

“Mama, it’s fine.”

She frowned up at him. “What?”

“It’s fine,” he said again, letting her go, but not letting her get to me either. “I knew about it. Dani told me. She’s made her decision and it’s final.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, blinking back tears.

I felt Mason’s hand on my shoulder. “Maybe we should go.”

“No!” Nico turned to me, frowning. “I want you to stay.”

I looked up at him, pleading with my eyes, and then he sighed.

“I’m sorry you went through all this work.” I looked at the dress then at Mama Dorotea. “I’m so… so sorry.”

“You should be.” She glared at me around her son. “You’re going to regret this!” Then she turned and stalked off toward the kitchen, leaving her daughters holding the dress.

“Let’s go.” Nico sighed.

Mama Dorotea reappeared in the doorway. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Home,” he said, taking my hand. Mason already had my other one.

“Don’t you walk out that door!” Mama Dorotea pulled at Nico’s shirt as we started for the door. “Don’t you dare!”

“Mama!” He spoke Italian back to her. “Listen to me. I’m a grown man. I’ve been old enough to make my own decisions for a long time. I love you, but I’m your child, not your possession. You don’t own me. You don’t get to say where I go or what I do. Please. Just… let me go.”

She stood in the doorway, tears streaming down her face, and I felt horrible for her in that moment. I wanted to put my arms around her and comfort her, but I knew I was the last person she wanted sympathy from.

She proved that at the last moment, calling, “He’s far too good for you anyway!” before slamming the door behind us.

“Well,” Mason said as we went down the stairs. “That was awful.”

“She’s just pouting,” Nico replied, taking my hand again as we started to walk, Mason on my other side. “She’ll get over it.”

“But…” I swallowed, glancing up at Nico. “I have to know. Are you really okay with this?”

“I told you, it’s just a piece of paper,” he replied, swinging my hand. The day was bright and beautiful, the water of the canal dappled with afternoon sunshine. “I know you love me, and I don’t care, as long as we’re together.”

“Let’s go home,” Mason said.

And that’s just what we did.

I fantasized planning some amazing, romantic way to tell them, but when it came right down to it, the minute I found out, I just couldn’t wait.

I was out of breath already, but I ran into Bella’s, past the hostess we’d hired to give me a little break once in a while, winding my way through the maze of tables to the back of the restaurant.

Nico was in the middle of poaching eggs and I dragged him into Mason’s office while he called to his sous chef, “Watch the salmon!”

“Well, hi there.” Mason glanced up at the two of us, Nico’s chef hat askew, my face flushed. “What’s up?”

I just blurted it out. “I’m pregnant.”

Both men stared at me in disbelief. Nico turned to me, jaw dropped. Mason stood, holding onto the edge of his desk.

“Whose…?” Nico looked at me, then at Mason.

“Whose is it?” Mason echoed.

I laughed, my hands on my hips. “Does it really matter?”

Then they were both pulling me into their arms, and we laughed and cried and hugged.

It didn’t matter. We were together. We were going to be a real family.

And that was all that really mattered.