Chapter 15

" W HAT THE ACTUAL HELL?" She muttered, moving after him quickly, grabbing his arm to stop him. He looked down at her, frowning. "Where are you going?"

"I didn't come here with any expectation," he reminded her. "I just wanted to tell you how I feel."

"Don't you care about how I feel?"

He looked genuinely confused. "You hate me. You have every right to hate me. I fully understand that. I was simply hoping that if you understood why I did what I did, you might one day hate me a little less. I'd prefer to think of you like that if I'm honest. Not hating me, but rather…" He didn't finish the sentence because she shoved at his chest, emotions bubbling up inside of her.

"That's not fair," she said, crossing her arms then. "You don't get to show up and monologue away at me then leave."

"Monologue?" he asked, a half-smile lifting one side of his lips before he seemed to remember where they were and what they were arguing about, and his smile dropped completely. "What would you like to say?"

"Well, I'd like a chance to explain, too," she said, knowing it was the right thing to do. Knowing he needed to understand all of her scars, before this went any further. "But it's freezing, and I'm not exactly dressed for this. Come inside a moment."

He looked towards the house as if he'd seen a ghost. She understood why. These houses would all be knocked down soon, and that was his doing. He'd taken something that could have been beautiful and destroyed it. It wasn't the first time, but it was likely the first time he'd come face to face with the fallout of that choice.

"Come inside," she challenged, reaching down and linking their hands once more. He looked down at them, perhaps seeing what she did: the contrast in skin, strength, size, and yet the perfect complement they made, because he began to walk beside her, up the steps, across the porch, and into the house. She didn't want to think about what it looked like through him—ravaged by her packing, with the furniture moved to show just how faded and dated the walls had become.

"Maddie—,"

But she cut him off. "It's my turn." She dropped his hand so she could close the front door and shivered a little as she moved deeper into the house. "I have forgotten so much of my childhood. I saw a doctor once who told me that's normal with trauma—it's a protective mechanism. I know it was bad. Scary. And I know that when my mother dated those men, I was terrified. Not for no reason. Because I didn't trust her to keep me safe. I knew that it fell to me to keep both of us safe."

She felt his anger, his condemnation, and she understood it. But she didn't stop talking, and she didn't give him a chance to interject.

"Then I came here, and slowly, grandma and grandpa made the world seem okay again. But you never forget those instincts, do you? I don't trust easily either, Rocco."

"I know that. Which makes what I did?—,"

She lifted a finger to his lips. "My turn."

He compressed his mouth and she almost laughed, because it was so clearly not a natural state for Rocco Santoro to be in—muzzled—that it was almost ludicrous.

"I did trust someone. I did it so carefully. When I met Brock, I went so slow. S-l-o-w. Because I was wary and didn't want to mess up. I didn't want to make a mistake and trust the wrong person, so we dated a long time, and eventually things progressed, and I thought I loved him, and he loved me, and I started to entertain those childish dreams again, about getting married and having a family of my own."

"With him?" Rocco demanded, a little haughtily, given his recent confession.

She nodded, appreciating that he was jealous, but needing to finish this.

"And then, one day, the scales fell from my eyes, and I realized that it wasn't enough. I didn't love him. Not in the way I wanted to love and be loved. I didn't even know if I felt ‘safe' with him, I just knew that we'd fallen into a habit of being together and I wanted more."

Rocco expelled a slow breath.

"So, we broke up, and I thought he was okay with it, but he wasn't." She faltered then, searching for words, because it was so hard to admit to anyone, even Rocco. Her eyes fell to the floor between them. "He had some pictures of me. Stupid pictures I should never have let him take, and a video that he promised he'd deleted." She heard the hiss of air between Rocco's teeth but still didn't look at him. "He threatened to send them to our mutual friends. To my grandfather, for God's sake. He threatened me, so I'd go back to him."

Rocco cursed and drew her to him then, hugging her tight to his body. "Maddie, I'm so sorry."

Tears flooded her eyes.

"Did you go to the police?"

She nodded. "I was so ashamed."

"Of what?" he demanded, fury in his voice. "What did you have to be ashamed of?"

"I should never have let him take those photos?—,"

"You were in a committed relationship with someone you thought you could trust. You did nothing wrong."

Her eyes swept shut. She hadn't realized how badly she'd needed to hear that until he spoke the words.

"You are entitled to explore your sexuality, and if that includes photos, so what?"

"I felt like such an idiot."

"Not an idiot, cara mia. Not anything like one."

She sucked in a shaking breath.

"The police went to him, he deleted the images and that was that. But it taught me how wrong I'd been to let my guard down. To trust. I thought I knew him, and yet I'd been so wrong."

He nodded slowly, sympathetically.

"So anytime I felt my guard dropping with you, anytime I started to feel more for you, I pulled back. Because my mother made a litany of wrong choices in her life, and then I'd started to do exactly the same thing with Brock, so why wouldn't it be the same with you?"

"And then I hurt you," he groaned. "I did exactly what Brock did, without meaning to. Instead of telling you how I felt, I tried to bully you into being with me."

Her eyes lifted to his, and she frowned, shaking her head a little. "It's just…not the same."

"Isn't it?" His self-disgust was evident—and the last thing she wanted.

"You weren't trying to shame me. You just…wanted me in your life."

"Like Brock," he pointed out.

"You were willing to give up your property development, just to spend more time with me. You were the one who was making a sacrifice."

"I should never have asked it of you. If there was one thing in my life I could take back, it would be that night."

She nodded. "I know."

"Maddie, there is not a single thing about you I don't love. To me, you are the epitome of perfection and always will be. But as to what happens next, that has to be—and always should have been—your choice. I came here tonight because I wanted you to have all of the information before making that decision, but that's all. I will never, ever pressure you, or leverage you, or try to bend your will to mine. You decide what you want." And he stepped back, to prove that he meant it.

Her heart gave a strange little lurch. Was it possible that the safety and security she'd always craved actually came with something so simple: a promise of independence? An ability to be with someone who would respect her boundaries, and the reason for their existence.

"That's it?" she asked, scanning his face, as he nodded slowly.

" Si. I'm going to go now. But I would like," he gave a self-deprecating smile, "to take you for dinner tomorrow night if you are available." And then, in case she hadn't fully understood his point, he added quickly, "Just dinner, and the decision is yours. If you tell me to get lost, I will this time." But because he apparently couldn't help it, he dropped his head and pressed a quick kiss to her brow, before turning and leaving. This time, she let him.

"So, wait a sec," Raf was the first to speak, the following morning, in a hastily assembled meeting of the Santoro board members—namely, the cousins. He was calling in via video link, as were the others, with the exception of Dante, who sat by Rocco's side at the boardroom table. "You're telling me you're walking away from this?" He held up the prospectus Rocco had designed for the Hamptons development.

"I'm tweaking it," Rocco confirmed. He hadn't slept. He'd been up all night, crunching numbers, doing appraisals, making sure he was ready for this. The idea had been growing on him, since Italy, but last night, it had really hit him.

"Tweaking it?" Marco grinned, and Portia, sitting beside him, looked at him affectionately.

"These houses are old and rundown but they're also special. They are the essence of the area; they should be preserved."

His younger brother Francesco made a scoffing sound. "Who are you? Where's Rocco? Dante, what's going on?"

Dante lifted a hand in a plea for silence.

Salvatore and Sofia were on a private jet, flying to King Ares, to view the potential development sight and be briefed on the project details. "I've always loved that area," Sofia admitted. "I was sad to think of tearing those places down."

"Why didn't you say so?" Salvatore asked, glancing across at her.

She shrugged. "It didn't feel like my place."

They all groaned. It drove them crazy when Sofia made a distinction between herself and them. True, they weren't related by blood, but having lost her father in tragic circumstances as a nine year old girl, and having been given the cold shoulder by her mother ever since, she'd been raised, as much as possible, by Gianni and Maria. She was their goddaughter, and to all the siblings and cousins, she was a sister.

"Okay, I just didn't want to seem overly sentimental. In case you're not aware, there's a bit of testosterone overload here," she gestured around the various screens. "I don't want to be painted as the sappy, girly one."

"You are a girl," Francesco pointed out.

"She's a woman," Portia chimed in, smiling.

"Can we get back to this?" Marco asked, glancing at his watch. "Portia and I have an appointment."

"Everything okay?" Dante asked.

Portia looked at Marco and then grinned. "I'm pregnant."

There was a collective sound of surprise, then Salvatore chimed in with, "Again?"

"Well, it took a long time last time, so we thought we should, you know. Get a move on," she said with a laugh. "Apparently, this baby is filled with buckets of Santoro determination."

"I thought we were waiting to tell them until after the ultrasound," Marco said, but with a huge grin, as he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her to his chest. Pride beamed from his face.

"It's family," she said with a shrug, and then kissed him, so the others laughed.

" E famiglia è tutto ," Sofia chimed in, repeating Maria Santoro's favorite phrase. Family is everything.

And Rocco's family was Maddie. He knew it. He knew it as sure as night followed day—he hoped, with all the hope in his heart, that she felt it, too.

"Congratulations, guys." Dante said. "Though I'm not sure this will ever not be weird," he teased, because long before Portia was Marco's wife, she was his much relied upon assistant.

Portia poked out her tongue. Even through the screen, their work chemistry and mutual affection was apparent.

"Okay, so here's what I'm thinking," Rocco called their attention back and went through one of the most important pitches of his life. He didn't want them to agree because he was in love with Maddie, so he intentionally left that part out. Instead, he made it about the area, his desire not to create something new but rather to pay homage to the old, to the architectural styles that were synonymous with that part of the country. He projected the spreadsheet onto their screens, so everyone could see the numbers he'd been working on. It was Marco—an actual genius—who was first to speak.

"It adds up," he said.

"You're sure you're not just saying that because you've got somewhere else to be?" Salvatore teased.

"Nah, it's good." Marco grinned. "I like it. It's a curve ball, but those are always fun," he said, wiggling his brows as he turned to Portia, who laughed, then put her head on his shoulder.

"So, I have the board's approval?"

"You've got mine," Dante spoke first, and the rest chimed in almost instantaneously, before quickly moving on to cover a few other matters. Rocco didn't hear any of it. He was completely and utterly in a world of his own.

"You look beautiful," Rocco said, when she pulled the door inwards that night, to greet him for their date. Of course, she'd agreed to go out with him. It was just one date, she'd told herself. One date, and that was okay.

Except it wasn't. Maddie had listened to him last night, she'd let his words seep into her soul, and they'd replayed over and over again all day, and each and every rendition had made more and more sense to her, had worked on her until she'd known, in a simple way one just ‘knows', that Rocco could be trusted.

And more than that…he had her heart.

Not in an intellectual way, like how she'd tried to rationalize herself into loving Brock, but in a way that went so far beyond it.

She'd never bought into the idea of soul mates before. It seemed like exactly the kind of thing her mother would say. ‘We were destined for each other.' So silly and reductive, so childlike! Until Maddie experienced it for herself, and she realized it wasn't the belief structure that was wrong—soulmates existed—but rather her mother's selection criteria. She'd thought any man who looked at her for longer than two seconds was a contender, and she'd gambled again and again.

Maddie had assiduously avoided anything like that, so she knew this was the real deal. She just knew it.

So, you see, in the end, it wasn't even a choice she could make.

Asking Maddie if she wanted to be with Rocco was akin to asking her if she wanted to keep breathing. One didn't choose to breathe, one simply inhaled and exhaled for all the days of their life, just as she would love Rocco.

Knowing what she now knew, she stared at him tonight as he had looked at her the night before, as he was looking at her now: with amazement. Finding your soulmate was, indeed, a wonderous feeling.

"I thought we could have a picnic," he said, lifting a basket into the air between them. She could see the top of a bottle of wine, and some delicious smells wafted her way.

"A picnic?" she repeated, smiling, because it was the last thing she'd expected, and also exactly what she wanted. At a picnic, they could speak privately. There was no need to tolerate the interruptions that must surely come from an evening at a restaurant. "That's perfect. Let me get my shoes."

The beach was just across the street, though it was hidden from view by the sand dunes and long grass, but a path had recently been beaten just a little way down from Maddie's door. The moonlight showed the way, but for good measure, Rocco produced his cellphone with the torchlight on and shone it at their feet. His hands were occupied, which was a shame, as Maddie just wanted to touch him, now that she understood her heart so very well.

As they stepped out of the dunes and onto the beach, her breath caught in her throat, because she realized his idea of ‘a picnic' differed greatly to hers. She couldn't help but laugh.

A little way down the beach, on the crisp white sand, a huge blanket had been spread out, with dozens of cushions, and about a hundred candles had been lit around the blanket, making it flicker with warmth.

It was so incredibly romantic. She glanced up at him in surprise. "This must have taken hours."

"Well, in the spirit of honesty, it wasn't all me. I mean, the idea was mine, but…"

"You have staff," she said, smiling.

"But the idea was mine," he reiterated, and she laughed.

"You get top marks," she promised. "And you did carry the food."

"That I did," he kissed the top of her brow then pulled away, frowning. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do that."

The mood instantly grew tense. He didn't know how to be with her. He wasn't sure what she wanted. She had to remedy that, and quickly.

He moved towards the blanket, and she followed, nervous herself, suddenly. Even knowing how she felt, telling him how she felt was a whole other matter. He placed the basket down and then looked at her.

"We need to talk," she blurted out, then grimaced, because wasn't that the way you were supposed to start the bad conversations? The break-up ones?

"I feel like I'm waiting for the axe to drop," he said, gesturing to the cushions. "Should we at least eat first?"

"I don't think I can. Not until I've said this." She pressed a hand to her stomach, trying to quell the butterflies.

"Okay." He was quiet, the moon and flickering candles illuminating his handsome, symmetrical face. "Go ahead." His Adam's apple shifted. "Or don't. If you want to just have dinner and think about another date, tomorrow night…"

He was really freaking out, she thought with a growing sense of amazement. He really did love her. He was terrified of losing her.

"Rocco," she pressed a hand to his chest then, hoping to steady his nerves, too. She sought for words, for explanations, for how to make him grasp the clarity he'd brought to her with his explanation the night before, and in the end, she said the words that best expressed what was in her heart. "I love you, too."

His lips parted and his eyes probed hers. His body was still, except for his chest, which rose and fell with the force of his rapid breathing.

He didn't say anything though, and she rushed to fill the silence. "I started to realise a while ago. It's why the proposition you made hurt—because it wasn't enough. I wanted to be with you more, too, but I wanted to really be with you. Not just meaningless sex."

"We were never about that."

"No, in the end, it turns out, we weren't. But I thought?—,"

"I was an idiot."

"You got to pour your heart out last night," she said with a shake of her head. "And you're done apologizing, okay? You've said it, it's over. I love you. The past is a part of what made us this, and I wouldn't change a thing about it, okay? We have fought for this, fought for each other, fought for our future." She wrapped her arms around him, as she'd been wanting to for so long, and stared up at his beautiful face. " Ti amo."

His eyes flared to hear the words in his native tongue. He repeated them back to her, but they were swallowed by their kiss. And it was a kiss born of passion and relief, of love and respect; it was a kiss that spoke of a promise to love and hold one another for all time. Because famiglia è tutto, and now, they were family.

There was something very particular about the way the full moon landed on the houses, the way it lit them with silver, which spoke of magic and fate, and made Rocco throw caution to the wind and tell Maddie something he'd been planning to hold off on.

"By the way, we had a company meeting today," he said, polishing off his second piece of apple pie then placing the bowl down at his side. Maddie, who lay with her head in his lap, glanced up, her eyes so beautifully soft that he had a momentary clutch of disbelief. That this was really happening; that she was his. He'd loved without hope, in the end, and yet he should have had faith, because Maddie was, in every way, his other half.

"I imagine you have meetings quite often," she said, slightly teasing.

"This was about Honeybee Lane."

"Ah." Her face temporarily showed sadness, and he knew then how completely he'd made the right decision. For as long as he lived, Rocco would never be an instrument of pain to Maddie. How could he have lived with allowing the development to proceed?

"The vote was unanimous."

"What vote?"

"We're changing plans."

She sat up then, looking at him with a frown. "Oh, Rocco. Please don't. You don't have to. Not for me."

"It's not for you," he demurred, then grimaced. "Okay, it's partly because of you, but not because I love you. Not just because I love you." She laughed softly, shaking her head, but he continued. "It's because you got through to me. You made me see the value in the existing."

Her eyes widened. "Okaaay," she said, still with a hint of disbelief. "So, what are you going to do, now you own the whole street?"

"We're going to restore it," he said. "Return it to its former glory. Each house will get a full refurb, inside and out, services and amenities will be upgraded, new roofs, if required. And all new gardens. Except, of course, for Jack's house, which I would very much like to leave just the way it is. Or rather, the way it was."

"Rocco," she expelled a breath. "That's not…you've spent all this money."

"I've done the sums. We'll be able to sell half of the houses, rent out the other half. We'll bring life back to Honeybee Lane, make it the street you remember."

Tears filled her eyes. "It's too much to take in," she said softly.

"One house will be knocked down," he admitted. "The place on the corner. It's too far gone, and because of its position, it's the perfect candidate for an old-fashioned corner store and milk bar, with apartments above. So, a hint of the original plan remains."

"A corner store is a great idea," she admitted. "The beach is packed in summer—it will be busy."

"We're anticipating that."

"Oh, Rocco. I just can't believe it." Her eyes looked beyond him, to the house that had been her home for so long. "Will you sell it, or rent it?"

He knew which house she was asking about. "That's up to you. I'm signing it over to you."

"Rocco," she sounded aghast. "You can't do that. It's worth millions ."

"I'm aware," he drawled, and she laughed, despite the seriousness of this negotiation.

"I'm serious," she said after a moment. "I can't let you?—,"

"It's done. The board has agreed—this is the plan."

Tears fell down her cheeks. "It's too much."

"No, my darling, it's nowhere near enough, but we have a lifetime for me to make it up to you."

"A lifetime," she sighed, and leaned back against him, her head against his heart, which beat only for her. "I really like the sound of that."

And to his surprise, Rocco did too. What had once seemed like a preposterous idea was now all he could focus on. When the time was right, he and Maddie would marry, and it would be the beginning, he knew, without even a hint of doubt, of a wonderful, shared life.

Naturally, he was right, because he was Rocco Santoro, and he was almost always right. He played to win, he just hadn't realized that winning, in this instance, wouldn't look like what he'd thought. No matter. He'd won the biggest prize of all, and he would love her, with all of his heart, for the rest of their lives.

THE END