Chapter 1

ONE

Maria

If you knew me, you'd know I was not a woman who flew to Vegas to elope.

I was not impulsive.

Maria Conchetta Calavope Cicero simply did not do that kind of thing.

Unheard of.

Yet here I was.

Fifty-six years old, a widowed grandmother, sitting on a plane about to do just that.

Mercury was in retrograde or some such bullshit because this couldn't be happening.

The warm hand on my arm, fingers gently trailing my skin, reminded me that it was, indeed, happening.

"Whatcha thinkin', darlin'?"

My insides turned to mush anytime he called me ‘darlin'.' It wasn't about the use of an endearment. It was more about the way he said it, with the G at the end cut off, the sexy timbre of his voice giving it an edge I'd come to love.

"All the things I shouldn't be thinking," I admitted, glancing at him sheepishly.

He chuckled. "Believe it or not, me too."

"Are you having second thoughts?" I asked, my heart sinking.

"Now, you should know better than that," he said, his bright blue eyes meeting mine. "If you think that, we need to turn around and head back to Lauderdale."

"Then what, specifically, are you thinking about?"

He sighed. "How the boys are going to react."

I sighed too.

He was talking about my boys.

My five adult sons who seemed to think I needed supervision since their father had died. Well, not all of them. Peter, the youngest boy, was fairly relaxed. And Salvatore was too busy with his job and upcoming wedding to worry about what I was doing. No, it was Mario, Jr., my oldest, and Tony, the next in line, we had to worry about. They'd almost had strokes when Adam had rented a room in my big, now-too-empty house. But he was family, so they'd come around.

This?

I was certain they were going to lose their minds.

And it wouldn't be pretty.

A familiar wave of indigestion gurgled through my gut, and I absently reached for my purse and pulled out an antacid.

Adam frowned. "You still popping those like candy?"

I shrugged. "I need to talk to the doctor. I've been better about my diet, but I always get a funny tummy when I fly."

He laced his fingers through mine. "Baby, we have a lot to live for now. I want you to get a check-up when we get home."

I momentarily bristled at being told what to do. I was a grown woman who'd raised six children and helped build a million-dollar restaurant empire. I could take care of myself.

Except Adam wasn't trying to control me.

He loved me.

And I loved him.

I had to remember that.

"I will," I said softly.

"I saw that flash of annoyance," he said, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he chuckled. "You can't fool me, baby."

"I wasn't trying to fool you. It just took me a minute to remember you say things like that because you love me, not because you're trying to manipulate me."

"I will never manipulate you." He picked up my hand and brought it to his mouth, skimming the inside of my wrist with his lips.

I closed my eyes, enjoying the intimacy between us.

And there was so much more to come.

Call me old-fashioned—because I was—but we hadn't yet made love. I'd always been a good Catholic girl, but I'd been burned by life enough to know God wasn't who I'd thought He was growing up. I wasn't an atheist by any means, and my faith still played a role in my life. Just not the way it had when I was younger and thought being a good girl meant I would be somehow rewarded. After losing two babies to miscarriage, my parents in a senseless accident, and my husband far too young, I had a different view of the world of late.

I'd had to re-think a lot of the things I'd believed, so there had been kissing and touching and the like with Adam, but we'd stopped at what kids today might call second base. Not because I couldn't. Not because I was afraid I was going to burn in hell or anything like that, but because I wasn't sure I was ready. And when I'd thought I was ready, convinced myself that I was being ridiculous, Adam had been the one to pull back.

He'd made the decision we would wait until marriage because he knew somewhere deep down it was important to me.

One of the many reasons I'd fallen in love with him.

Then he'd made me call my lawyer to draw up a prenuptial while he'd made plans for us to go to Vegas.

It was that simple.

Except it wasn't.

We lived together, worked together, and spent almost all our time together, but he was my… what the hell did you call your daughter's father-in-law? My daughter Juliet had married his son Vaughn last summer. We weren't related by blood or DNA or anything else, except a piece of paper signed by two of our children. There was no reason we couldn't be together.

Technically, there were seven reasons, even though I didn't believe Vaughn or Juliet would be upset by our being together. Juliet had teased me about it more than once, so I was pretty sure she'd been digging for something she already suspected. My daughter was a smart cookie, so she probably more than suspected, and that meant Vaughn had an inkling too.

"Darlin', we don't have to do this if it's stressing you out," Adam said, reaching out to gently take my chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing me to look at him.

"No one makes me do anything," I whispered, leaning forward so our foreheads were touching. "I'm here because I love you."

"Then why do you look so worried?"

"My children have always been my life. Even now that they're grown. What if they hate this?"

"How would Mario, Sr. feel?" he asked.

I smiled at the mention of my late husband, momentarily closing my eyes. "He would want me to be happy."

"So would my Demi." Demi was his late wife, who'd died of cancer.

"This is all in my head. I'll be fine once we land and my stomach isn't upset anymore."

"Let's get you some Dramamine on the way home."

I nodded. "Yes. I don't know why I'm too stubborn to try those patches Juliet told me about. I keep thinking I should outgrow motion sickness, but I guess that's not how it works."

"It's not. And why suffer?"

"No, you're right." I reached up and put my hand on the side of his face. "I love you, Adam Elliott."

"And I love you, Maria Conchetta Calavope Cicero."

I giggled.

He brought out a much younger version of me, and I loved that feeling almost as much as I loved him.