Epilogue

Epilogue

Dante picked up the two champagne glasses and joined his wife at the window of their suite. She had insisted they get married in San Diego and for a woman who didn’t want to get married to begin with, she had a lot of other ideas too.

As he looked at her bare back, he decided it was worth it. From the moment he saw her at the end of the aisle, he had been transfixed. Ivory satin draped her body like second skin, simple, sensual, and stunning.

And she was his.

She turned to face him and he almost lost his train of thought. He knew she was beautiful, but tonight, she shined with it. Not the makeup or the fancy hairdo. No, she shimmered with happiness and it made his heart so happy.

Charlie brushed past him on his way out to the living area of the suite. Apparently, her companion understood they needed to be left alone.

“Hey, there, Mrs. Santini,” he said, offering her a flute.

She took it and drank from it. Beyond her lay the Pacific Ocean, lights glittering along the beach. None of it compared to her.

“What?” she asked.

He swallowed the lump that had risen in his throat and shook his head.

“Oh, my, Dante Santini at a loss for words. I think I might need to call the press. This is a breaking story.”

He smiled. “It’s just I can’t believe you’re finally mine.”

She leaned forward and brushed her mouth over his. “I’ve always been yours.”

“Well, I wasn’t so sure of it when Gee showed up.”

Laughter filled her eyes. “Sorry, but when the first man who saved you shows up, you have to give him a kiss.”

Dante frowned. It was a good thing Gee was so damned in love with his wife, or there might have been an issue.

“Your parents seemed to have a good time.”

She grinned. “My dad was so nervous. I don’t think I have ever seen him look so unsure of himself.”

“He did step on your train,” he said.

“That’s true. I’m glad all your brothers could make it.”

It had been a true Santini affair. They had only been missing one cousin, and that was a miracle. Even Brando had made it back in time.

She sighed. “I love you, Dante Santini.”

“I love you, too,” he said, slipping his arm around her waist and pulling her closer to him. He could feel the heat of her body and the beat of her heart.

“I love you, Madison Santini.”

He took her half empty glass and set both flutes on the table beside her. Then, he leaned down and lifted her into his arms.

She laughed again, the sound of it filling his soul with happiness.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“I think I’m about to show you how much I love you,” he said, tossing her on the bed and following her down, determined to finish the task.