“Fuck, Caro! Let’s go back to our room right now.”

She pushed me away, laughing, her eyes dancing with lust. “No, Sebastian. That was just my distraction technique—which, by the way, I didn’t learn in the Marines.”

I groaned, then discreetly adjusted the fucking inconvenient bulge in my pants.

“Should we go to Capezzano Inferiore now?” she asked innocently.

I gave her a look that said we’d be evening the score later.

It was a steep walk up to her father’s village, but the view was amazing and in the distance we could see the island of Anacapri.

I never thought I’d come to a place like this, and for a second I was ten years old and copying a British accent as I imagined that I was James Bond. I glanced sideways at Caro—I already had my own Bond girl. My dick liked the idea a lot and I had to run over some silent drills in my head before another boner snuck up on me. Bastard seemed to be on high alert 24/7 around Caro.

The village of Capezzano Inferiore looked dead, the only sign of life a mangy old dog scratching in the shade. It was pretty much a dump and I hoped Caro wasn’t too disappointed. I guess I could see why her old man would have wanted to leave. When I glanced at Caro, a lump formed in my throat: her shoulders were hunched and I could tell she was close to tears.

“We don’t have to stay, Caro.”

She sighed as she tried to smile. “It’s okay. I don’t know what I was expecting: Papa always said it was a one-horse town where the horse had died. I guess he was right.”

“Look, that guy over there is just opening up his café—let’s go get a drink, okay?”

She nodded slowly, and I took her hand and led her over to the small table outside. If anyone knew any gossip about a place like this, it would be a bar owner or a priest.

The café owner looked surprised to have customers. I had no idea how the guy made any money in such a dead-end dump. I ordered a beer and Caro asked for an espresso and a glass of water.

I wasn’t expecting too much, but when my beer arrived, it came in a frosted glass, and Caro’s espresso was served in a miniature coffee pot with a pot of raw cane sugar lumps. It was a nice touch.

“Excuse me, sir,” I said to the guy serving us. “My girlfriend’s father came from this village. We were wondering if you might have known him: his surname was Venzi.”

The man scratched his head. “That name seems familiar, but I’m not sure. Let me ask my wife—she’s lived here her whole life.”

Caro shifted anxiously in her seat.

“Don’t get your hopes up, Caro,” I reminded her gently.

“No, I’m not,” she said, shaking her head. She was a God-awful liar.

A moment later, the owner’s wife appeared.

“Buon giorno. You are asking after the Venzi family? How can I help you?”

“I was just wondering … my father, Marco Venzi, he was born here. Did you know him?”

The woman smiled warmly.

“Goodness! Marco Venzi! That’s a name I haven’t heard in a very long time. He was the boy who left to live in America. Your father, you say? Yes, I knew him.”

Tears glittered in Caro’s eyes, and I squeezed her fingers as she failed to hide her emotion.

“It’s so exciting to meet someone who remembers Papa,” she choked out.

“Yes, we were at school together,” the woman confirmed. “He was a few years older than me, and always in trouble. He had the devil in him, that one.”

“His daughter is just the same,” I smiled, gazing at Caro.

The woman laughed. “And how is dear Marco? Did he make his fortune in America like he said? He was crazy for your American movies. Said he was going to be a big star, like Valentino.”

Caro swallowed and her body tensed, unable to get the words out.

“Mr. Venzi died some years ago,” I answered for her.

“Ah, I see,” the woman said, her smile faltering. “Forgive me, young woman, my condolences. Your father was always so full of spirit. Too big for this little town.”

“Do you know if he had any relatives here?” I asked, trying to move the subject on from memories that were painful for Caro.

“Well, there was his mother, but she died a long time ago. Marco had a sister who was much older than him, I remember. But she married and moved away, to Naples, I think. I’m sorry, I don’t remember the name of the man she married, so that’s all I can tell you.”

Caro looked devastated. The woman ducked her head in sympathy and left us alone.

“We could try and find her,” I suggested. “She might have had kids—you could have cousins you don’t know about.”

Caro took a trembling breath, making an effort to pull herself together. God, she was so strong.

“Yes, I might,” she acknowledged, forcing a watery smile. “I probably do.” Then she closed her eyes and shook her head slowly. “It doesn’t matter, Sebastian. Signora Carello was right: even if there are cousins, they’re not my family—not really. I have my friends…” she paused. “And I have you. You’re my family now.”

I’d waited so many fucking years to hear that. It almost destroyed me that she said it here, now, in the village where her father had been born. I’d only known Marco Venzi for two short weeks, but in that time he taught me more about family than my own parents had in 27 years. And now I was here with his daughter—a woman I loved more than life.

My heart thundered in my chest and I started to panic, wondering what the fuck I was doing. What did I have to offer a woman like Caro? Nothing. Fuck all. Just my heart and soul—and I didn’t know if that would be enough.

My head dropped and I held onto Caro’s hand like a drowning man holds onto a life preserver. I kissed her fingers reverently, then on shaky legs, I sank to one knee.

“Carolina Maria Venzi: I love you, and I want to spend my life with you. Will you marry me?”

And then I waited. Shock registered on her face and I swear my heart stopped. But then she took a deep breath, and a gentle smile spread across her lips.

“I love you, too, Sebastian. And the answer is yes.”

I let out a shout of pure fucking joy and leapt to my feet, pulling her into his arms, squeezing her so hard that she gasped. She rested her head over my heart, and I thought it would leap out of my fucking chest.

When I spoke, I hardly recognized my voice, it sounded so choked.

“I’ll do everything to make you happy, I promise, Caro. Everything, baby. You are my life.”

“And you are mine, tesoro,” she whispered. “We’ll find a way—we always do.”

I collapsed back onto the hard, wooden seat and pulled her onto my lap, burying my face in her hair, kissing her neck.

Then my head slammed back, knocking against the wall hard enough to shake some sense into me.

“Oh, fuck!”

Stupid useless, clueless, pathetic jarhead!

“What? What’s wrong?” she asked nervously.

“I forgot to give you the fucking ring. Fuck it! I wanted this to be so smooth. I said it enough times in my head.”

She started to smile, and her hand covered her mouth as if she was holding back laughter. I couldn’t blame her—I was a freakin’ idiot.

“You did? You practiced this?”

She had no idea.

I grinned at her, slightly embarrassed. “Yeah, once or twice. Maybe a few times more … maybe a lot of times more… Ah, fuck it, Caro. See if the damn thing fits.”

I yanked the ring box out of my pocket and slapped it down onto the table. By now Caro was laughing at me openly; it was catching.

“You’re in danger of sweeping me off my feet again, Sebastian,” she laughed, the sound wrapping around my heart and warming it. “How can I resist such sweet words: I’ll treasure your proposal forever, ‘See if the damn thing fits’.”

Then she opened the box. It wasn’t the biggest diamond ever, but I knew she wouldn’t want anything too showy. Besides, her hands were so tiny, anything bigger would have looked like bling—and my Caro was nothing but fuckin’ classy. Besides, it was a blue-white diamond—the best quality you could buy. Or so the jeweler had told me.