Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 61942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
I melted on the spot. “So…what were you doing out there?”
“I got an idea.”
“Like a gazebo?”
“No. An old acquaintance of mine started a winery to wash his money, but then worked at it full time once he retired from his other profession. Thought I could do the same.”
“We’re going to have a winery?” I asked in surprise.
“No. Olive oil. We’ll have olive groves throughout our property. It’ll give me something to do. Something legal. One day, our children will ask how we have money when we don’t work. I’d rather them see me as a hard worker than a lazy enigma.”
“They would never think that.”
“It’ll also give me something to do with them. Something to bond over.”
“Yeah, that’s nice.” I was glad he’d found something to invest his time in, because he’d been a free agent these last few months. I’d expected him to crack at some point, to succumb to the boredom or become resentful toward me. But he never did. “Dinner should be ready, so I’ll set the table.”
As if he didn’t hear what I said, he changed the subject. “I thought we could go into Florence tomorrow.”
“Why?”
“I need to grab a few things.”
“Alright.”
We drove into the city, a thirty-minute drive, and then left the car at his apartment. His staff was still there, having nothing to do when he wasn’t in residence. We’d discussed having them come to our Tuscan villa, but we also enjoyed this time alone.
We entered his bedroom on the top floor, and that was when I saw the white dress laid out on the bed.
I stilled when I saw it, taking a moment to understand exactly what I was looking at.
Bartholomew stayed by the door. “Come downstairs when you’re ready.”
“Whoa, hold on.” I turned around to look at him. “What is this?”
He leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms over his chest. “I want to be married before the baby gets here.”
“That’s fine…but you didn’t ask me.”
He stared at me for a while. “Why would I ask when I already know your answer?”
“Because it’s tradition. It’s romantic.”
“You know I’m not the kind of man to take a knee and profess my undying love.”
“Do I even get a ring?”
He grinned slightly. “Yes. I’ll show you when we get there.”
With me in a beautiful wedding dress that somehow fit me perfectly, we arrived at the church, and Bartholomew walked me inside. White candles were lit, and the priest waited at the front for our arrival.
Bartholomew was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, but I could never picture him wearing a suit anyway. He wouldn’t look right. He took my hand and walked me to the front, and that was when I saw a familiar face.
“Catherine?”
She came to me and immediately embraced me.
We held each other for a long time.
Bartholomew stepped aside to give us our moment.
After our father had died, we didn’t speak, other than that one phone call. I’d assumed we would never speak again, not after my betrayal. But here she was, holding me tight like she didn’t want to let go.
She pulled back and looked at me head on. “You look beautiful.”
“Thanks, Catherine.”
“I-I left him.”
My eyes searched her face, seeing the pain deep beneath the surface. “I know it hurts right now, but you did the right thing. Where are you staying?”
“Bartholomew opened his home to me. I’ve been there for a couple weeks now. He said I can live there as long as I want.”
I turned to Bartholomew and locked eyes with him.
He had no reaction. Just held my stare.
I looked at my sister again. “Thank you for coming.”
“I wouldn’t miss it. I’m so happy for you both.” She gave me another hug before she let me go.
I returned to Bartholomew, looking at him with new eyes. “Thank you.”
His only response was a subtle nod.
I noticed Benton there as well, standing behind Bartholomew as if they’d just finished talking.
With our hands together, we faced the priest and began the ceremony.
He reached into his pocket and withdrew the small box. He opened it and presented the ring before he grabbed my hand and slipped it onto my finger. I didn’t really have a chance to look at the ring until it was already on my hand.
It was enormous. A large diamond to mark his territory for everyone to see. Smaller diamonds were in the platinum. It was an elaborate display of wealth, but I knew Bartholomew wanted me to feel like the most valuable thing he owned.
He promised to love me forever and ended his vows with, “I do.”
I assumed he didn’t want to wear a ring. It wasn’t in his nature to wear jewelry, not even a watch, and such a public display of ownership seemed like something he would shun. But he pulled out another box and grabbed the small black band inside. He slipped it on to his own hand, the matte black distinctive and smooth, but also simple and subtle—just like him.