Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 144832 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 724(@200wpm)___ 579(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144832 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 724(@200wpm)___ 579(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
He kept holding her, knowing he was going to tell her there in their bedroom, the place they would sleep together. He looked over her head toward the long row of glass that looked out toward the woods, where there was a riot of green even in the dark. The various shades shimmered in the faint lights created by the custom night-bulbs coming off the eaves from the roof. Each light was dim and cast multiple shadows depending on the angle. It had taken years for one of his very talented relations from one of the other branches of Ferraros to develop those bulbs.
“And you’re going to be the only person I tell my secrets to. I’m not big on sharing.” He whispered that truth into her ear, hoping she understood that the things he told her, he wanted kept between them.
Nicoletta stepped back and he reluctantly released his hold on her, feeling as if he were giving up his lifeline. She’d thought he’d been hers. All along, she’d been his. She tipped back her head and looked up at him. She understood. He saw more than understanding in her eyes. Compassion. That look that he’d seen so many times for others.
She’d never understood that he’d watched her closely. The Ferraros protected her because she was capable of producing rider children. That meant she was guarded carefully as the treasure she was. If she wasn’t for him, or one of his cousins, they would have put out the word and other riders would have come to meet her, hoping they would connect with her. As it was, Taviano knew he had been the reason their shadows had tangled together so quickly.
He had taken his shifts protecting her like the other family members, but in watching her, he had paid particular attention to how she treated others. That was very important to him. Even when she first came as a foster teen, a wild, angry, hurt and humiliated young woman, she had been so careful with Lucia and Amo. She’d responded to them almost immediately and was never disrespectful to them. He watched her help them in the store and work hours to help take the load off of them. She pitched in to clean and even cook. She spent time with Lucia in her favorite tea garden and helped her pull weeds around her koi pond.
Nicoletta never failed to be polite to others, but more than that, she was genuinely good to children in the parks, stopping to help them if they needed it. He saw her tie shoes, push children on swings, brush away tears, sort out problems and help them with whatever was needed. Little boys and little girls flocked to her.
She read books to children and often watched them, giving young mothers or single fathers a much-needed break while she ate her lunch in the park. She developed a regular grocery program for the elderly in the community fairly quickly, checking with them before shopping for Lucia and Amo. One neighbor had turned into two and then four. At last count, there were sixteen elderly couples or single men and women living in the neighborhood she checked with before going to the grocery store. And she was always patient.
She often picked up dinners for various people at odd hours. Mostly it was single mothers, but sometimes, again, it was the elderly. She even cooked meals at their homes. She never talked about doing it for them. Not to anyone. Lucia hadn’t known until one of her friends accidentally let it slip. She’d been sworn to silence.
The look on her face when Francesca had put Crispino into Nicoletta’s arms for the first time had been enough for him. She’d looked as if she’d totally fallen in love with the little boy, so spellbound by him. He wanted her to look at their child like that. He wanted her for his wife and the mother of his children. He wanted the kind of compassion she showed for the neighborhood elderly and single parents to extend to those they knew, no matter their circumstances. He had looked for that trait in a wife his entire life, as long as he could remember, and she’d turned up in a ratty little apartment in the worst of circumstances, and now he was taking a chance on losing everything.
“The things you—or your family, for that matter—tell me, I would never share with anyone else. It isn’t their business, but you in particular. You’re my …” She trailed off and looked around the room, as if that might give her an answer as to who he might be to her.
“Husband,” he supplied. In spite of the churning in his gut and the bile in his throat, he couldn’t help the small amount of amusement rising. “I’m your husband.” He took her hand and rubbed his thumb over her ring. “If nothing else, this should help you remember.”