I could see in his eyes that he meant what he said.
“Where did you get this beautiful ring?” I murmured, admiring the way it glinted on my finger. “Because I didn’t see any shops in Salerno that…”
“I didn’t get it in Salerno,” he said, interrupting me.
My mouth popped open in surprise. “Then where?”
“Geneva,” he said, grinning at me, completely unabashed. “You know I was supposed to be at that fucking dull hostile environment briefing – which they’d given me as part of my ‘rehabilitation’ after Paris…” he raised an eyebrow, “but after I’d seen you… I couldn’t face going back. I was just wandering around trying to get my head together, and I saw it in a jeweler’s shop.”
I was dumbfounded.
“But… you still hated me then!”
He shook his head vehemently. “I never hated you, Caro, although I tried; I really fucking tried. But I just couldn’t do it.”
He sighed and rubbed his hands over his hair.
“That ring has been burning a hole in my pocket ever since. I was just waiting for the right time to give it to you.”
I blinked back tears: tonight was not a night for crying, although I was certain that would happen in the lonely days to come.
“You’ve always been so sure,” I whispered, “I don’t understand why.”
“I told you, Caro,” he said, softly. “It’s only ever been you.”
I stretched out my hand, admiring the ring as it sparkled under the light of the chandelier. “Thank you for giving it to me.”
He caught my fingers and kissed the ring. “Thank you for wearing it.”
The wine waiter arrived with a bottle of expensive-looking Prosecco and opened it with an understated flourish.
Sebastian held his glass and watched the bubbles effervesce. Then he looked up, staring into my eyes.
“Thank God for you, Caro,” he said, his voice low and aching with sincerity.
“And you, Sebastian, semper fidelis.”
As the hours passed, the tension that had been so briefly and beautifully absent from our relationship began to creep back. Once again our summer was slipping away, and we could count it in minutes and seconds.
Tomorrow, the dream would be over – but, for now, tonight was still ours. I had to remember that.
We dined on antipasti di frutti di mare, a primo of ravioli with pumpkin and almonds with sage; and as secondo, a melt-in-your-mouth ragú di pecora, as the sun set, sinking into the sea beneath us. It was a perfect and poignant end to a magical few days.
We walked back up the grand staircase, hand in hand, and my gentleman escorted me to our room. I was waiting for him to revert to my sensuous and very physical lover, but there was one more surprise to come.
He led me out onto the balcony, where two glasses of Galliano liqueur blazed in the light of a single candle. And next to that, in a crystal vase, was a perfect pink rose.
In silence, he handed me the drink and took the second for himself. His gaze was heated, and his eyes never left mine.
The golden liquid burned as it trickled down my throat, but the burn was not as fierce as the way my fiancé looked at me.
He finished his drink and placed the glass back on the table, and took mine. With a look that made my body tingle and dried my throat, he held out his hand and led me towards the bed.
In silence, he cupped my face with his hands and kissed me until I was breathless and dizzy.
Then he turned me around, and rested his hands on my waist, gently unzipping my dress, stroking my bare flesh as the material shivered to the floor. I stepped away from it, and regarded him intently as his gaze flowed up and down my body.
My turn.
I moved towards him, and slid his jacket over his shoulders, tossing it onto the chair. I pulled loose one end of his bowtie and undid the top button, while he gazed down into my eyes.