Page 261 of Caterina
But because if I kiss her the way I want to, her family will arrive to find dinner delayed and Caterina flushed and smug.
Again.
When I pull back, her eyes are warm. “You look serious.”
“I’m doing a final walk.”
“Of course you are.”
“Come with me.”
Her brows lift. “To do a security check?”
I glance toward the back of the house. “It can be a walk through the garden.”
Her expression softens at that.
She knows what I am asking.
The garden means something now. To both of us. For a while, she avoided it. Then she finally walked through it with me. Again with her sister, then her father. And finally, once alone, when she thought I did not know. After that, she began taking it back little by little.
It started with flowers. Then the path. And finally, the west side.
The place where she found me almost dead took the longest.
She looks toward the rear doors, then back at me. “Everyone will be here soon.”
“We have time.”
She smiles softly and slips her hand into mine.
The simple trust of it makes my heart stutter.
Every time.
We walk through the back of the house and out into the garden.
The evening is warm, the sky turning deep blue as night prepares to fall, the first lights glowing along the paths.
Caterina had insisted that the garden not become a grid of harsh security lighting. I had argued. We compromised. The lights are soft, yes, but placed exactly where I need them.
We are getting good at compromise.
Her hand stays in mine as we move down the stone path. She walks slower now, though she hates admitting it. The baby has made her tired in ways she pretends not to be. She still works too much. Still answers emails too late. Still tries to attend meetings she should cancel.
But she listens more than she used to.
Not always, and often not without a fight.
But more.
I slow my pace to match hers without making it obvious.
She notices anyway.
“I know what you’re doing.”
“I’m walking.”
