And of course, conversely, she had to feign an interest in the things most people were crazy about—money, fashion and gossip.

With Drake, Grace didn’t have to hide any aspect of her nature. After a couple of days, she was surprised to find that she was even unconsciously standing straighter, and realized she had lived her life slightly hunched, waiting for disapproval. Not with Drake. She could be herself, completely, and he loved it.

He loved her.

Exactly the way she was.

He loved her. It was there, in his touch, in his rare smiles, only for her, in the way he looked at her.

He rarely left her side, and then only to take care of business. Like now. And she knew, like she knew that the sun setting in a blaze of glory before her would rise again in the east tomorrow, that he would come back to her.

Behind her, a light switched on inside the sumptuous living room fit for a prince and she smiled.

Drake was back.

In a moment, he was at her side, strong arm around her waist. She leaned her head against that massive shoulder and sighed. The sun was disappearing behind the glorious golden cupola of St. Peter’s, turning all the buildings a luscious, deep red. The Spanish Steps, below them, were full of people—tourists, students, families enjoying the warm evening, their voices a soft hum on the gentle evening breeze. Grace waved an arm, encompassing all of Rome. “This is so beautiful, Drake. Thank you for showing it to me.”

He turned his head to look at her. “Your pleasure has been mine. But our time here is drawing to a close, duschka. I wish it weren’t true, but it is. Europe is too dangerous for us. Soak everything up and commit it to memory, because the sad truth is that we can never return here again.”

She knew that. It had been made clear to her, which was why she’d been so greedy to see all the artwork she could.

He pulled something from his overcoat pocket, then tossed the overcoat onto a wicker chaise longue. “Here.” Two burgundy passports. “These are our new identities.”

Intrigued, Grace opened them. She and Drake were now Maltese, she saw. Victoria and Manuel Rabat. She fingered the identity page, covered in plastic, touching her new existence. “Victoria,” she murmured. “It’s a pretty name.”

Drake shrugged. “I like Grace more. But she is now gone.”

“Have you figured out where Victoria and Manuel are going?”

He smiled. “Yes. An island called Sivuatu, a couple of hours’ flight from Fiji. It is very lush, warm, but in the path of the trade winds, so the heat is mitigated. I have already bought a home for us. It is very beautiful. One wing will be set aside as your studio. I hope you will like it there.”

Grace met his dark gaze. “I’ll love it.” Her voice rang clearly with the force of her conviction.

He nodded gravely. “I hope so, for we will rarely leave the island. It will be our new home, in every sense, for the rest of our lives.”

“When will we leave?”

“Soon, as I said. Everything is ready, just one more thing has to happen and then we go, as fast as we can. But before we go, there is something else we must do.”

Grace watched, intrigued, as he pulled two small boxes from his pants pocket, holding them to her in the palm of his huge hand.

Two shiny black lacquer boxes, with BULGARI embossed in gold on the covers. He put one in her hand. “Open this one first.”

Smiling, she opened the box. Inside was a thick band of red gold inset with brightly colored gemstones. She lifted it out, the gemstones glittering with life and vivid color. Amethyst, topaz, aquamarine, peridot…she held the ring up to the light and drank in the glorious colors.

“It’s beautiful, Drake. Perfect. It’s just perfect.” It was. The design was clean and exquisite, the gemstones bright and flawless. Exactly the kind of ring to appeal to her.

“Open the other one,” he said quietly.

“Two rings,” she smiled. “That’s a little extravagant, don’t you th—” She stopped and gazed, puzzled, at the simple, enormous gold band in the second box. “Drake, that’s much too large for my hand.”

He smiled. “It’s not for you, duschka, it’s for me.” He extracted it from the velvet holder, placing it in the palm of his right hand. Intense dark eyes stared into hers. “Put it on me, my love. You know which finger.”

She did. Her heart began a deep, excited thudding in her chest.

With shaking fingers, she picked up the big gold band. It felt heavy and warm in her hand. She picked up his left hand and slipped it onto his ring finger. It fit, perfectly, just as hers had.

Once the ring was on his finger, he caught her hand, lacing his fingers through hers.

“We will arrive in our new home as man and wife, so we will never have a marriage ceremony. Therefore we will have our wedding now, and here.” He indicated the beautiful, terra-cotta-tiled terrace with the elegant wickerwork and iron furniture, the city of Rome laid out before them with its bustling crowds and elegant shop windows all lit up, the domes of the Renaissance churches rising up like dreams made of stone and tile from the forest of rooftop gardens. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers. Grace nearly cried at what she saw in his eyes, blinking back the tears, because this was the most solemn moment in her life, a moment that would split her existence on this earth into two. Before Drake and After Drake.

“Grace Larsen,” he whispered, “I promise to love you and protect you for the rest of our lives.” He swallowed heavily. His hard face, normally so impassive, showed signs of emotion, nostrils flaring white, deep brackets around his mouth, muscles rippling along his jawline.

Grace was shaking all over. Deep down, she never thought she’d ever get married. She was too odd, too eccentric, too out of step with the modern-day world. At times she hadn’t even minded, because the thought of a fancy, expensive wedding with tons of drunken guests, followed by a marriage in which she had to constantly pretend to be someone else, was almost too much to bear.

This was…perfect. So perfect for her. The man of her dreams in the city of her dreams. Just the two of them, vowing to love each other forever.

“Viktor Drakovich,” she whispered, her throat almost too tight to get the words out. She waited for the trembling to die down, for her voice to steady. Such a solemn moment, it deserved the best she could give. A deep breath. Another. When she finally spoke, her voice was calm. “I promise to love and care for you for the rest of our lives.” She bowed her head over their joined hands. “We are now truly man and wife.”

His hand jolted a little in hers and she looked up, startled. She barely had a chance to see his face, muscles tight, eyes ferociously fixed on hers, before he took her head in his big hands and started kissing her wildly. Eating at her mouth, tongue deep inside, breathing her in as if he were dying and her mouth contained the elixir of life.

“Mine,” he moaned into her mouth. “Mine forever.”

It was a hard kiss, almost violent, but Grace met his mouth with equal force, trying to meld with him, hands clutching at him in an effort to get closer, closer. Skin to skin. Loins to loins. Heart to heart.

He walked her backward into the living room, shedding clothes as they went. He lifted his mouth from hers for a nanosecond to whip his sweater off, then impatiently ripped away the underlying shirt. In a second, trousers and briefs and shoes and socks were on the floor and he pulled her to him, hard, still kissing her deeply.

Grace tightened her arms around him, his shoulders so broad her arms couldn’t meet. He was so hot, it was like holding warm steel in her arms as she settled heavily against him. His erection was huge and hot between them. She couldn’t resist the temptation to roll her hips against it, delighted to feel him swell, grow even harder and longer.