I glanced over at Lexi staring at the people of Firenze milling around the Piazza della Signoria with a happy smile upon her face. My chest constricted at the sight. Her sweet face was tanned from the strong winter Tuscan sun, her lips a light dusky pink from the ridiculously expensive lip salve she constantly wore, and her beautiful pale-green eyes wide with intrigue. She loved Italia. Hell, she loved life again.
My little emo pixie was no longer quite emo. Lexi’s hair was still jet-black and to her chin—she refused to part with that—but she no longer wore dark colors as her armor, no longer caked herself with white makeup and dark kohl liner to hide what she found most repulsive—herself.
I watched as guy after guy openly checked her out as they passed by her table—Typically f**kin’ Italian, I thought—appreciating her petite but filled-out figure, showcased by her short red summer dress. Weirdly, it didn’t bother me too much. I loved seeing her like this, free of her demons for a while, taking back control one day at a time. She still had her down moments, the days she tripped, but I was always there to pick her back up again, and she was there for me too, when my f**ked-up past played on my mind.
The old woman cleared her throat, an endearing smile on her face. Ducking my head in embarrassment of being caught staring, I smirked and replied, “No, é la mia fidenzata.”
No, she’s my fiancée.
The old woman smiled wide and laid her hand on her chest, glancing over my shoulder to Lexi. “Ah, giovane amore.”
Young love.
A gentle hand landed on my shoulder. “È preziosa, tesoro. Proteggi il suo cuore.”
She’s beautiful, darling. Protect her heart.
I nodded, cherishing the woman’s advice, and replied, “Sempre. Sempre. È l’amore della mia vita.” Always. Always. She’s the love of my life.
I made my way back to Lexi through the teeming outdoor terrace and placed my hand on the nape of her neck. Big beautiful eyes looked up at me, and she smiled.She still took my damn breath away.
“You ready, Pix?” I asked and held out my hand for her to take. Lexi gripped her hand in mine, and, leaning down, I placed a kiss on her engagement ring—an ebony four-carat diamond set in eighteen-carat black gold—nothing else would do for my little gothic girl. Not too big, not too fancy, but laced with edge and completely her.
Blushing, she stood and wrapped her arms around my neck. Her face was suddenly serious. “I’m ready, baby. Are you sure you are?”
Inhaling deep, I placed a kiss on Lexi’s lips, pulling back only to say, “I am.”
Walking back to our private villa on a stunning hilltop in a secluded hamlet, I gripped onto Lexi’s hand like it could give me courage. She didn’t say anything in response. She knew today was gonna be hard on me, on Levi, but she was always my silent support. Hell, she’d been that way all along, hadn’t she? Keeping my secrets, me keeping hers.
Lexi had moved with me to San Francisco. And in the past year, together we had opened up a treatment center for youths with eating disorders. She called it Daisy’s Smile, and I was so shittin’ proud of her. She was still helping others, even though she was still in recovery herself.
I couldn’t wait to marry her, to have her as my wife, but we agreed that day would come when she felt comfortable again. Felt like herself again. Lexi’s recovery would be a long process, and I wanted to give her the wedding day of her dreams, not one clouded with insecurity. I didn’t really care about waiting. I saw her as my soul mate, my life, regardless of a piece of paper telling me what we had was legit.
Ten minutes later, and after a slow and steady pace, Lexi and I walked through the door to the villa, Lexi a little breathless from too much exercise. She was still weak but getting stronger all the time.
Levi immediately met us at the door, eager to get going. The kid looked good these days. He’d smartened up. His fair hair, short and styled, paired with his gray eyes and deep southern drawl, he had the California girls wetting their panties over his Bama ass. We got his stidda removed too. He was reborn. He didn’t need the sign of his past weighing him down.
Since moving to San Fran, I got Levi in a good private school—a good football school—and he’d gotten his grades up. He was focused on football, and he had just about every college in the damn country wanting him to play for them in a couple of years—most talented wide receiver I ever saw.
Of course, Levi wanted to play for the Tide, his home team, but he wasn’t ever going back to Tuscaloosa. I just couldn’t allow it. He got out of the crew, and he wasn’t going anywhere close to the Heighters turf ever again.