wall and found her lips with his.
When he backed away, his eyes twinkling, she was gasping.
“Not fair,” she said. “Illegal argument.”
“Not unfair at all,” he said. “In fact, I’m making your point for you. I am lucky to have you here.” He smiled, squeezed her waist gently, and turned back to the chicken.
Francesca moved to the salad she had been given permission to work on and pulled out a pair of wooden spoons. “Speaking of your good luck,” she said, “are you planning on contacting Jean at all?”
“I don’t know,” Viggo said. “It was a relief that they found him guilty, though.”
“I never had any doubt that they would,” Francesca said.
She was lying. That morning, when the verdict had been handed down, she had sat in the back of the courtroom with Viggo squeezing his hand every bit as tightly as he had been squeezing hers. She had felt, somehow, that Viggo’s freedom wasn’t quite official until Fabron had been convicted. Only now could she feel one-hundred-percent confident that the hit-and-run wasn’t going to come back to haunt them.
Fabron had been convicted of felony manslaughter, thanks to the fact that he had been under the influence while driving. Time had been added to his sentence for the fact that he had fled the scene. Francesca had pointed out to Viggo that he could also press charges for grand theft auto, since Fabron had taken his car, but Viggo had ultimately decided against it.
Francesca was in awe. To think she had once thought him so heartless! And now, to see him show such mercy to a man who had very nearly ruined his life.
If anything, it made her love him even more than she already did.
Fabron had been sentenced to five years in prison. Francesca the sentence too lenient, if anything. But the victim’s family had been content that the perpetrator had been brought to justice. And that was the only thing that really mattered.
Now, at last, they could begin to put it behind them.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. “That’s them,” she said. “Keep doing what you’re doing. I’ll let them in.”
She wiped her hands on a towel, hurried to the door, and opened it.
Her older brother, Gio, burst in with a bottle of wine in each hand. “Red and white!” he announced by way of greeting. He set the bottles down on the table and hugged her hard, lifting her right off the floor. “What smells so good?”
“That would be the chicken,” she said, picking up the wine and carrying it to the kitchen. “How was the drive in?”
“Ridiculous,” her younger sister, Camilla, said. “It’s impossible to find parking anywhere near your building, Francesca. I wish you would move.”
“Don’t pester your sister,” her mother said. “Hi, sweetheart. Your uncle’s helping Nonna up the stairs.”
“You should also find a place with an elevator,” Camilla said.
“I’ve been telling her that,” Viggo said, turning away from the chicken.
“Ah,” Gio said, looking him up and down appraisingly. “This must be the new boyfriend.”
“And you must be Francesca’s brother,” Viggo said, holding out a hand. “Viggo Lindström.”
“Are you really?” Camilla asked.
“Of course he is,” Francesca said, feeling embarrassed by her sister’s fawning.
“But he’s really the Viggo Lindström?” she pressed. “The prince?”
Viggo laughed. “It’s not as impressive as it sounds,” he assured her. “I don’t have any political or royal responsibilities. As long as my older brother remains in good health, I’ll never have to take the throne. The title is really just a formality.”
“Still,” Camilla said. “Royalty.”
Francesca was anxious to break up the awkwardness of the moment. “Viggo, this is Gio, and this is Camilla,” she said. “My brother and sister. And this is my mother, Paola.”
“It’s very nice to meet you, Viggo,” Francesca’s mother said. “Francesca has spoken very highly of you.”
“She always speaks well of her family, too,” Viggo said, shaking hands with everyone. “I’ve made dinner for you all tonight. It’s my first time cooking Italian. I hope you like it.”
“I’m sure we will,” Francesca’s mother assured him.
Just then, the two remaining guests appeared at the door. They walked slowly, Francesca’s uncle helping her grandmother along.
“Nonna,” Francesca said, turning to hug her. “Come and sit down.” She took her grandmother’s arm and led her to the dining room table. “This is Viggo, the man I’ve been seeing. Viggo, this is my grandmother.”
“Well, well,” her grandmother said. “He is a handsome one, isn’t he? A very fine, choice, Francesca.” She sat down. “Gio, darling, open the wine.”
Francesca got