Because I Love You (33 page)

The corners of his eyes creased as he grinned, and my heart fluttered, mesmerized by my favorite smile.

Neil lifted my chin and lowered his face until I could feel his words on my lips. “Happy birthday, Princess.”

I pulled his mouth to mine, kissing him with every ounce of my soul, and the happiness followed me through the week and beyond.

Epilogue

Dear Ethan,

I can feel you in my belly right now. Your kicks are powerful. Bet you’ll become a star soccer player some day. It’s surreal, loving you so much when I haven’t even seen you yet.

I hope you know it’s because I love you that I trusted Alyssa and Tom to take care of you when I couldn’t. I never wanted to say goodbye. In fact, it was the hardest thing I ever had to do. But you’re my baby boy, and you deserve so much more than I can give you.

I think about you every day. I’m sure that will never change. Even when I’m old and gray, a piece of my heart will always belong to you. I hope, some day, we’ll meet again.

Remember: One small act of kindness can change a person’s life. Your gut will never steer you wrong. And it’s the people around you, those who would do anything for you, who make your true family.

Love you, always,

Mom

Acknowledgements

To my editor, Krystal: Thank you for all your hard work and ripping the manuscript apart. You were right! It never would’ve become the book it is today if it weren’t for you. Thanks for falling in love with BECAUSE I LOVE YOU and giving it life!

To my marvelous critique partners—Ava, Laura, Vikki, Caitlin, and Jessica: I am so blessed to have all of you in my corner! Thank you all for your wonderful advice and for sticking with me through revision after revision. You girls are the best!

To all who beta read: Your input was so valuable! Thank you so much for taking the time to read BECAUSE I LOVE YOU and offer your opinions. I never would’ve written this book without you!

And to my friends and family: Thank you for your continued love and support. I am so blessed each of you is in my life!

about the author

Adopted at three-days-old by a construction worker and a stay at home mom, Tori Rigby grew up with her nose in a book and her fingers on piano keys, always awaiting the day she’d take her own adventure. Now, she goes on multiple journeys through her contemporary and historical romances. She longs to live in the Scottish Highlands, and her favorite place in history is Medieval England—she’d even give up her Internet and running water to go back in time! Tori also writes high-concept genre fiction as Vicki Leigh, and when she isn’t writing, she’s kicking butt in krav maga or attending classes to learn how to catch bad guys.

You can find out more about Tori on her website

http://www.trigbywrites.com

Thank You for Reading

Now that you’ve finished reading this book, we’d like to ask you to take a moment to leave a review. You never know how a few sentences might help other readers—and the author! And, as always, Blaze Publishing appreciates your time and support.

www.Blazepub.com

And now a sneek preview of Blaze’s upcoming release,
The Carver
, which releases July 2016.

CHAPTER ONE

TODAY—THE NEW WORLD: JUST OUTSIDE RICHMOND, VA

The carver’s joints ached as he nurtured a piece of oak with his old paring knife. The ivory handle, cool to the touch, was always a treat for Pino’s fingers. Soon, he would get to coat his figurine with a palette of beige, scarlet, and splashes of azure.

He sometimes carved with his eyes closed, letting the memory of Crescenzo’s laughter wash over him. Those joyful snickers and loud appreciative chuckles had once been music to his ears. The carver wanted nothing more than to bring his son’s joy back. After the boy lost his mother and his best friend, it seemed he was only capable of anger.

“Another toy, Dad?” There it was again. Crescenzo’s constant irritation. He didn’t bother to look up from his phone anymore. “How many of those stupid things are you gonna give me before you realize I don’t want any more? I’m not four.”

Pino hoisted himself out of his chair, his knees crackling and the bones rattling in his back. He set his piece of oak down and rubbed out a crick in his neck. He knew quite well: My son is not four years old. He laid his hands on Crescenzo’s shoulders and kissed him on the forehead. Without looking up, Crescenzo wiped his face with his sleeve.

“You grew up too fast, my boy. But you’re still my son. And these are very special figurines. You’d do well to take care of them.”

Crescenzo’s fingers flew across the screen of his phone. “Yeah, whatever. They’re toys.”

“You used to like toys, you know. You’d spend hours and hours playing with your figurines and building Lego houses for them. You’re only fifteen, son. You’re allowed to have some fun! Who says you have to grow up?”

“The world says grow up, Dad.” For the first time, Crescenzo looked up, and Pino’s heart sank. There used to be a warm light in Crescenzo’s eyes. A firefly, Carla used to call it. Since Carla disappeared, the light changed. It was still there, but it had lost some radiance. “And the world stopped being fun once Mom disappeared.”

Pino sighed and slumped down on the couch next to his son. He could feel, almost hear, the crick-crack-click in his bones as he settled. Darn joints. “You still don’t believe she’ll be back?”

Crescenzo clicked off his phone. “No! I don’t think she’ll be back! And you do after all this time? After almost three years?”

“I’ve told you, something tells me we haven’t seen the last of your mother. She’s a strong woman if I ever knew one. She’s got a whale of a heart.”

“That’s stupid. I’m sorry, but it’s true. Unless you have hard evidence that she’s still alive, you’re being an idiot. Every day that you sit there and make your toys, thinking Mom’s just gonna walk in with an armful of groceries or something, you’re setting us up for disappointment.”

Pino shook his head. “You think you know so much about this world—”

“I know about disappointment, and I know this world sucks. And I know that anybody who can say this world is fun has never lost anything before. Did you even care about Mom?”

Pino looked down. “My son. For you to think I don’t care . . . What have I done to make you think this way?”

“What have you done? Nothing!” Crescenzo bounded off the couch and snatched a three-inch figurine off the coffee table. “You sit there every day since she disappeared, and you make these stupid toys! Come on, Dad. You’re so sure Mom’s okay; do something productive! Go get her back! Write her a letter! Or, I don’t know, tell me where to find her! But stop wasting your life sitting there carving wood, and stop giving me things meant for babies.”

Pino crossed his arms defiantly. “A baby would swallow these things whole. I wouldn’t dream of trusting an infant with my figures.” He picked up his half-formed project. “And anyway, this one isn’t for you. It’s for Peter next door.”

“You mean Pietro? Why would he want any of your toys? He’s a grown man.”

Pino cracked his neck. “I don’t know how to explain that, Son. You’ll understand when you’re older.”

Crescenzo groaned. “I hate that excuse! And you wonder why I don’t like to talk to you.”

“So then tell me how to talk to you! You won’t talk about your mom, you won’t talk about your figures, you never want to talk about school . . . I give up. How do I have a relationship with my son?”

“That’s the easiest thing ever,” Crescenzo said. “You don’t. Just leave me alone.”

~~

Two weeks later, Pino put the finishing touches on his oak figurine. The whole process took him about six weeks: sketching, carving, smoothing the edges, detailing, and finally applying the paint. When he was done, he drank a glass of wine, put on a red baseball cap, and shuffled out the door with his small heroine in his palm. He whistled a jolly tune as he hobbled down the sidewalk and into his neighbor’s yard.

Pietro used to keep his lawn fresh and green, but about a year ago, he surrendered it to a tangle of weeds and pond scum. Even the big stone fairy looked morose, cobwebbed, and muddy.

Pino coughed into his sleeve, tipped his cap to the fairy statue, and stepped onto Pietro’s porch. The ground thumped with every step, each hollow knock of heel against wood bringing back a memory of his childhood.

He rang the doorbell, and a minute later, Pietro appeared in his pajamas.