Forever Rome (Forever #1)

by Brittney Sahin

  He swiped at the tears on my face with his free hand and brought my hand to his lips, brushing kisses over my knuckles, his eyes settling on mine. “Because that was what gave me strength before, and I don’t need it now.”

  “You don’t?” My pulse quickened.

  “You give me strength now. And the only thing I am afraid of is a tomorrow without you in it.”

  His words chilled my body, whispering secrets of a future to my soul. And as his lips neared mine, I pushed up on my toes and gently pressed my mouth to his, ready and willing for the sweet warmth of his tongue to take control.

  Epilogue

  The sharp, dull pain was coming much faster now. More regular. But I was pretty sure they were false labor pains. I’d been to the hospital three times in the last week, and it had been a false alarm every time!

  Two more weeks. Just two more weeks . . . if not sooner.

  Despite Marco’s protests, there wasn’t a chance in hell I’d miss the first game of the season. It was his first year back playing for Roma, and I couldn’t have been more proud of my husband.

  My mother-in-law reached for my hand, tucking it inside hers, and she gave it a gentle squeeze. I smiled at her, then rubbed my huge belly once she let go of my hand.

  “That’s your papà out on the field. And some day, he’s going to teach you to play.”

  Marco moved down the field, his golden skin gleaming beneath the bright night lights at the stadium. My eyes were drawn to the number ten on his jersey, and I jolted up out of my seat as he flashed by with his lightning quick moves, then released his leg, sending the ball toward the goal.

  I screamed as he scored and the crowd went wild, chanting Marco’s name. The audience was even crazier tonight than usual, thrilled to have him back.

  We’d spent nearly eighteen months in New York, and his mother had improved dramatically. Sure, some days were harder than others, but for the most part, she was back to herself. Marco and I made the decision to move to Italy, and I transferred to our sister office in Rome.

  Will and Maria were married now, as well. I was looking forward to their next visit to Rome after the baby was born.

  I groaned as another sharp pain hit me, and I began to breathe harder and faster.

  “Merda,” I said beneath my breath when I realized my water had broken. “Oh God. Oh God.”

  My mother-in-law braced my arm, and her eyes widened when she realized I was going into labor.

  The contractions were too close.

  His mother began shouting in Italian: the baby is coming!

  People in the audience looked my way, recognizing who I was. Then they, too, began yelling to Marco. My cheeks would have flushed with embarrassment if I wasn’t so lightheaded with pain.

  The entire crowd was now chanting, and the players stopped mid-field as the referees blew their whistles. Marco looked around, as if in a daze, then he threw a hand over his mouth in shock when he realized what the crowd was saying.

  He darted across the field toward me, and the people in the audience grabbed him by the shoulders, pulling him up over the railing and into the stands.

  “Maggie!” he shouted as he clambered over seats, then scrambled up the aisle.

  “The baby’s coming,” I said in English, even though the entire crowd was still chanting the same phrase in Italian. “Soon,” I cried as a sharp contraction knocked the breath from me.

  “Christo!” He grabbed my arm and looked at his mom, then down at my wet sundress.

  “I don’t know if we have time,” I cried. My fingernails bit into his arm as a scream ripped free from my lungs.

  He looked around, cursing like crazy, and snapped his fingers. “The chopper. We’ll take Adam’s helicopter. They have a landing spot at the hospital. Come on.”

  “What? No! You can’t—” Another contraction stole my words.

  “Yes, I can.” He brushed a hand over my semi-damp forehead. “No fear, remember?”

  ***

  “Meet Antony Thomas Valenti, the next captain of Roma,” I said, handing my small bundle of love over to Lori.

  “Maybe he’ll play for Manchester like Bennett,” Sean chimed in while raising his two-year-old’s hand up in the air.

  Their son Bennett’s dark curly brown hair framed his face, and his blue eyes gleamed as he smiled.

  Lori winked at her son, then stared down at my little guy in her arms, shifting the swaddle so she could better see his face. His light blue eyes, button nose, and full, pink lips . . . I’d never met anyone so beautiful.

  Tears formed in Lori’s eyes as baby Antony cooed at her. He was only two days old, but he was already so alert.

  Marco was at my side, and he reached for my hand, squeezing it.

  “You’re next, Lori.” I looked at her growing belly. She and Sean were expecting their second child in just a few months.

  “Thankfully you had this guy early. One more week and the doctor would have banned me from flying.” Lori handed Antony to Will, who was standing anxiously next to her.

  “Wow. I can’t believe you’re a mom,” Will said, rocking Antony in his arms.

  “Don’t go getting any ideas,” Maria warned, and gently jabbed Will in his side. “I want another year or two before we have one.”

  “Isn’t the guy the one who is supposed to say that?” Marco laughed.

  “Hey now, watch the stereotypes,” I teased, and shot my husband a smile.

  *Curious about Lori’s sister, Alexa? She’ll be starring in the 4th book in my Hidden Truths series due out 2017.

  *Also coming soon: Forever Dublin, starring the Irish Roma football owner, Adam McGregor. Be sure to preorder the book at the limited time price of only 99cents. Continue for an EXCLUSIVE SNEAK PEEK!

  Forever Dublin

  Forever Dublin is scheduled for release January 9th, 2017. It will be in dual 1st person point of view.

  Synopsis:

  Billionaire businessman by day, fighter by night.

  Adam McGregor hasn’t stepped inside the Octagon in five years. He hasn’t so much as gone near a fighting ring, and yet the memories of his past haunt him every day. But when Adam’s best friend gets in trouble with a Dublin crime boss, he drags Adam back into the world of underground fighting. Adam must break all the promises he’s made; he must do the one thing he vowed never to do again. Fight.

  Anna Drake is relieved to leave her small hometown in Kentucky behind and get a fresh start with an overseas internship in Dublin. What she doesn’t expect is to bump into a strange man in her new apartment during her first night there. A man who, it turns out, also owns the company that she’s joined as an intern. As they are thrust together more and more, Anna discovers that Adam’s a man with secrets and a dark past—a past that seems to be reaching for her.

  Although Anna can sense how dangerous Adam is, she can’t seem to resist him. And while Adam fights his feelings, longing to keep Anna safe, neither of them can see that their only hope for survival is each other.

  Exclusive Sneak Peek:

  Chapter One-

  Adam

  “Get up! Get up!” Chants echoed through the musty room. People were packed up against each other, huddling as close to the fight as they could get.

  “Don’t do it, you bloody idiot. Stay the hell down,” I muttered under my breath. I gripped the cage, pressing my face up close, ignoring the swarm of people who jostled and bumped behind me.

  “Shit. Is that you?” A throaty voice cracked loud in my ear.

  I didn’t bother to look over my shoulder as the bloke screamed, “Adam!” The last thing I wanted was to be recognized. I shouldn’t even have come here.

  My fingers curled tighter around the metal, and I shook the cage. Feck. Come on, stay down, man.

  The other fighter raised his arms up, showing his inked biceps as he paced around the cage, circling his opponent—Les—my idiot friend. The man’s dark eyes were sharp on Les, who remained face down on hands and knees, blood dripping t
o the ground beneath him.

  The bastard wanted him to get back up, didn’t he? That was why he wasn’t crushing my friend to the floor right now. He didn’t want to end it right then and there—no, he wanted more.

  Frankie “The Beast” Donahue wanted to kill him.

  Jesus, Les. Don’t do it.

  But Les was stubborn, damn it. He pressed a palm to the ground and pushed up, his one good eye open, finding me. His cheek was swollen and busted beneath his eye, blood oozing from the wound and into the crater of his split lip.

  “No!” I shouted as Les tipped his head, almost as if in apology to me, and then pushed upright and to his feet.

  I released my grip, my hands snapping into fists, my knuckles twitching. “Stop it! Stop the fight!” I looked over at the ref, but he didn’t even blink. Instead, he remained in the corner, observing as Frankie closed in on Les, his lips spreading into a disgusting grin.

  I lunged up, attempting to climb the cage as Frankie moved in fast with a hook to Les’s jaw, followed by a quick kick to the shin. Les’s face jerked left and his mouth guard popped free, shooting across the Octagon, then his cheek connected hard against the ground.

  “Les!” I finished climbing the frame of the cage and swung my leg over the top, not giving a damn if anyone wanted to stop me. Hell, let them. I was tense and wired, ready to kill someone.

  “Les?” I dropped down into the cage, my eyes on Frankie’s as he lifted his chin and smiled.

  I shifted my attention back on Les and checked his pulse. There was a faint tick. “Get a fucking doctor,” I shouted over the drunken cheers as the crowd celebrated this arsehole’s win. “Stay with me, man.”

  I wasn’t sure if Les could hear me.

  “Don’t feckin’ die.” I lowered my head, memories from my past ripping me apart. Being here was too Goddamn much.

  I wanted to claw at my flesh and scream. Les should never have stepped inside the ring.

  “We can’t let the medics come here—you know that. You should take him to the hospital.” The ref squatted next to me and stared at Les.

  “You should have stopped the fight.” I shook my head in revulsion, unable to even look at him.

  “And you know the rules,” the ref responded dryly. I had to fight the urge to slug him.

  But he was right.

  This wasn’t an official arena. It wasn’t the UFC. It was an illegal, underground, street fighting ring. And people had bets riding on each damn fight.

  “Help me get Les to my car.”

  The ref nodded and positioned himself at Les’s legs, while I grabbed his shoulders. Together, we lifted him up.

  “He’s a wanker—shouldn’t have been in the Octagon with me. A pussy like him belongs fighting the women.” Frankie’s voice cried loud over my shoulder as we started for the exit, the weight of Les’s eighty-five kilos making it damn hard to walk.

  My gaze snapped up to meet Frankie’s eyes, my body stiff and ready to explode. Hell, just being here had me hanging on the edge—a sharp, dangerous fecking edge. The kind that could kill you.

  “Wait! Adam? Is that you?” Frankie’s brown eyes narrowed at me in recognition. He raised his hands in the air and flicked his fingers toward his face. “Come on, man. You wanna fight me?” He cocked his head and cracked his neck on each side.

  I did my best to ignore the hot wave of anger that tore through me as the ref and I lugged Les down the first of three steps leading to the main floor. I hoped the crowd would get the hell out of our way, but suddenly they began to surge forward.

  “Fight,” someone urged. Then, everyone took up the cry. “Fight. Fight. Fight!”

  Frankie opened his arms to the crowd. “He’s too much of a coward.” He shook his head, and I bit my lip, practically drawing blood.

  I walked backward down the last step, moving with my back to the crowd as people shoved and bumped from all around.

  My shirt had Les’s blood on it, and my hands were slippery. I repositioned my elbows under his armpits and shot one last look at Frankie, imprinting in my mind the smug look on his face.

  Chapter 2-

  Anna

  “Your fingers are gonna go purple if you stay out here much longer.”

  I looked over at the profile of the woman at my side. With her head tipped back, she stared up at the red brick building before us. She had to be seventy, or maybe even older. Her cream colored skin was lined with age, her hair a grayish white. But when she turned toward me, I could see a vibrant spirit in her green eyes.

  “You nervous about something?” Her thin, pink lips twitched as if my state of panic had amused her.

  I tried not to crack a smile at the sound of her voice. I had only been in Ireland for two hours, and I was already in love with the accent. And, in fact, everything else about the country, as well. As the taxi had taken me from the airport to my new home, the bold colors of Dublin had flashed by my window. The sun had slipped behind the city buildings and tiny sparks of excitement had ignited in my core.

  But here I stood outside my new apartment, terrified, my suitcase handle clutched tightly in my hand.

  “I haven’t met my roommate,” I explained. “We’ve only exchanged a few emails, and so I’m kind of nervous.” I swallowed and looked up at the five-story building.

  “Ah. An American?”

  “Yes.”

  “How long are you living here?”

  “Just three months.”

  “Well, I’m Elizabeth. My friends call me Lizzy, and I live on the first floor. If you need anything while you’re here, be sure to knock on my door. Flat ten.”

  I looked back over at Lizzy. Warmth, home, and comfort flooded my insides at the whiff of sugar and flour that drifted toward me as she held out her hand.

  “Thank you so much. I’m Anna.” I unfastened my death-grip from the luggage handle and shook her slightly cold, somewhat bony fingers.

  “Pleasure to meet ya,” she said before winking and heading up the short flight of stairs to the entrance of the building. “You coming?” She looked over her shoulder at me. “You can’t get in without a code. The apartments all have a code, as well, in case you don’t have a key on hand. At my age, I have forgotten my key on occasion.” She scratched her cheek, and her eyes glinted. “Hopefully someday I don’t forget the code, or I’ll be screwed.”

  I smiled at her, trying to imagine my grandmother using the word “screwed.”

  “Thankfully, my new roommate already emailed me both codes. It’s the kind of trust I’m used to in Kentucky, although I didn’t expect it in the big city.”

  She waved a hand my way. “The city might be a big one, but our hearts are even bigger.” She winked at me. “Goodnight, Anna.”

  Once Lizzy was out of sight, I closed my eyes. I can do this, I reminded myself. I had twelve weeks to prove to myself that I wasn’t just a country girl—I needed to find myself again. The girl I once was, or maybe always wanted to be.

  But as much as I wanted to get away from Kentucky, it was also twelve weeks away from Java, my Rocky Gelding. I wondered how she was. Maybe I’d be able to find a place to ride once or twice while I was here.

  My eyes flashed open as a bus honked, and my shoulders shrank forward when sirens sounded nearby. Strangers found my eyes as they passed by me on the street, having to move around where I stood.

  What was I doing?

  It was getting cold and growing dark, and I was standing there like a statue.

  I shivered from the slight dampness in the air and rolled my suitcase to the steps and hoisted the heavy bag.

  My new rental was on the third floor. I rolled my eyes at the spiraling set of stairs and searched for an elevator.

  Once on my floor, I found myself in front of my new home.

  The door was brown and plain—nothing terribly exciting. I had seen a few pictures from the Internet, but I wasn’t sure if I was truly prepared to go from wide open spaces to eight hundred square feet—or whatever that was in m
eters.

  My hand hovered before the small box outside the door, near the knob. My fingers twitched with nervous anticipation as I blew out a breath and tapped at the eight-digit code. I had recited the code in my head on the flight over—my first ever plane ride—probably seeming like some crazy person, chanting to herself. Of course, in this day and age, a twenty-four-year-old who had never flown before was an oddity in itself.

  I sighed as I dropped my bag just inside the front door and fumbled for the light switch in the dark, wondering why a place with high-tech code locks didn’t have automatic lights or motion sensors. “There you are.” I flicked on the light and found myself in the kitchen. Well, the three square feet I stood in probably counted as the “entryway,” but the refrigerator was directly to my left, and there wasn’t much but a wall to the right.

  Shutting the door, I unwrapped the blue scarf from around my neck and let it hang loose down the front of my sweater. I moved deeper into the apartment, past the breakfast bar, which seemed like the closest thing to a table.

  There was a brown leather chair, a black suede couch, and a large, flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. No pictures. No lamps. No rugs.

  I’d been fortunate to find someone who would allow me to bunk with her for those three months at such a low rate. The internship barely paid, although I was lucky to get anything. Most of the other internships I had applied to were unpaid.

  I shook off the weird bachelor pad vibe I was getting and glanced down the hall. My new roommate had told me in her email that my room would be the first door on the right. My hand shook a little as I gripped the brass handle and pushed.

  The room was small, like the rest of the apartment. There was a double bed and nightstand. And, hey, a lamp! Nice touch.

  I fought back my sudden urge to wash the plain white linens on the bed. Who knew whom—or what!—they had touched before me. But the weight of my sleepiness was too much. Although it was daytime back home, after being on such a long flight, I was beat.