Merline Lovelace – New Year Fireworks: The Duke's New Year's Resolution / The Faithful Wife / Constantino's Pregnant Bride (страница 21)

Suddenly the lights dimmed. At a signal from the duchess, servers threw open the tall French doors leading to the wide terrace.

“Naples puts on the most spectacular fireworks display in all Italy,” Marco explained. “We can watch in here, where it’s warm, or out on the terrace.”

Sabrina had spotted outdoor umbrella heaters during her short excursion with the admiral and didn’t hesitate. “The terrace, please.”

Glasses in hand, they joined the crowd outside and leaned elbows on the wide balustrade to soak in the incredible view of Naples lit up below. Strung out in a crescent of lights, the city circled the ink-black harbor guarded by the brightly illuminated Angevin fortress.

Judging by the noise that rose in waves, every Neapolitan must have spilled out in the streets. Horns honked. Spoons beat against pots. Raucous shouts and laughter competed with the reverberating bass boom of a rock band.

As if on cue, the noise died down. A hush seemed to settle over the city. Then someone on the terrace started a loud countdown.

“Dieci, nove, otto …”

Other voices joined in the chant.

“Sette, sei, cinque, quattro …”

Marco’s arm tightened around Sabrina’s waist. She turned a laughing face up to his.

“Tre,” she sang out with him. “Due. Uno!”

His mouth came down on hers and not in a polite, celebration kiss. This was a hungry joining that kicked the New Year off with one hell of a start.

Sabrina was so lost in it, so consumed by it, she barely heard the shrill whistle of a rocket launched high into the sky. Marco ended the kiss just as the night exploded in balls of brilliant red.

He hadn’t exaggerated, she decided some twenty minutes later. Naples’s pyrotechnic display had to be the best in Italy. Synchronized to a compilation of Puccini’s most famous arias, it was a joyous symphony of color and light and sound. Sabrina enjoyed every moment of the show.

She enjoyed it even more when Marco steered her to a dim corner of the terrace. Hands clasped around her waist, he lifted her to sit on the balustrade. He stood next to her, at eye level for a change.

Roman candles and starbursts continued to explode overhead. The revelry in the streets below reached fever pitch. Yet they might have been alone in the night.

His face cast in shadows, Marco reached up to tuck a wayward strand behind Sabrina’s ear. “Do you remember asking me if Italians make New Year’s resolutions?”

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