They turned toward the Piazza del Signoria. “I do get confused sometimes about what I should call you.” Donnatella leaned against his arm. “Last night I screamed out, ‘Jergan,’ I am fairly sure.”
“You did. I drove you to distraction.” His voice was smug. He was so delightfully male.
“And am I the only one driven to distraction?” she asked in mock outrage.
“You have been driving me to distraction for near eighteen hundred years, my love,” he whispered into her hair. “And I hope to be distracted for eighteen hundred more.”
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