"He hummed a Christmas carol," I admitted. "Then pretended he hadn't."
Something in Dario's expression shifted, the stiffness in his shoulders easing almost imperceptibly. He walked further into the house, pausing to examine a bowl of handmade ornaments I'd placed on a side table. His fingers brushed one made of twined ribbons. "My mother used to make these," he said so quietly I almost missed it.
My heart squeezed. "Gabriel mentioned she loved Christmas."
Dario nodded once, his gaze continuing around the room. I followed a few steps behind, watching as he took in each detail. The wall of resistance I'd felt when he first entered was slowly crumbling, replaced by something I couldn't quite name, not quite joy, but perhaps the remembrance of joy.
"I've never seen the house look like this," he said finally. "Not since I was very young."
"Is it too much?" I asked, worrying my lower lip between my teeth.
Dario turned to me, his expression softening as he took in my nervous stance. "No. It's..." He seemed to search for the word. "I think it’s just about perfect." Relief flooded through me, making my knees weak. I closed the distance between us, reaching for his hand. "There's only one thing missing.”
“A tree," I said, gesturing to the corner of the grand hall where I'd left space for what I'd imagined would be a modest evergreen. "I thought we could get one tomorrow."
Dario's mouth quirked, a smile threatening at the edges. "If we're doing a Christmas tree," he said, his voice deepening, "we're doing it properly."
He pulled his phone from his pocket, typed quickly with his thumb, then slid it back into his jacket. "Done."
"What's done?" I asked, puzzled.
"The tree." His eyes held a gleam that sent a different kind of flutter through my stomach. "It'll be here tomorrow. The biggest one they have."
"How big are we talking?" I asked, suddenly imagining something comically enormous.
"Big enough to make a statement," Dario replied, his attention shifting fully to me now. His gaze traveled from my face down to my flour smudged sweater and jeans, and back up again. "You've been busy."
"I wanted everything to be perfect for when you got home," I admitted, suddenly aware of how rumpled I must look.
"It is perfect," he said, stepping closer. "You'reperfect."
The tone of his voice changed, dropping lower, rougher. His hand came up to cup my cheek, thumb brushing across my lower lip. "You've brought light into this house, Belle. Into my life."
My breath caught at the intensity in his eyes. This was still new, Dario expressing emotions so openly, without the calculated control he showed the rest of the world. The fact that he allowed himself this vulnerability with me felt like themost precious gift. "You've flour on your cheek," he murmured, brushing it away with gentle fingers.
"Hazard of baking most of the day," I said, my voice unsteady as his touch trailed down my neck.
"Did you save me any cookies?" His question came with a teasing smile that transformed his face, making him look younger, almost carefree.
I laughed. "If Matteo left any. That man has the appetite of three people."
"I'm not hungry for cookies," Dario said, his hands moving to my waist, pulling me against him. The hard planes of his body pressed against mine, instantly igniting the heat that always simmered between us.
In one fluid motion, he bent and swept me into his arms. I gasped, throwing my arms around his neck.
"What are you doing?" I asked, though I knew exactly what that darkening of his eyes meant.
"Taking what's mine," he replied, already moving toward the staircase. "Showing my appreciation for all your hard work."
I nestled against him, breathing in his scent, the expensive cologne, leather, and something uniquely Dario that always made my heart race. He carried me up the stairs as if I weighed nothing, navigating the garland-draped banister with ease as I giggled in delight.
"The rest of the decorations can wait," he murmured, pressing a kiss to my temple as we reached the landing. "I can't."
We barely made it through the bedroom door before his mouth claimed mine, hungry and demanding. I melted against him, clutching at his shoulders as he lowered me to the bed. His jacket hit the floor, followed by his tie, his movements hurried.
"All day," he said between kisses, his hands finding bare skin beneath my sweater, "I've been thinking about coming home to you."
"And I've been thinking about you coming home to me," I breathed as his lips traced a burning path down my throat.
