My breath catches.
“Santo…”
“Open it,” he says softly.
With careful fingers, I tug at the ribbon and lift the lid.
My heart stops.
Inside lies the most delicate silver bracelet I’ve ever seen; fine, soft and gleaming like moonlight. Tiny stars dangle from it, and in each center sits a blue gem, the exact shade of the stone on the necklace he gave me our first year of marriage.
My throat tightens.
“Santo… it matches perfectly,” I whisper, fingers drifting to the star hanging at my neck.
“Give me your wrist,” he murmurs.
I lift my arm, and he clasps the bracelet around me with such gentle precision it almost hurts. When it’s fastened, he brings my wrist to his lips and kisses the inside of it.
Soft, reverent.
“It suits you,” he says.
“I love it. I love you.”
His eyes soften, molten, stormy, full.
“I know, Dea.”
He steps back, just enough to look at me wearing it, pride warming every sharp line of his face.
I stare down at the bracelet, watching how the light catches on the tiny stars. It feels like Santo is always giving me pieces of the night sky, claiming them just for me, then placing them in my hands.
“When did you get this?” I ask, voice soft with wonder.
“I’ve been planning it for a while,” he says, running his thumb over the clasp. “I had it made to match your necklace.”
I don’t even try to stop the tears this time. Maybe it’s the hormones.
Maybe it’s just Santo, loving me with such fierce, deliberate intention.
“Don’t cry,” he soothes, cupping my face with warm palms. “It’s just a bracelet.”
“It’s neverjustanything with you,” I whisper, turning to kiss his hand. “Everything means something.”
His eyes darken slightly at that—like he’s thinking something he won’t say yet.
Something big.
Something that trembles beneath his steadiness.
Sometimes I still can’t read him.
Santo brushes his thumb over my cheek one last time before he steps back, his gaze lingering on the bracelet like he’s imprinting it onto his memory.
“Get dressed, Dea,” he murmurs, voice dipping low. “La Serenata should be delivering soon.”
I sniff softly, still smiling. “Already? It’s only nine.”
