Behind me, I heard her move toward the record stacks.
I followed without thinking, my steps slow, deliberate. My body brushed her back as she flipped through the records, my presence announced in heat and proximityrather than words. She exhaled softly when she found what she was looking for, like she’d been waiting for this moment all day.
She set the record down and eased the needle into place.
The first piano notes filled the room – soft, intimate, almost shy. I recognized it instantly from my collection.Quarto de Hotel by Hareton Salvanini.
I stepped closer, leaned my hands on the table in front of her, caging her in without touching her.
“This is what I hear when I see you,” She said quietly.
The saxophone slid in, dark and slow, the sound curling through the air – melancholic, aching, beautiful. The kind of music that carried longing in its bones.
“How so?” I asked, my voice low.
She turned her head just enough, not fully facing me. Her hair fell forward, hiding half her face, the way she did when she wanted to say something honest but shy.
“Black suit. Whiskey eyes. That old-school Hollywood smile.”
Something felt fuller in my chest.
I leaned in, closing the space between us, and kissed her like there was no tomorrow, no need to come up for air. Her hands found me immediately, like they always did, like they always would.
The music played on around us, wrapping us in its dark, aching beauty as we kissed – slow, deep, endless – celebrating one month, one lifetime, and everything still to come.
I didn’t know how long we kissed before we finally pulled apart – long enough that the music felt like it had rearranged itself around us, long enough that her lips were swollen and my chest felt too full.
“Come sit,” I said softly, already guiding her away from the record player.
She laughed under her breath. “You’re bossy.”
“You love it,” I replied, pressing a kiss to her temple as I steered us to the couch.
The library couch was deep and low, worn in the best way. I sat first and pulled her with me, settling her comfortably at my side. The lamp nearby cast a warm glow over her skin, catching in her hair, making her look unreal in that way that still caught me off guard.
I reached for the box I’d hidden on the inside pocket of my suit.
“Close your eyes,” I said.
She arched a brow.
I chuckled. “Trust me.”
She did, eyes fluttering shut, lips curving into a soft smile.
I placed the box in her hands. “Okay.”
Her eyes opened. She looked down, then back up at me, suspicious and excited all at once. Slowly, she opened it.
The rubies caught the light instantly – delicate but unmistakable. A fine necklace, elegant, timeless. Matching earrings beside it.
“Matteo…” she whispered.
“For every room you walk into. And every sunrise I get to see you in.”
She swallowed, eyes glassy but smiling. “You’re surprisingly romantic, Mr Diablo.”
I smiled back. “You should know. You married me, Mrs Diablo.”
