He shrugs, completely unfazed by my rejection. “Okay. What would you like for breakfast?”
And just like that, he’s moving on, acting like nothing happened, like he didn’t just offer to get me off with the same casual tone someone might use to ask about coffee preferences. I’m left staring at him, speechless and strangely disappointed that he listened to my refusal so easily.
What the hell is wrong with me? What kind of sick, twisted part of my brain is actually upset that he respected my boundaries?
Cristo, I really am as fucked up as he is.
Chapter four
Ginni
I’m practically floating back into the bedroom, my heart still fluttering from watching Carlo eat the second breakfast I’ve made for him. A Cornetto that I baked myself with my own little hands.
Every bite he took felt like a small victory, proof that we’re already settling into our new life together. The way he tried to hide how much he enjoyed it was absolutely adorable. My stubborn, prideful man.
Carlo is still exactly where I left him, and he looks so perfect against my white sheets. All that olive skin and dark hair, like a sculpture that’s been brought to life just for me. I could stare at him for hours and never get bored.
“So,” I say cheerfully, settling cross-legged on the bed beside him, “I’ve been thinking about our routine.”
His dark eyes narrow. “Our routine?”
“Well, yes. We’re going to be living together now, so we need to establish some structure. I’ve noticed you function much betterwith a proper schedule.” I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, already excited about sharing my plans. “I think coffee first thing in the morning, then breakfast at eight-thirty. You’re always grumpy without caffeine, and I want you to be comfortable.”
“Ginni, this isn’t…”
“Then I thought we could have quiet time while I tidy up,” I continue, not letting him interrupt my vision. “You could read, or we could talk. I have so many questions about your work that I’ve always wanted to ask. And lunch around one, something light because you never eat much in the middle of the day.”
Carlo stares at me like I’ve grown a second head. “You’ve lost your fucking mind.”
“No, I don’t think so. I think I’m simply romantically determined,” I correct, reaching over to smooth down a cowlick in his hair that’s been bothering me. “And I think we should redecorate. This space is lovely, but it’s very much mine. We need to make it ours.”
His hair is so soft between my fingers, just like I always imagined it would be. I could spend hours playing with it, styling it in different ways, seeing how it looks when he first wakes up versus after a shower.
“I was thinking maybe a bigger bed,” I continue dreamily. “Super King size or maybe even Emperor, so we have plenty of room to spread out. What’s your preference for thread count? I like at least 800, but I could go higher if you’re particular about these things.”
“I’m not discussing thread count with you while I’m chained to your bed,” Carlo grits out.
“But these are important decisions,” I insist. His resistance is so nonsensical. “We’re building a life together. These details matter. I want you to be happy here.”
I hop up and start moving around the room, straightening things that don’t really need straightening, but I think better when my hands are busy.
“Oh, and I threw away your clothes. The cut was completely wrong for your body type. Very off-the-rack, very uninspired. I’ve already ordered some new things that will suit you perfectly.”
The look on his face is priceless. Like he can’t quite process what I’m saying.
“You threw away my clothes?”
“Yes,” I say happily. “I couldn’t bear the thought of you wearing such pedestrian fabrics when you deserve to benefit from my exceptional taste.”
I pause by the window that isn’t there, looking at the blank wall and imagining what it would be like if we had a view. Maybe of a garden, with flowers I could cut fresh every morning for our breakfast table.
“And I’ve been thinking about our dynamic,” I continue, turning back to face him. “I know you’re used to being in charge, and that’s just fine by me. I want to be the kind of partner who never says no, who never gets headaches or makes excuses. Men have needs, and I respect that completely.”
Carlo’s eyes widen, and I can see his chest rising and falling a little faster. There’s something in his expression that looks almost... interested? But then he shakes his head violently.
“This is insane, Ginni. You can’t just decide we’re in a relationship.”
“But we are,” I say simply. “We always have been, really. You just needed some encouragement to see it.” I perch on the edge of the bed again, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his skin.
