I approach with the razor, its blade catching the artificial light like liquid silver. The weight of it in my hand is satisfying, perfectly balanced for precision work. “Now hold still. Very, very still. Trust me.”
Carlo closes his eyes tightly and goes completely rigid, every muscle in his body tense with concentration. His hands clench into fists where they’re restrained, and I can see him fighting every instinct that tells him to flee. The trust inherent in the gesture makes my heart flutter with overwhelming love. He’s putting himself completely in my hands, literally trusting me with his life.
I begin with the gentlest possible strokes, the razor gliding smoothly through the lather. The blade is incredibly sharp, requiring almost no pressure at all. Each pass reveals more of his beautiful face, the strong jaw and elegant cheekbones emerging from beneath the stubble like a sculpture being freed from rough stone.
The intimacy is intoxicating. Holding his face in my hands, being trusted with something so delicate and dangerous, taking care of him in the most fundamental way possible. This is what marriage should be. Complete trust, absolute care, perfect devotion expressed through the smallest acts of service.
“You’re actually good at this,” Carlo murmurs as I carefully wipe foam off the blade. His voice is barely above a whisper, surprise evident in his tone.
“I’m good at taking care of you,” I correct softly. “It’s what I was made for. What we’re both made for, really. To care for each other.”
I work with methodical precision, cleaning the blade frequently, checking my progress. The transformation is remarkable. With each careful stroke, Carlo looks younger, more refined. The harsh edges softened by stubble give way to classical beauty, the kind of face that belongs on sculptures.
When I’m finished, I clear away the remaining foam with a warm, damp towel, taking extra care around his lips and the sensitive skin beneath his nose. His face emerges clean and smooth, absolutely perfect.
“Beautiful,” I breathe, unable to hide my satisfaction as I step back to admire my handiwork.
Carlo opens his eyes cautiously and seems genuinely surprised to find himself not only intact but unmarked. The relief on his face is almost comical, like he expected to find his throat cut.
“I think I’ll do this every morning,” I decide, gathering up my supplies with renewed enthusiasm. “A proper shave is essential for a gentleman. It’s one of those rituals that separates civilization from barbarism.”
I skip off to tidy everything away, already planning tomorrow’s routine. Coffee first thing, then breakfast, followed by a proper shave and perhaps a manicure if his nails need attention. I want every detail of his grooming to be absolutely perfect, a reflection of how much I cherish him.
A quick shower washes away the day’s activities, leaving me feeling fresh and ready for our first night as a married couple. The hot water soothes muscles I didn’t even realize were tense,washing away the last vestiges of nervous energy and leaving only contentment in its wake.
I select a sapphire blue silk slip from my wardrobe, something that barely skims my thighs but feels like liquid luxury against my clean skin. The color complements my eyes perfectly, and the cut is designed to showcase rather than conceal. Tonight is special, it deserves special attire.
When I return to the bedroom, Carlo’s reaction is immediate and extremely gratifying. His eyes go wide, pupils dilating as he takes in the sight of me in the revealing silk. The way his gaze travels from my face down to my legs and back again makes heat pool low in my belly.
“Good night, Husband,” I whisper, moving to turn off the main lights and activate the projector. Stars bloom across the dark surface above us, a perfect recreation of a clear night sky complete with constellations and the soft glow of the Milky Way.
I curl up beside him, using his broad chest as my pillow, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. I imagine his arm settling around me, a gesture so beautiful it makes my eyes sting with happy tears. This is what I’ve dreamed of for so long. Being held, being cherished, being wanted.
This has been the best day of my life. My wedding day, the day all my dreams finally came true. Carlo is mine now, truly and completely, and tomorrow will bring new adventures, new moments of perfect domestic bliss, new opportunities to show him just how good our life together can be.
I can hardly wait.
Chapter thirteen
Ginni
Iwake up softly. Gently. Like floating to the surface of warm water, consciousness returning in gentle waves rather than jarring interruption. There’s no sudden panic clawing at my chest, no racing heart hammering against my ribs, no flood of anxiety washing away the remnants of dreams.
Just pure, crystalline contentment, because I am waking up in Carlo’s arms.
Well, not technically his arms, since they’re still secured to the headboard with restraints, but the intention is what matters. The important thing is that I’m waking up in bed with my husband, my beloved Carlo, and that simple fact makes everything else in the world fade into insignificance.
My head is resting on his naked chest, rising and falling with the steady rhythm of his breathing. Each breath lifts me slightly, a gentle rocking motion that’s better than any lullaby. His skin is warm beneath my cheek, and I can hear the strong, steady beatof his heart, proof that he’s here, that he’s mine, that this isn’t just another dream.
The sound almost matches the rhythm of the gentle waves the projector is now displaying on the ceiling, and I congratulate myself on being thoughtful enough to program it with multiple scenes. The starry night has given way to a perfect tropical sunrise, all golden light and turquoise water lapping at pristine white sand.
Now Carlo is going to wake up to the most beautiful sight imaginable, the beaches of the Maldives painted in soft morning colors. Languid waves washing across sugar-white sand, palm trees swaying in an endless summer breeze. It’s the perfect start to what is going to be a perfect honeymoon, even if we’re technically still in the basement. The location doesn’t matter when you’re with the person you love most.
I yawn delicately and stretch like a contented cat, feeling every muscle in my body respond with pure joy. It feels like my veins are full of liquid happiness instead of blood, every cell in my body singing with sheer bliss. I wish I actually were a cat so I could purr my contentment for the whole world to hear, let everyone know exactly how good I feel, how perfect my life has become.
I study my new husband’s sleeping face. He looks so peaceful, so completely relaxed and at ease. Not a single worry line mars his handsome features, no tension in his jaw or furrow between his brows. He looks younger in sleep, almost boyish despite his thirty-four years.
Of course, it’s possible the mild sedative I flavored his steak with last night is contributing to his current state of serene unconsciousness. Just a tiny amount of something to help him sleep deeply and wake refreshed, nothing harmful or unpleasant. But I prefer to think Carlo’s profound ease isactually because I am simply the world’s most perfect wife, naturally gifted at providing exactly what he needs.
