“What do you think?” He’s watching me with those penetrating eyes, waiting for my reaction.
I trail my fingers over the pristine granite. “It’s beautiful. But it’s too much.”
His jaw tightens. “Sophie—”
“The people who can afford a place like this don’t need my food.” I turn to face him, trying to make him understand. “They want meticulous plating and servers who use words like ‘deconstruct.’ I make comfort food. Real Italian food that tastes like home.”
“Your food is better than anything in any of those pretentious places,” he growls. “You deserve this.”
My heart squeezes at the protective edge in his voice. “I appreciate that. But high-end isn’t better. It’s just different.”
The realtor, a woman in a pencil skirt who keeps eyeing my Vin like he’s dessert, clears her throat. “I do have another property. It’s in a different… price range.”
The seventh building makes Vin scowl the moment we walk through the door. And I fall in love immediately.
The kitchen is smaller, the equipment older, but there’s warmth here. Brick walls. Windows that let in golden afternoon light. And upstairs….
“There’s an apartment?” I’m already climbing the stairs before the realtor can answer.
The space isn’t large but it’s bigger than where I live now. Two bedrooms, a bathroom with ancient tile, a living area and kitchen with nice appointments and a separate dining room or office. The windows overlook the street, and I can already imagine waking up here, heading downstairs to prep in the quiet morning hours before the city wakes.
“Sophie.” Vincenzo’s voice is tight behind me. “You’re not living at work.”
I turn to find him filling the doorway, arms crossed. “Why not?”
“What if there’s another bomb?”
I flinch at the words, the Arsenal still smoking in my mind.
“Terrible things can happen anywhere,” I remind him. “You have to take risks when it’s important.”
I rub against him, pushing past him through the doorway and head back down to the restaurant where the realtor is waiting.
Vin practically groans as I brush against him. He follows close on my heels.
The second we hit the dining room, he barks at the realtor, “Leave us.”
Her heels click rapidly out the door.
The moment she’s gone, Vincenzo crosses to me, his hands sliding under my dress, rough palms on my thighs, and I’m laughing even as I’m kissing him back.
“Vin—”
“You’re impossible.” He lifts me, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carries me to the kitchen prep counter. “Stubborn. Fucking reckless.”
“You like it,” I gasp as he sets me down and yanks my panties aside.
“I fucking love it.” He’s already pushing inside me, and oh my gosh, the feel of him: thick and hard and exactly what I need. “You feel so good, princess.”
“So do you.” I arch into him, clenching fistfuls of his shirt as he fucks me.
He picks me up again, still buried inside me, and carries me to another counter. “So you like this place?” He’s grinning now, wicked and beautiful. “Are we christening it right now?”
I laugh breathlessly. “I can’t afford this place, Vin. But I like the idea of christening wherever I end up with you.”
“And thinking about my cock when you’re cooking?” He thrusts deep, making me moan. “You like that too?”
“You’ve conditioned me,” I admit, half-laughing, half-gasping at the angle of his cock inside me. “I can’t cook anymore without expecting you to bend me over.”
