Not because he's letting me be free. But because I'm choosing to stay while being free.
That's the difference.
That's everything.
Gemma
The Amalfi Coast is beautiful in September.
Not too hot. Not too crowded. It's perfect.
We've been here for a week. Our "honeymoon," Saint calls it. Though we've technically been married for over a year, and technically, he's here on business, so less of a honeymoon, and more of an extended couple's vacation.
But I'm not going to mention that, especially since he's been by my side the entire week, sneaking out here and there for meetings. Not that it bothers me like it had in the past.
I like a few hours of alone time here and there. It helps me resettle from his intensity. Saint and I have come a long way, but some things never change, and his moods are one of them. It is what it is though. Saint loves me for my flaws, and I for his.
Plus, I can't beat the view here.
I'm on the terrace of our villa watching the sunset paint the sky pink and orange, sipping a crisp glass of white wine, enjoying the moment. I'm at peace, maybe for the first time ever, and I'm not going to question it.
Saint comes up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist, and resting his chin on my shoulder.
"You're thinking too loud." His voice tickles the shell of my ear.
I smile. "I'm thinking about school. It starts in two weeks."
"Nervous?"
"Excited." I lean back into him. "I miss being in a classroom. I loved studying art, but I'm ready to sink my teeth into something new." I breathe in deeply, taking a sip of my wine. "You know how I feel about numbers."
He laughs. It's a real laugh. A rarity to anyone but me, and I decide that it is my favorite sound in the world. "You are such a nerd," he kisses the side of my neck, taking my glass from my hand. He finishes the wine. "Brilliant, but only you would be horny from spreadsheets."
I blush. "You enjoyed me warming your cock while explaining Excel spreadsheets."
He bites the skin of my neck softly, and I moan. He's going to leave another mark on me, and I don't care.
"I didn't say anything to the contrary, wife."
He pulls me onto his lap, causing me to squeal at the change. "Saint!" He slips his hands around my inner thighs, and I can feel his fingertips against my panties.
I smack his fingers away. "Behave," I snap.
He doesn't.
Normally, I love it, but I want to talk, and I can't focus when his fingers are on me.
"Seriously," I say, squirming. "I've been thinking," I turn, so we are face-to-face. I'm straddling him, and I can feel his hardness against me. I appreciate that he takes me seriously enough not to rub it against me. "About what comes next. After school. After the businesses are running smoothly."
"And?" He waits, patiently. This is something that has changed. Saint, a generally impatient man, has learned to wait. To give me a moment to think and process, and I appreciate itmore than I'll ever be able to express. I'm not his equal to the outside world, but here, with him, I am. His respect means a lot, which is why I'm sharing this.
"About babies."
He goes still. "Okay."
We haven't talked about children in months. Since I went to the doctor and learned I wasn't pregnant. I went on the pill, and though I know he's seen the blister pack in our bathroom, he's never mentioned it.
If the captains are breathing down his neck about an heir, he's kept it from me.
