My hands fidget with the hem of my cover-up, nervousness bubbling up. “I thought I could cook dinner for us. Something simple. I don’t want to waste all the food in the kitchen, Raffaele. And…” I trail off, suddenly uncertain.
What if he thinks it’s a stupid idea? What if he’s disappointed?
The smile that spreads across his face is slow and genuine, reaching his eyes in a way that makes my heart flutter. “You want to cook for me?”
I nod, relief washing through me at his reaction. “I miss it. Cooking, I mean. And I thought it might be nice to just be together. Here.” My cheeks heat as I add, “Unless you’d rather go out, which is fine too.”
His thumb traces the curve of my cheek, then drops to tilt my chin up. “Is that really what you want?” he asks, his voice rough. “Or is it what you think I want?”
Knowing this is my time to be honest, I reply, “It’s what I want, Raffaele. I want a quiet and intimate evening with my husband.” I nuzzle into the palm of his hand as he slides it up to cup my cheek. “That’s all I want,” I murmur.
“In that case,” he rasps, “I’d love to have you cook for me, Mogliettina.”
The approval in his voice makes me ridiculously giddy. Cooking dinner is such a small thing. Yet his acceptance of this tiny assertion feels monumental.
His lips brush against mine, a gentle kiss that quickly deepens into something more demanding. When he pulls away, his eyes have darkened with desire.
“We should head back soon,” he rasps.
I nod in agreement, although reluctant to leave the tranquility. “Yeah, let’s go.”
The sun has left its mark on my shoulders and chest, a slight pinkness that will probably fade to freckles by tomorrow.
We gather our things from the beach where we’ve spent most of the afternoon. We don’t have much, just some towels and a picnic basket that was delivered by some of the security men. They didn’t stay long enough for introductions, so I don’t know their names.
As we walk back to the house, I can’t help but think about everything.
My feelings for Raffaele have grown into something I can’t quite define. It’s not just physical attraction, though God knows that’s overwhelming enough. What I’m feeling is deeper, more complex, woven through with threads of fear and uncertainty.
Because the truth is, I don’t really know him. Not fully. I know him as a protective person, a passionate lover, and, surprisingly, a gentleman. The same can be said for thousands of men, though.
I want to know the things others don’t. Like, why are there sometimes shadows in his eyes? Moments we never talk about, but that I notice, where he mentally goes somewhere I can’t follow.
Back at the villa, Raffaele halts me just as I’m about to walk over the threshold. “I’ll go check in with my men,” he announces. “Be good.” The last part comes out like a growl while he squeezes my butt.
“Always,” I smile. “Hurry back.”
As he leaves, I head upstairs to the master bathroom. The bathroom here is a marvel of luxury, much like the one back at… well, our home.
A rainfall shower big enough for four people, a soaking tub with jets positioned to provide the perfect view of the sunset, dual sinks with lighting designed to flatter rather than reveal flaws.
I rinse away the sand and salt under water pressure so perfect it feels like a massage. The shower gel smells of tropical fruits and flowers, exotic and enticing. My hair, when clean, feels silky between my fingers.
After drying off, I stand before the closet, still overwhelmed by the selection. Among the designer dresses and casual beachwear, I find a blue floral print dress with a knotted front and thin shoulder straps. It’s beautiful but not overly formal, perfect for a night in.
I slip it on, the fabric cool and light against my sun-warmed skin. The blue in the pattern matches my eyes, making them appear more vibrant. I leave my hair loose to dry naturally in the warm air, applying only the barest hint of makeup—some mascara and a touch of lip gloss.
As I make my way downstairs to start dinner, I smile at the thought. Cooking for my husband. Such a simple, ordinary thing. And yet it feels incredibly significant.
In the midst of all this extravagance, perhaps what I need most is to carve out small pockets of normalcy, to bring something of myself into this new life.
I’m a simple girl. And tonight, I’ll embrace that simplicity.
The kitchen gleams around me; all sleek surfaces and beautifully shiny appliances. The fridge, freezer, and pantry are beyond stocked, which is perfect.
I find two perfect steaks in the fridge and set them on the side so they can warm up before I cook them. Then I hunt down a skillet, chopping board, knives, and whatever else I need.
While I preheat the skillet, I wash the vegetables I found in the fridge. Lettuce, peppers, garlic, tomatoes, and other salad ingredients that look tasty.
