I step out of the bathroom, tousling my hair in the air, walking towards the closet. I pull the doors open and scan the rows of clothes in it. Gianna was right. I don't own many brightly colored clothes. Everything looks the same. I reach for an ash sweatshirt. It's the closest to bright I have. I'll need to do some serious shopping later, maybe let her pick out a few things just to see the spark in her eyes when I wear something out of the ordinary. I slip into the sweatshirt, pairing it with black pants before walking out the door and closing it behind me.
The quiet hallway greets me, broken only by the distant clatter of a pan and the unmistakable sizzle of something on a hot stove. The scent hits me almost immediately. Bacon, eggs, pancakes, and something sweet I can't figure out. Maybe cinnamon.
As I walk down the hall, my thoughts shift to Liam. He's assumed his position as the leader of the Irish, and even though I said I wanted nothing to do with it, he's called me a few times to ask some questions, even with Ailish by his side. I have to admit that I'm still stunned Ailish was working with Liam all this time. It's mind-blowing.
I push the thought aside as I step into the kitchen, and I see Gianna dishing the food. She doesn't notice me at first, but when our eyes finally meet, her lips curve into a smile that hits me square in the chest. I move behind her, sliding my arms around her waist and pressing a kiss to her neck. Her skin is warm, and she leans into me, a soft giggle escaping her lips. The sound is music to my ears, sweet music.
This has been our routine for a while now. One of us wakes up and decides to make breakfast, and the other joins. No alarms, no plans. Just us. We spend the day doing nothing in particular, watching movies, talking, teasing each other, and of course, talking about the wedding. It still feels unreal to even think of it.
It's funny how far we've come. Our relationship started as spite, two people caught between loyalty and betrayal, wrapped in family politics and dangerous expectations. We were meant to destroy each other, and yet, here we are. The fire didn't consume us; it forged something deeper. Something real, and now it's leading us into a future I never thought I'd have. Marriage.
I tighten my arms around her waist and press another kiss to her shoulder, smiling against her skin.
"You're up early," she says, leaning into my touch, her hands gently rubbing over mine where they rest on her waist.
"Yeah. You weren't by my side," I reply. I reluctantly pull away, my fingers dragging along her hips before I let go, stepping towards the counter to help with the coffee. I grab two mugs from the rack, set them on the island, then pour the steaming coffee straight from the pot into each one.
The familiar scent wafts up, earthy and strong, instantly waking me up more than any shower could. I reach into the cabinet for the sugar container and stroll over to the fridge to grab the milk. My fingers tap against the jug as I smile to myself.
Gianna doesn't like her coffee plain. We've had this talk over and over again, her insisting that coffee needs flavor, warmth, and a little love. I, on the other hand, argue that real coffee should stand on its own. The best way to take coffee is black, no additions, nothing. I add the milk and sugar to her coffee, stirring it carefully, not too fast. She says that when you rush it, the flavor doesn't settle properly. I don't believe that's true, but I do it anyway because it's for her.
"You miss me that much," she teases, setting the plates on the dining table.
"I always miss you," I answer, setting the mugs on the table.
"You smell nice," she says, glancing at me as she loads the last of the dirty dishes in the dishwasher.
"I smell like you," I smirk, grabbing the greasy pan and rinsing it before stacking it in the sink. "By the way, your shampoo? The best thing I've ever put in my hair."
She rolls her eyes and tries to suppress a smile. "I know. Which is why you should get your own and stop stealing mine."
"Hmmm, nah," I reply, grinning as I dry my hands. "I just enjoy using your stuff. It makes me feel closer to you."
"Whatever," she mutters, unable to hide her grin this time. "We need to pick up a few things at the supermarket today," she says, settling into her seat.
I walk over and drop into my chair, too. The sight of the food makes my taste buds water. I was right. It's Gianna's signature pancakes, stacked like art, crispy bacon on the side, perfectly cooked eggs, and slices of ripe avocado fanned out with care.
"Thank you for the meal," I say sincerely, picking up my fork, already feeling the hunger twist in my stomach.
"You're welcome," she answers. She leans forward slightly, grabbing her mug. A few strands of hair fall toward the plate, and she tucks them behind her ear with a quick swipe. I smile, pushing my chair back. Her eyes meet mine and follow me as I move behind her.
"What are you doing?" she asks, but there's laughter in her voice.
Slowly, I gather her silky hair, making sure there's no strand left out. The smell of her shampoo, something strawberry and lemon, fills my nostrils, and I smile. I just love the feel of her hair in my hand. I pass her hair through the black rubber hair tie that's on my wrist. "There, better?" I ask as I return to my chair.
She reaches behind, touching the ponytail, a soft smile gracing her lips. "Thank you," she says, and I nod, digging into my food. I've been seeing her smile a lot lately, and I didn't realize how much her mood affects mine until recently. If she's sad, I start to feel like that too, and I try to make sure shefeels better, and when she's happy, it's like the whole world has aligned in my favor.
We eat in comfortable silence, my taste buds dancing with every slice I put in my mouth. As much as I try to talk about the wedding, Gianna is always finding a way to change the topic to something else. I don't know why, but I want to find out, so I try again.
"So, where do you want us to have the wedding?" I ask, and she almost chokes on her coffee. I quickly reach for a napkin, dabbing it on her lips before she takes it from me, clearing her throat softly.
"Why are you surprised by that question?" I ask, and she clears her throat.
"I'm not surprised," she says, looking away from me.
"You are," I lean back into my chair, folding my arms across my chest. "And you've been this way since Vito mentioned marriage. You don't want to get married to me?" I ask, wanting to know her mind.
Her eyes widen, a flicker of vulnerability slipping through. "I do," she says softly, almost like it's a confession she's been holding in for too long. She bites her bottom lip. "It's just... I don't know how you feel about it. It feels like it's an ultimatum you have to fulfill."
