Milan looked like a dream draped in sunlight. The word, ’Beautiful’, didn’t fully describe how it looked.
From the mont we stepped out of the black car that had whisked us from the airport the previous day, I was wide-eyed, caught sowhere between disbelief and awe. The city seed alive with elegance. There were tall, centuries-old buildings with ornate balconies, cobblestone streets where sleek cars whirred past fashionably dressed pedestrians, and shop windows gleaming with clothes I knew cost more than my entire closet back ho or maybe not because my husband was a billionaire and only got the best for anyways.
Jace had one hand wrapped securely around mine as if he expected to vanish into the crowd at any second. His other hand was tucked in his pocket, that usual casual dominance radiating off him even here, halfway across the world from his empire.
He looked around the place, staring like a hawk despite the fact that we had security closeby. I removed my gaze from him and my breath hitched.
"Quit staring, cara," he murmured, leaning close enough for his breath to tickle my ear. "You’ll trip over your own feet."
I scoffed and tugged at his arm. "I’m sorry, am I supposed to not stare when the Duomo is right there?"
The cathedral rose ahead of us, white marble catching the sun like sothing heavenly. Its spires pierced the sky, and for a mont I forgot how to breathe.
"God, it’s beautiful," I whispered. It quite literally took my breath away.
His eyes weren’t on the cathedral. They were on .
"Yeah," he said simply, and when I glanced at him, his expression was unreadable, softened only by the smallest curve at the corner of his mouth. Even with such a small gesture, he was easily the most handso man I could see.
Heat prickled my cheeks, and I quickly looked away, pretending to admire the pigeons scattering across the square. Anything to distract myself from the hotness building in the pit of my stomach.
We soon went into the building.
Inside the Duomo, everything was hushed and reverent. Stained glass bathed the interior in jeweled colors, and my footsteps echoed lightly as we walked between towering columns. I tilted my head back, taking in the vaulting ceiling, marveling at how small I felt in this wide space.
Jace walked beside silently, his broad fra sohow fitting right into the grandeur. He wasn’t the kind of man who bowed his head in prayer, but even he paused for a mont, staring up at the endless stretch of painted sky on the ceiling.
I slipped my hand into his, lacing our fingers together. He squeezed back. That one silent gesture told more than words ever could.
I really did love this man. I had always known it but now it felt different. It felt new and so freeing to be with him by my side. It was an inexplicable feeling to have soone I could count on. Soone who I could turn off my brain around. I didn’t have to worry too much when he was near.
By late morning we left the cathedral and he led down narrow streets that slled like fresh espresso and butter. I had barely recovered from the awe of the cathedral when he steered us into a café tucked between two boutiques. It was small, crowded, and perfect. The people were chatting in Italian, their cups clinking, the hiss of the espresso machine filling the air.
It filled with a strange kind of warmth.
We sat at a little table by the window. The waitress brought us cappuccinos dusted with cocoa, and Jace ordered sothing in Italian that rolled smoothly off his tongue.
Of course he was Italian by origin but he had stayed in Arica for most part of his life and that was one of the reasons why Ricardo and the rest of his family mbers did not approve of him being the don. They thought of him as whitewashed. I had heard speak Italian in a few sentences but I had no idea he was so fluent.
I arched a brow. "I didn’t know you spoke Italian that well."
His lips twitched. "There’s a lot you don’t know about , mia cara."
"That sounds like a threat," I teased, stirring my coffee before bringing it to my lips, hiding my smile.
"It’s a promise." His gaze pinned across the table, and for a second, I forgot how to breathe again.
It was crazy and even embarrassing that all it took from him was a look and my panties would pool beneath . I wondered if he had that effect on alone or a bunch of other won too.
The food arrived, distracting from my wanton thoughts. There were delicate pastries filled with cream, flaky croissants that lted in my mouth. I groaned softly around the first bite, closing my eyes.
"This is unreal," I said, my voice muffled. This was too good.
When I opened my eyes, Jace was staring at again, his cup untouched.
"What?" I asked, raising my brows.
"Nothing," he muttered, finally lifting his coffee. But the glimr in his eyes betrayed him.
Our eyes t again. We were definitely thinking in the sa direction.
Why were we acting like two shy horny teenagers on the streets of Milan for goodness sake?
In the afternoon, he took shopping. I protested, of course. I said I didn’t need anything, that my suitcase was already heavy enough. But Jace didn’t listen. He never listened when he set his mind on sothing.
The boutiques along Via Montenapoleone were intimidating, all gleaming marble floors and racks of clothes that looked like they belonged on runways. I felt like an imposter the mont I stepped in, but Jace’s hand at the small of my back kept steady.
"Pick sothing," he said. More like commanded.
"Jace..." I whispered. "These dresses probably cost more than my college tuition."
Maybe I had fully gotten the hang of being financially free. Cause why exactly was I looking at the price tag when I had a billionaire as my husband and I was a multimillionaire myself?
He smirked. "Then it’s a good thing you’re not paying."
I wanted to argue, but the saleswoman was already smiling at , ushering toward a rack of dresses. Hours seed to blur as I tried on one after another, stepping out to see Jace lounging in the velvet chair like he owned the whole damn store. His eyes followed every curve of , slow and deliberate, and it made my skin flush hotter than any dress I tried on.
In the end, he chose for . It was a sleek, erald-green gown that hugged my figure and made feel like I’d stepped out of one of those glossy magazines.
"You look like sin," he murmured when I twirled uncertainly in front of him. His hand brushed my waist, possessive and proud. "This one."
I didn’t argue. Not when his voice was that low and sultry.
By evening, we ended up on the rooftop of our villa. The city stretched endlessly below us, lights twinkling like fallen stars. Dinner was a blur of risotto, wine, and laughter. It was the real kind, the kind that surprised every ti it ca out of Jace’s mouth.
When the staff cleared the plates, Jace poured another glass of wine and leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on .
"You’re enjoying yourself," he said.
I nodded, smiling despite the ache in my cheeks from smiling all day. "I am."
He studied for a long mont, then leaned forward, his hand covering mine on the table.
"Good," he said quietly. "That’s all I wanted."
The words struck like a lightning bolt. It was simple, yet heavy with aning. He wanted to have this, to breathe without looking over my shoulder, to exist in a space untouched by blood and vengeance.
And in that mont, with Milan glittering below and Jace’s hand warm over mine, I believed maybe, just maybe, we could hold on to it.
Later, back in our room, I stood by the window in the green dress he’d chosen for , gazing at the city still alive with lights. Jace ca up behind , sliding his arms around my waist, his lips brushing the curve of my shoulder.
"Tired?" he asked.
"A little," I admitted, leaning back against him.
"Tomorrow, I’ll take you to Lake Como," he murmured. "It’s quieter there. You’ll love it."
I smiled, resting my hands over his. For once, there was no tension gnawing at my chest, no fear lurking in the corners of my mind. Just us, here, in this city that felt like it had been waiting centuries for to see it.
For the first ti in what felt like forever, I allowed myself to believe in peace.
It was a wonderful feeling.
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