Page 200 of The Art of Ruin

“Wow,” Isabella says suddenly beside me. “That was an intense facial expression.”

I nearly choke on my drink.

Before I can answer, warm hands settle around my waist from behind.

“You should be nicer to her,” Adriano murmurs against my hair.

“I’m always nice to her,” Isabella defends herself.

“You’re bullying me into having a baby.”

“Oh, I like that idea. Let’s go do that now,” Adriano says, lowering his mouth slowly to the side of my neck.

And there he goes again.

The man genuinely cannot keep his hands off me for more than fifteen minutes at a time.

Not that I’m complaining.

His fingers spread lightly against my stomach while his mouth brushes my ear. “That dress is making dinner difficult for me already,” he murmurs quietly enough that only I hear it.

Heat rushes instantly into my cheeks. “Adriano.”

“What?” His voice stays perfectly calm. “I’m communicating honestly. We worked very hard on that.”

Isabella groans loudly beside us. “I hate both of you.”

I laugh, leaning back against his chest while Adriano kisses just beneath my ear again, slower this time.

“You smell good,” he says softly.

“I taste good, too.”

Isabella blanches. “Ok, I’m out.” She hurries away and I laugh as I turn in his arms.

“I am a little hungry now that you mention it.”

“You’re always hungry.”

“I’m Italian.”

“That is not a valid excuse for anything you do.”

His hand slides lower against my waist. “It’s worked so far.”

Unfortunately, he isn’t wrong.

The worst part is how easy we are together now.

After everything, after all the fear and hurt and rebuilding, loving Adriano has become the safest thing in my life.

Not because he stopped being intense.

If anything, he’s somehow worse now that he’s emotionally healthy.

This man praises me for remembering to drink water.

Yesterday, he looked genuinely offended when I carried my own suitcase downstairs.