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See what I’m talking about? I can feel myself grinning like a fool.
“I’m going to run upstairs and clean up real quick, and when I come back down, I’ll give you your present.”
It’s only then that I notice he’s holding a plain white shopping bag in his hand. “You didn’t have to get me a present.”
“Of course I didn’t have to. I wanted to.” He gives me a quick peck on the cheek and heads upstairs to take his shower, bag in hand, presumably so I don’t peek. Smart man.
I wonder what he could’ve gotten me. He has a tendency to pick out the best presents. I think about what it could be while absentmindedly fiddling with my beloved necklace. Abruptly, I realize that he always looks at the necklace when I’m wearing it and stares at me pretty intently when I play with it, but he never seems to bring it up and I wonder why. I hope it doesn’t make him uncomfortable that it’s obviously my favorite.
I cut the now-cool brownies in the pan and transfer them to a large plate. They’re strangely thicker than brownies are normally. They’re almost on the cakey side. Hopefully, he’ll still like them. I guess these are now my official thank you for whatever he’s gotten me.
I’ve just finished serving us each a helping of dinner and placed the plate of brownies into the middle of the table when Dante is back, freshly showered, in clean clothes, and with the mysterious white shopping bag in hand.
“Did you make these?” he asks, reaching for a brownie. I laugh and slap his hand away.
“Those are for dessert, mister. And possibly a thank you for whatever present you got me. We’ll just have to see.”
He sits down and motions for me to come to him. I don’t even hesitate as I join him and he pulls me into his lap. “You smell amazing,” he says. His nose is buried in my hair, and I’m happy that I washed it earlier with the jasmine shampoo I brought to keep here.
“Does that mean I get my gift?” I ask playfully. I think he knows I don’t need presents, but now I’m curious. He hauls the bag over from where he set it on the table and places it in my lap before wrapping his arms around my middle, holding me to him.
“Open it, gorgeous.” I blush slightly at his complement and reach into the bag, pulling out a heavy rectangular object wrapped in soft lavender paper and tied with a purple bow.
“You and your on the nose wrapping choices.”
“What can I say? Violet’s my favorite color.”
That’s it. I’ve melted. I’m a pile of goo on the floor. How am I supposed to concentrate on anything else when he says something like that to me and just turns my world upside down? I turn my head and capture his lips in a sweet kiss. I do everything I can to put all the emotions that I feel toward him but can’t say into it. His intensity matches my own and leaves my eyes misty before he pulls away.
“Present.” His voice is low and growly. I don’t need to feel his hard cock poking into my thigh to know that he’s aroused.
When I lift out the package, I immediately know it’s some kind of book, so I unwrap it with care. First sliding off the purple ribbon, then carefully unfolding the wrapping paper.
What’s left in my lap leaves me a little stunned. I reverently reach my hand out and stroke the leather binding with gold lettering. It’sPersuasion. How does he know it’s my favorite book?
“It’s not a first edition,” he says. “They didn’t have any of those, and by the looks of Austen’s other first editions, I’d have to sell one of my houses to buy one, but this was printed in 1865.”
Carefully, I turn the cover back to reveal the title page and see that it was indeed printed then. I’m finding it hard to catch my breath. I know that even though something like this doesn’t cost nearly as much as a first edition, a book in this condition and of this age still costs a pretty penny.
“How did you know?” I whisper.
“Know what?” His face looks puzzled, like I’m asking him some off-the-wall question.
“ThatPersuasionis my favorite book?” I continue to caress the pages lightly. I never thought I would own something like this and to be given it by Dante? Well, I don’t know which of the gifts he’s given me I treasure more.
“You told me silly.” He laughs.
“No, I never told you that,” I say resolutely.
“It was a little over two years ago. The night you moved into the house. We were talking about our favorite books and I guessed yours would bePride and Prejudice. You told me you thoughtPersuasionwas more romantic.”
I’m stunned. I search my memory and can pull scraps of that conversation. He’s right. I was readingCount of Monte Cristoand he told me it was one of his favorites, so I shared mine. How could he have remembered that? Hell, I was practically in love with him even back then and held every conversation, every interaction, with him close to my heart. How could I possibly have forgotten? And he remembered. Could he care about me more than I thought he did? Only someone with actual feelings for me would remember a five-minute conversation from two years ago, right?
I carefully place the book onto the table, far away from the plates holding our food, and turn in his lap so that I’m straddling him.
“You don’t like it,” he says. There’s a worried look on his face, and he reaches up to my cheek. It’s only then that I realize there are silent tears streaming down my cheeks. I’m so overwhelmed with emotions right now. I guess they needed somewhere to escape.
I shake my head. “No, I love it. It’s amazing. I just can’t believe you remembered that conversation. It was so long ago.”
