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“So you admit you’ve been checking out my ass?”
Her lips twitch. “Don’t deflect. And a ring is hardly worth the money if we only have a few more days on the yacht.”
“There are no guarantees.” I shrug. “The least we can do is take a look around since Giuseppe kept the shop open for us.” Our gazes clash, but I’m not backing down. Even if it’s fake, even if it’s just for a short while, I want to see her wearing a ring I bought for her.
Finally, she leans in, jabbing a finger into my chest. Her eyes hold a naughty glint. “Remember this moment when I choose a four-carat beast.”
Giuseppe takes that as his cue to step between us. Like the Italian grandfather he is, he takes Aly’s cheeks between his palms, even though he has to reach up a good few inches. In Italian he asks, “Who is this lovely woman? I’ve never known you to have a girlfriend. You always come in here with your sister.”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” I answer, “she’s the woman I’m going to marry. My fiancée.”
The smaller man claps me on the back, a grin splitting his face. “You’re getting married! Congratulations are in order. She’s very beautiful, I can see why she captured your heart.”
“She is very beautiful,” I agree, drinking in the curve of her neck, the swell of her breast, those legs that go on and on. “But she’s much more than that. She’s strong, beautiful, brave. I’m a lucky man.” I mean every word I say.
Aly is oblivious to our conversation. Her eyes sweep over every detail of the shop. From the glass cases, brimming with glittering baubles, to the quirky wrought-iron chandelier, casting a moody light over the room.
“Perhaps you two will return to Lipari for your wedding. We will throw you a beautiful celebration here,” he chuckles.
I smile to myself, picturing getting married in one of the many ancient stone churches on the island. Only our closest friends and family there. Aly walking down the aisle towards me in a simple white dress with wildflowers in her hair. Happy. Glowing. In love.
The fantasy digs a painful cavity in my chest, reminding me of all that can never be. The what-if game is a terrible thing to play.
What if I found another way?
What if I went to war?
What if, what if, what if.
Butwhat-ifdoesn’t change reality. So instead, I smile politely at Giuseppe and say, “Maybe, we will see.”
At Giuseppe’s urging, Alyona wanders around the shop, admiring the various rings, necklaces, and bracelets displayed, commenting on his fine designs and the quality of his craftsmanship. I do my best to translate for Giuseppe, who seems pleased just watching her wander around and gush over his creations.
After a few minutes, Giuseppe takes her left hand into his own. Murmuring to himself, he scrutinizes the slender expanse of her fingers, while Aly looks on with interest. I don’t know what he is doing, but after a thorough inspection, he releases her hand, reaches into one of the cabinets and pulls out a single ring, presenting it delicately between his two fingers. “This is the one,” he declares, nodding decisively.
Aly swallows visibly as Giuseppe slides a brilliant diamond solitaire onto her finger held aloft by a sleek platinum band. The cut of the diamond catches the light, a prism of colors dancing around the room. Giuseppe, confident in his selection, retreats to the back of the store, plunging us into a heavy silence.
“If you want something bigger…” I try to make a joke of it.
“It’s perfect,” she says quietly, shaking her head. Her gaze remains fixed on the ring sparkling like a beacon on her finger. “But… this is crazy Leo, this diamond is… you can’t spend this kind of money to prove a point to the yacht crew.”
But it’s not about the money. She knows the money is nothing for me. She’s getting cold feet, because this cuts too close to the bone. Once upon a time, this is what we would have done together… ring shop in a charming little jewelry store like this one.
Even though I can admit that this is all kinds of fucked-up, I’m still desperate to see her wearing my ring. I lean in close to her, my breath brushing her lips as I murmur, “Are you really going to tell me what I can and can’t do?”
She huffs, her shoulders hitching up towards her ears. “Be reasonable,” she says, but her eyes drift down to my lips and linger. The air between us crackles with intensity so volatile a single spark could ignite it.
“I’m buying it,” I say with finality.
Her brows furrow, a sign that she’s about to argue with me, so I do what any possessed man would do. I swoop down and capture her lips in a devouring kiss.
The kiss is a storm—violent and consuming. The moment her tongue slowly dances with mine, I am lost. I swallow up her taste, her smell, her very being, desperate for more of her. My hand moves to cup her jaw, and I flick my tongue into her mouth again, then pull back to suck on her bottom lip because I know she loves it when I do that. Her hands dig into my shoulders, and she releases a soft gasp of pleasure.
Fuck. Hearing her pleasure has my cock throbbing in response.
This is nothing like the kiss we shared a few days ago, that was for show in front of the crew. This one is pure, unfiltered desire. It’s like I need her lips more than my next breath.
When she pulls away, I’m snapped back to reality. We’re both breathing hard and fast, my hand still wrapped around her jaw, when I say, “You gonna argue with me some more, butterfly? Because if so, we should probably get a room.”
