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"Hey," Stefano says softly, cupping my face with his free hand, forcing me to look at him. "You're doing great. We're in this together, okay?"
His touch is warm and comforting, and I can't help but lean into it. I nod, grateful for his reassurance, and watch as his gaze softens further. It's clear that witnessing my vulnerability has stirred something within him, and I can sense his growing feelings for me.
"Focus on your breathing," he instructs, his voice calm and steady despite the turbulence. "Inhale through your nose, exhale through your mouth. Nice and slow."
I follow his guidance, forcing myself to take deep, measured breaths. With each exhale, I can feel some of the tension in my body dissipating, replaced by the calm Stefano's unwavering presence brings.
"Good job, Isabella," he encourages, his thumb gently stroking the back of my hand. "You're doing great."
As the plane continues to shake, I cling to Stefano's words, allowing them to ground me. The fear that had threatened to consume me earlier begins to recede.
Finally, after what seems like an eternity, the turbulence subsides, leaving behind only a faint tremor in its wake. I release a shaky breath, feeling as though I've just been given a reprieve – however brief it may be.
"Stefano," I say, my voice hoarse with emotion. "Can you ask the flight attendant for shots of Torres tequila? I need something to settle my nerves."
"Are you sure?" he asks, concern etched across his features. "Alcohol might not be the best solution right now."
"Please," I implore, my eyes pleading with him to understand.
Stefano studies my face for a moment, then nods. "Alright, I'll get it for you," he concedes, pressing the call button for the flight attendant.
The flight attendant arrives, her hands full of shot glasses filled with my family's golden liquid. Stefano smirks as he watches me take the first one, downing it in a single gulp.
"Wow, Isabella, a woman renowned for putting arrogant men in their place, drowns her sorrows in world-class tequila," he teases playfully, picking up a shot for himself. "You're really living the stereotype, aren't you?"
I roll my eyes but can't help the smile that tugs at my lips.
"Hey, if it works, it works," I say, lifting another glass to my mouth. "Besides, it's not every day I nearly reenact my mother's tragic fate."
"True, but just don't make a habit out of it," he warns, clinking his shot glass against mine and downing it. "Or soon you'll need an intervention from your very own knight in shining armor."
"Knight in shining armor?" I laugh, feeling the warmth of the tequila spreading through my veins. "You do realize you didn't actually save me from anything, right? You just sat there, holding my hand."
"Ah, but sometimes that's all it takes," Stefano says, winking at me. "One simple action can make a world's difference."
"Is that so?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. "Well, then maybe I should be thanking you for being my lighthouse during the turbulent storm."
"Your gratitude is always appreciated," he replies, taking another shot and grinning. "Just don't go falling in love with me now, okay?"
"Please," I scoff, playfully swatting his arm. "As if I'd ever fall for someone who mocks my drinking habits."
"Mocking?" He feigns hurt, pressing a hand to his chest. "I'm simply observing with great admiration how you embrace your country's legacy with such gusto."
"Admiration, huh?" I say, feeling the edges of my world begin to blur as the alcohol takes effect. "Well, I'll be sure to remember that next time I'm accused of being an alcoholic."
"Deal," Stefano agrees, grinning as he downs another shot. "Now, let's enjoy this flight and the lovely company we have."
As we continue to drink, the flirtation between us intensifies, fueled by both the tequila and the adrenaline from surviving the turbulence. Our laughter fills the air, and for a moment, it feels like all our worries have vanished, replaced by a growing connection that neither of us can deny.
"Stefano," I whisper, leaning in a little closer than necessary. "Thank you. You've helped me more than you know."
"Anything for a woman as beautiful as you," he replies, his dark eyes meeting mine with a sincerity that leaves my heart racing.
"Beautiful, huh?" I ask.
He takes a shot of tequila, draws his tongue over his lips and turns to face me. His eyes linger over my figure, starting from my legs and going all the way up. He looks over my legs, my belly, my breasts and finally settles on my eyes.
"The most beautiful woman I've ever met," he whispers.
