Chapter 11
Angelina
Iwoke slowly, awareness creeping in slowly.
Warmth. Safety. The solid presence of a body beside me.
Not just any body. It was Dez. I blinked my eyes open to find myself curled against his chest, arm wrapped around me, and his breathing steady and even.
Morning light filtered through the windows, soft and golden.
I tilted my head back and found him already awake, watching me with an expression I couldn't quite read.
"Good morning," I murmured, stretching up to kiss him.
He met me halfway, his lips warm and soft against mine.
The kiss was gentle, unhurried, so different from the demanding claims of previous ones.
When we pulled apart, I noticed he was already sitting up slightly against the headboard.
I shifted, climbing on top of him to straddle his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck and pressing my cheek to his chest.
His heart beat steady beneath my ear. His arms came around me immediately, holding me close, and something in my chest settled. Like a piece of a puzzle clicking into place.
"This feels good," I said quietly. "Right. Like I've been doing this for years instead of hours."
His arms tightened around me. "Yeah. It does."
I pulled back slightly to look at him. There were faint shadows under his eyes, a tension in his jaw that suggested he hadn't fully relaxed.
"Did you sleep at all? You look like you've been awake for a while."
"Couple hours." He brushed hair back from my face, his touch tender. "Had some things to think about."
"Good things or bad things?"
"Terrifying things." His smile was crooked. "But good. Definitely good."
I studied his face, trying to read what he wasn't saying. But before I could ask, he was shifting, lifting me as he stood.
The casual display of strength made my stomach flip. I wasn't a small woman, five-nine and curvy, with hips and thighs that had never fit into the sizes magazines suggested I should wear. But Dez handled me like I weighed nothing, like lifting me was easy enough.
"Come on," he said, carrying me toward the bathroom. "Let's get you cleaned up."
He set me on the marble counter while he turned on the shower, adjusting the temperature until steam began to fill the space. I watched him move, all that controlled power and unconscious grace, and felt something warm unfurl in my chest.
"Are you Russian?" I asked suddenly.
He glanced back at me, surprised. "Half. My father's Russian, but my mother is Italian. Why?"
"Just curious. Your features—the cheekbones, the eyes. I thought maybe." I tilted my head. "Do you speak it?"
"Fluently. My mother insisted that we know all Italian, Russian, and English." He tested the water temperature, then held out his hand. "Come here."
I slid off the counter and let him lead me into the massive shower. Multiple heads sent water cascading from different angles, creating a warm cocoon of steam and heat. I sighed at the sensation, tilting my head back to let the water run over my face and hair.
When I opened my eyes, Dez was watching me with an expression that made my breath catch. Hunger. But also something softer. Something that looked almost like reverence. He grabbed body wash and poured some into his hands, warming it between his palms before reaching for me.
"Turn around," he said softly.
I obeyed, and his hands settled on my shoulders, beginning to wash me with slow, deliberate attention.
His fingers worked down my spine, across my shoulder blades, tracing the curves and dips of my body like he was memorizing them.
When he reached my waist, his hands splayed wide, spanning the curve of it, and I couldn't help but notice the contrast. My dark brown skin against his lighter hands.
My curves, hips, thick thighs, the soft roundness of my stomach, against his lean, muscular frame.
I was tall for a woman, used to being eye-level with most men. But Dez was six-three at least, and even at my height, he made me feel small. Delicate. Feminine in a way I'd never experienced before.
His hands moved lower, soaping my hips, my thighs, the curve of my ass. Every touch was purposeful, worshipful, like he was cherishing every inch.
"You're beautiful," he murmured, his lips finding the curve of my shoulder. "Every fucking inch of you."
I turned in his arms to face him, water streaming between us. "You don't have to—"
"Don't." His eyes were serious. "Don't diminish yourself. Don't assume I'm lying or exaggerating or saying what you want to hear."
"I was going to say you don't have to sweet-talk me." I met his gaze. "I already agreed to consider your proposal."
"This isn't sweet talk." His hands cupped my face, thumbs brushing across my cheekbones. "This is me telling you the truth. You're gorgeous, Angelina. Strong and soft in all the right places. Perfect."
He kissed me then, deep and slow, and I felt it down to my toes.
When he pulled back, he continued washing me.
My arms, my breasts, my stomach… with that same careful attention.
Then he knelt, and the sight of him on his knees in front of me made something in my chest crack open.
His hands washed my legs, my feet, his lips pressing kisses to my hip, my thigh, my knee as he worked.
Making me feel cherished. Adored. Precious.
I wondered if this was part of the negotiation.
If he was being extra attentive, extra romantic, to convince me to say yes to his proposal.
But when I looked down and met his eyes, I saw the raw honesty there, the genuine desire mixed with something deeper.
I knew it was real. Whatever this was between us, it wasn't an act.
He stood and pulled me close, and we stayed like that under the spray, just holding each other, until the water started to cool.
After the shower, wrapped in a towel, I looked around the bedroom for my clothes.
"I don't have anything to wear," I said, realizing the problem. "My dress from last night is—"
"Taken care of." Dez gestured to the bed, where a cream-colored silk pajama set was laid out. "Put that on."
I picked up the fabric, butter-soft and clearly expensive. The set consisted of a camisole with delicate lace trim and matching shorts that hit mid-thigh.
"Where did this come from?"
"I had it delivered." He got dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, looking casually perfect in a way that should be illegal. "Put it on. Trust me."
I dropped the towel and slipped into the pajamas. The silk felt amazing against my clean skin, cool and soft and luxurious.
When I turned around, Dez was staring at me like I'd just walked out of a dream.
"Cream satin looks incredible on you," he said, his voice rough. "The way it contrasts with your skin—Christ, Angelina."
Heat flooded through me at the desire in his voice.
"Come here," he said, holding out his hand.
I crossed to him, and he led me toward the bedroom door.
"Close your eyes," he commanded.
"Why?"
"Because I'm asking you to." His smile was mysterious. "Trust me."
I closed my eyes, my heart starting to race with anticipation. The door opened, and Dez's hand steady on my lower back.
"Okay," he said softly. "Open them."
I opened my eyes and gasped. Rose petals. Hundreds of them, creating a path from the bedroom door across the marble floor. Deep red against white, leading toward the living room.
"Follow them," Dez said from behind me.
I walked forward slowly, my bare feet silent on the petals, aware of him following close behind.
The trail led me around the corner, and—I stopped dead.
The living room had been transformed. Balloons in burgundy and gold clustered near the windows.
Candles everywhere, on every surface, creating a warm, flickering glow even in the morning light.
And there, on the dining table, arranged like an offering—
A box of chocolate from Dana’s, a famous chocolatier in the city.
Ooh, I knew those were going to be good.
A bouquet of mixed roses in red, pink, white, yellow.
I was so large and lush it took my breath away.
Then there was a card propped against the vase.
On the windows, spelled out in roses against the glass—
Will you be my Valentine?
My hand flew to my mouth. I spun around to face Dez, who was watching me with an expression somewhere between nervous and hopeful.
"You did this?" I whispered. "When? How?"
"Early this morning. Called in some favors." He moved closer. "I wanted to show you—"
I didn't let him finish. I launched myself at him, wrapping my arms around his neck and kissing him with everything I had. He caught me easily, lifting me off my feet, kissing me back with equal intensity. This man…
Sure, anybody could have done this. But I couldn’t help but wonder if this had anything to do with the admission I’d made to him yesterday.
He could’ve shrugged off that yesterday was Valentine’s Day and began our pending relationship off that way.
Instead, he’d shown me what was to come, or at least I hoped.
It didn’t feel of empty promises and manipulation.
It did come off as a response to our discussion and I was choosing to accept it as just that.
I was appreciative and I poured all of it into this kiss.
Dez’s hands started at my waist and held me. By the time we were done, he was gripping my ass, and pulling me into him. His right hand spanked me quickly, and I moaned my appreciation of that, too.
When we finally broke apart, I was breathing hard and possibly crying.
"No one's ever—" I couldn't finish the sentence. "This is the most romantic thing anyone's ever done for me."
"I’m happy to be your first." He kept his arms around me. "Because I'm not done yet."
"There's more?"
"A lot more." He gestured to the table. "First, breakfast. But look—there's something else for you."
I noticed it then, draped over one of the chairs. A lounge set in soft cotton, a matching hoodie and pants in a dove gray that looked impossibly comfortable.
"For after," Dez explained. "But first, let's eat."
As if on cue, a man in chef's whites appeared from the kitchen carrying covered dishes. He set them on the table with professional efficiency, gave Dez a small nod, and disappeared again.
Dez pulled out a chair for me, and I sat, still trying to process everything. He uncovered the dishes, revealing French toast that was perfectly golden, topped with fresh berries and powdered sugar, with a carafe of warm syrup on the side.
"This is—" I looked up at him. "Dez, this is too much."
"Nothing is too much for you." He sat across from me, his gray eyes intense. "Eat. Then we'll move on to the next part."
"What's the next part?"
His smile was mysterious. "You'll see."
We ate in comfortable silence, and the French toast was possibly the best thing I'd ever tasted. While we ate, I opened the card.
Inside, in Dez's bold handwriting…
Angelina,
Last night you asked me to be open to love if it happens. I couldn't answer you then because I was scared. But I've been thinking about what you said about love being kindness to your person. About choosing someone despite their flaws. About being brave enough to let it happen.
I don't know if I can promise you love. But I can promise you this: I will try. I will be open to whatever develops between us. I will choose you, every day, even when it's hard. Especially then.
You deserve someone who really sees you and chooses you anyway. I want to be that person.
Happy Valentine's Day.
- Dez
Tears spilled over, running down my cheeks before I could stop them.
"Hey." Dez was around the table in seconds, kneeling beside my chair. "Talk to me. Good tears or bad tears?"
"Good," I managed. "Really, really good."
He wiped my tears with his thumbs, his touch gentle. "Then why are you crying?"
I took a shaky breath. "Because this is everything I didn't know I wanted. Everything I was afraid to hope for."
"Then I'm doing it right." He kissed my forehead. "Come on. Finish eating. I have one more surprise before dinner."
"One more? Dez, you've already—"
"Eat," he commanded gently. "You're going to need your energy."
I obeyed, my mind spinning with possibilities.
What else could he possibly have planned?
I glanced over at Dez and couldn’t wipe off the smile on my face. He’d put it there and deserved to see it every time that I felt it.