Chapter 41 Lia
LIA
Idon’t know where Francesco is taking me.
We’ve been walking for about two minutes now, in the estate, and we still haven’t gotten to wherever he’s taking me.
“Are you taking me to murder me or something?” I say jokingly. “Because this is how it usually starts in those dramatic family stories.”
He chuckles. “Soon.”
“That’s what you said the last time,” I huff, pretending to be exhausted.
But I’m excited. I love surprises. They make me giddy with anticipation. They make me happy.
He makes me happy.
So I keep following him. He leads me up a narrow spiral staircase I didn’t know existed, tucked behind a panel in the east wing. His hand never leaves mine, his fingers interlaced tight with mine like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he lets go.
There’s a door on top of the staircase above us. He glances back at me with one brow raised as we get there.
“Do you trust me?”
I chuckle nervously at the seriousness in his tone.
“Of course I do,” I say softly.
My heart stutters uncontrollably as he moves to open the door. He pushes it open, and a gasp leaves my lips.
“Oh my god.”
The rooftop opens into a private garden bathed in soft golden light.
Wrought-iron lanterns hang from the arches above, their glow dancing over flower beds and twirling vines.
Stone planters spill with roses and night-blooming jasmine.
A low table sits at the center, set for two, holding a bottle of sparkling wine and a steaming, mouthwatering meal.
The night is velvet-black above us, stars blooming in the sky one by one.
“You did all this?” I breathe.
“I had help.” He shrugs one shoulder, like it’s nothing.
“I love it,” I say softly, eyes still drinking in the view.
He pulls out my chair for me, and we sit. I grab the bottle of wine and chuckle at the description on the bottle.
“Sparkling grape juice?”
“You can’t have alcohol while pregnant, so I thought this would be the perfect non-alcoholic alternative.”
I bite my lower lip at his thoughtfulness.
For a while, we just eat quietly. The food is simple: grilled fish, soft bread, olives, and honeyed figs. It tastes better than anything I’ve had in weeks.
Francesco watches me with a look I’ve only recently learned to read. Not lust or possession. Something deeper.
“What?” I murmur, feeling scrutinized under his gaze.
“You’re very beautiful.”
I glance down at my fork, a blush overtaking my face.
“You’re not so bad yourself.”
“This is our first date.”
I smile at the realization. “It is, actually. Wow. In that case…” My eyes twinkle. “Tell me about yourself. Your likes, dislikes, and what you’re into.”
“You,” he answers, then takes a sip of wine. “I’m into you.”
I shake my head at him, but I’m laughing. And he’s laughing too.
The breeze picks up, rustling the vines. Music filters faintly from below, and we hear the distant sound of laughter from the dining hall. But up here, it’s just us. The world has shrunk to this rooftop, this table, the soft clink of wine glasses, and the look in his eyes.
“I want to show you something,” he says suddenly, rising from his seat.
I follow, curious, as he leads me toward the edge of the garden. We pass a sculpted stone bench and a narrow bed of lavender. And then he stops.
And turns to face me.
“Okay?” I laugh softly, uncertain. “What are you—”
But he’s already sinking to one knee.
My breath catches. My heart stops.
He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a small, velvet box. When he opens it, moonlight catches on the gold. The ring inside is stunning. It is vintage and timeless. The emerald glows under the moonlight, nestled in an intricate gold band etched with old Romano symbols.
It looks like it belongs to a queen.
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out.
“I don’t have a speech,” he says, his gaze never leaving mine. “I only have one truth. I love you. And I want you to be mine forever.”
I try to speak again.
I fail again.
He reaches for my hand, gently cradling it in his. “Will you marry me?”
Tears blur my eyes. My voice breaks. “Yes.”
He exhales, the breath leaving him like he’s been holding it for hours. He lifts my hand, and I see a hint of jealousy flickering in his gaze as he glances down at my ring finger.
The ring Marco gave me still rests there.
Francesco’s jaw clenches slightly as he slowly reaches for it, pulls it off, and sets it gently on the edge of the stone railing. Then he slides his own onto my finger, claiming me like we were always inevitable.
His fingers linger against my knuckles, and when he looks up again, I see the reverence in his eyes. Need. A kind of hunger that’s lingered for far too long.
I stare down at it, at the burnished gold against my skin. It fits like it was made for me.
“It’s beautiful.”
“It’s a family heirloom, forged for the first Romano bride centuries ago,” he murmurs, brushing a finger over the glowing stone.
I pull him up to his feet, and he cradles my face in his hands.
“You look scared,” he murmurs.
“I am. Kinda.” I chuckle.
He smiles. “I can fix that.”
His mouth covers mine.
The kiss is deep and slow and absolute. His lips slide over and between mine, drawing a moan out of my mouth. His hands move down to my waist, pulling me against his hard chest. I melt into him, dizzy like I’m drunk from wine.
But he’s the one who intoxicates me. The sheer gravity of him, the pull, the desire that courses through my veins whenever he’s near.
He walks me backward until I feel stone against my back, then lifts me up onto the bench beneath the arbor.
“You know what you do to me?” he growls against my throat.
I thread my fingers into his hair. “If it’s anything like what you do to me, I think I do.”
He pulls my zipper down at the back, slow and deliberate. His lips trail down my chest, reverent and greedy all at once. I gasp when he undoes my bra before taking a nipple into his mouth.
“Is it just me, or are they getting bigger?” He smiles devilishly, looking up at me.
I’m too far gone to muster a snarky response, so I just moan. He trails kisses down to my stomach, and when he gets to my panties, he pulls them off together with my dress.
The soft night breeze brushes over my skin, sending a shiver down my spine. Francesco’s eyes glaze over as he watches every inch of me, like he’s engraving me in his mind.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he growls, getting on his knees before me for another kind of worship.
“Oh,” I moan as he kisses the inside of my thigh. He pulls my legs further apart, throwing them over his shoulders. My back hits the pillar behind me, my hands burying into his thick hair as his mouth finds my pussy.
He licks between my folds slowly, making sure to suck each one in turn before moving to the next.
His tongue is hot, but not unpleasantly so.
The rough stubble on his chin scrapes over the sensitive skin there, and I gasp in response.
The sound makes him chuckle against my thigh, and fuck, that sound makes me want more.
A little nudge from a finger slipping inside of me has me gasping louder, the night air carrying my voice. He adds another finger, then another, until I’m writhing against his face and bucking off the stone bench in my climax.
When he rises, he lifts me into his arms like I weigh nothing and carries me to the cushions by the table, our half-eaten meal long forgotten.
I watch him with hazy eyes as he slowly, torturously, removes his clothes until he’s completely naked before me. He lets me drink him in for a while, and that is what I do.
I let my eyes trail over the rippling muscles and sharp edges of his body. I drink in his tattoos. They make his already perfect body even more perfect.
My eyes travel down to the deep V of his stomach, and I think about what it would be like to press my mouth against the skin there.
I lick my lips in anticipation. I don’t realize how thirsty I am, or if it’s even remotely possible to be physically thirsty for him, until he starts marching toward me.
I take in his beautiful cock, admiring the veins that swirl around his thickness.
I sigh in pleasure as he slowly climbs over my body, his heavy weight pressing over me.
And there, under a ceiling of stars, he enters me with a groan, burying himself to the hilt.
We move together slowly. Like the world has stopped spinning. Like this moment is all we’ll ever need. His fingers spread over my body, protective, possessive, and loving.
His hips grind into mine, and I moan with each movement. He buries himself deep into me, into every crevice and corner of my body. His movements are strong and demanding, yet still soft. My hands find their way around his waist and grip hard, like I’m afraid to let go.
I don’t want to lose him. I don’t want to stop feeling his weight on top of me, the heat radiating off of him, and the taste of him on my tongue. I want to feel the beat of his heart against mine, hear the sound of his voice, smell the scent of him. I want to live inside this feeling forever.
I moan as he strokes my hair, whispering incoherent words into my ear.
He pushes himself in, out, in again, faster, harder, deeper than he had been so far. Each thrust is harder than the last. He pounds into me like the earth is crumbling under his feet. A sound so raw and desperate, so desperate, tears through me as he makes love to me under the moonlight.
I grip him tighter than before as we climb higher and higher and higher.
And then, we are both falling, shuddering uncontrollably with pleasure.
He holds the back of my head as we both gasp and cry out our names. His body shakes convulsively over mine, sweat dripping down from his face, his shoulders shaking with exertion and emotion. I hold him close as the tremors fade away, my arms wrapped tightly around his waist.
And we stay there, tangled up together beneath a blanket of stars, just the two of us, lost in our own little universe.
His hand slides over my stomach as he turns to kiss my forehead.
“Forever?”
I smile and nod. “Forever and always.”