Chapter 35
Raffaele
The attendant approaches with champagne, pouring two flutes before disappearing toward the front of the cabin. I hand one to Alina, clinking mine against it gently.
“To new experiences,” I say, watching her over the rim of my glass.
She takes a sip, her eyes never leaving mine. “To new experiences,” she echoes. “And maybe to you finally telling me where we’re going?”
I smirk, settling back in my seat. “We’re heading south.”
“You already said that,” she pouts, the expression unexpectedly erotic on her usually serious face. “But where? I deserve at least a hint.”
“Do you now, Mrs. Brewer-Russo?” I smirk, enjoying her frustration too much to give in.
“Raffaele,” she whines, leaning forward, placing her hand on my knee. “Why won’t you tell me?”
I capture her hand, bringing it to my lips. “Because your anticipation amuses me,” I admit, kissing her knuckles. “And because I want to see your face when you discover it for yourself.”
She huffs, but there’s no real irritation in it. “Fine. Keep your secrets.”
I get up from my seat and move to the one directly opposite her. Then I slide my hand under the table to the compartment hidden there. “We could,” I say, pulling the compact square out. “Play for hints.”
With those words, I set up the travel chess board. Alina’s eyes light up. “Now you’re talking,” she grins.
After about half an hour, the flight attendant returns with food and later with snacks. The flight passes as we play for clues. I let her win each game, but don’t give anything real away despite her trying various tactics to extract information.
Direct questions, casual mentions of climates and currencies, even attempted bribery with kisses that grow increasingly heated until I’m tempted to drag her to the private bedroom at the rear of the jet.
But I resist. I want us to be at our destination before I claim her again.
Throughout the flight, I find my fingers returning to her wedding ring, touching it, turning it on her finger. A tactile reminder that she’s mine now, bound to me in ways that go beyond the collection of a debt.
“The pilot says we’ll be landing in half an hour,” the attendant informs us, breaking me from my thoughts as she clears our plates and trash. “You might want to prepare for the Caribbean heat, Mrs. Brewer-Russo.”
Alina’s eyes light up at the slip, her head whipping toward me. “Caribbean! I knew it!”
I shoot the attendant a look that has her retreating hastily toward the cockpit. Well, she’s getting fucking fired for spoiling the surprise half an hour early.
“That narrows it down to what, twenty-eight countries and territories?” I counter.
“Still more information than you were willing to give,” Alina counters smugly.
As we begin our descent, I get back into the seat next to her, holding her hand as she peers out the window, gasping at the view below. Turquoise waters so clear you can see the seabed even from this height, white beaches curving around lush green islands like rings of salt.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispers, her breath fogging the glass.
“Wait until you see it up close,” I tell her, watching her wonder with satisfaction. This is exactly why I brought her here; to see that look on her face.
When we touch down, I get up and find the bag Susan packed for Alina. It contains flip-flops, a wrap-skirt, and a short-sleeved t-shirt that Alina quickly changes into in the bathroom.
As soon as she returns, the cabin door opens to a wave of humid heat, shocking after Cleveland’s perpetual chill.
I guide her down the steps onto the tarmac of Providenciales International Airport, where another car waits to take us to the marina. Alina takes in the palm trees, the bright tropical flowers, the intense blue of the sky with naked amazement.
“This is incredible,” she says, squeezing my hand. “Is this where we’re staying?”
I allow myself a small smile as I open the car door for her. “Not quite. We have one more journey to make.”
Her confusion is evident as we drive through the island, past resort complexes and tourist attractions toward the marina where the ‘La Fortuna’ waits for us. Colin stands on the dock beside it, scanning the area with professional vigilance.
“A boat?” Alina questions as I help her from the car. “Where are we going? And what does La Fortuna mean? God, Raffaele, I have so many questions.”
I nod to Colin, who acknowledges me with a slight inclination of his head before boarding ahead of us and taking his spot next to Ian, who’s at the wheel.
“You’ll see,” I tell her, leading her toward the dock where our final transportation awaits. “And it means luck.”
“How fitting,” she sighs happily.
It’s hard to take my eyes off my wife. The contrast between her pale skin and the vibrant colors surrounding us—the turquoise water, the blinding white of the boat, the deep blue sky—makes her look like a painting come to life.
My wife, experiencing her first taste of the wider world. With me. Because of me.
Mine.
The boat cuts through water so blue it looks artificial, splitting the surface into white foam that sprays across the bow. I stand behind Alina, my chest pressed against her back, arms wrapped around her waist as she gasps at every flying fish and distant island on the horizon.
The wind whips her red hair against my face, carrying the scent of her shampoo mingled with salt and tropical flowers. Each small sound of wonder she makes feeds something dark and possessive inside me.
My need to show her that everything I own and everything I am rises with each second.
“I never knew water could be this color,” she marvels, leaning back into my embrace. “It’s like someone poured gemstones into the ocean.”
I tighten my hold around her waist, my thumb tracing circles just beneath the hem of her t-shirt, finding bare skin. “Wait until you see it from the villa.”
“How much further?” she asks, tilting her face up to mine.
I gesture toward the distant shore, where a small, lush island rises from the sea like a green jewel set in turquoise. “There. That’s our destination.”
“Oh my God,” she whispers, her tone reverent as we draw closer, and the details become clear.
Pristine beaches giving way to tropical vegetation, a winding stone path leading up a gentle slope, and at the top, gleaming white against the verdant backdrop, a sprawling villa.
“What is this place?” she breathes.
“La Dolce Vita,” I tell her, my lips close to her ear. “It means ‘the sweet life’ or ‘the good life’ in Italian.”
“It’s yours?” Her fingers tighten around my forearms, still wrapped around her waist.
“It was my mom’s,” I tell her, surprised by how easily I share this information. “The island and the boat were gifts from my dad when I was born. Now it’s mine.” I pause, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Ours.”
She turns in my arms, searching my face with those clear blue eyes that see too much. “Your mom’s?” It’s the first personal detail I’ve voluntarily offered about my family beyond the cousins she’s met, and she understands the significance immediately.
“She loved it here,” I say simply, not elaborating.
Alina seems to understand. She stretches up on tiptoes, pressing a soft kiss to my jaw before turning back to watch as we approach the private dock extending from the island’s eastern shore.
The boat slows, water churning as we ease alongside the wooden structure. Colin jumps out first, securing the craft with practiced efficiency. I lift Alina onto the dock, enjoying her small squeak of surprise as my hands span her waist.
“Welcome to our honeymoon,” I tell her, taking her hand as we make our way up the stone path that winds through fragrant tropical foliage.
With each step, the villa grows more impressive—a modernist structure of white stone and glass that somehow blends perfectly with the natural landscape surrounding it. Multiple terraces extend from different levels, each offering uninterrupted views of the ocean.
“This is…” Alina shakes her head, apparently unable to find words adequate for her amazement.
“Our home for the next two weeks,” I say, using her pause to finish the sentence myself. I guide her up the final steps to the main entrance. “It’s only us here. Well, almost.”
“No one else lives here?”
“Security stays in a smaller house on the opposite side of the island,” I explain, pushing open the massive front door. “But they’ll remain invisible unless needed.”
She steps inside, her soft gasp echoing in the airy entrance hall. The space opens immediately into a vast living area dominated by floor-to-ceiling windows that frame the ocean like a living painting.
White furniture, accented with blues and greens that mirror the view, creates comfortable seating areas throughout the room.
“The bedrooms are upstairs,” I continue, enjoying her wide-eyed exploration. “Five of them, though we’ll only need one. The kitchen is fully stocked. There’s a private beach on the western side for sunset swimming. A pool behind the house if you prefer fresh water.”
Alina turns slowly in place, taking it all in. Then, suddenly, her expression shifts from wonder to panic.
“Wait,” she says, hands flying to her cheeks. “You told me not to pack anything. Why would you say that? I don’t have any clothes or toiletries or—”
I cut off her spiraling with laughter, unable to help myself. She looks so genuinely distressed by something so easily solved.
“What’s so funny?” she demands, hands dropping to her hips.
“Come with me,” I say, taking her hand and leading her up the floating staircase to the second level.
The master suite occupies the entire eastern wing of the upper floor—a spacious bedroom with the same breathtaking views as below, an oversized bathroom with both indoor and outdoor shower options, and a private terrace with a hot tub overlooking the ocean.
But it’s not these luxuries I want to show her. Instead, I guide her to a set of double doors on the far wall of the bedroom.
“Open them,” I instruct.
She does, then freezes in the doorway, her mouth forming a perfect O of surprise.
Beyond the doors lies a walk-in closet, fully stocked with clothing in her size.
Everything from casual beachwear to elegant evening dresses, swimsuits in various styles, lingerie that makes my cock twitch just imagining her in it, and shelves of shoes and accessories to complete any look.
On the opposite wall, a similar but smaller selection of men’s clothing waits for me.
“Susan, Piper, and Raven made sure you have everything you could ever need.” I watch her stunned expression with satisfaction. “They said shopping for you was more fun than they’ve had in months.”
She runs her fingers over a silk sundress in pale blue that will match her eyes perfectly. “They did this? For me?”
“They are family,” I remind her, moving behind her to wrap my arms around her waist. “Our family.”
She leans back against me, overwhelmed. I can feel the slight tremor in her body as she processes it all. “I don’t know what to say,” she whispers.
“You don’t need to say anything,” I murmur, my lips finding the sensitive spot below her ear. “Just enjoy it. Enjoy being mine. Being a Russo.”
She tilts her head, giving me better access to the column of her throat. My hands slide beneath her t-shirt, palms flat against the soft skin of her stomach.
“I’ve been waiting to get you here,” I confess against her skin, teeth grazing her pulse point. “Somewhere private. Somewhere we won’t be interrupted.”
She shivers, her body melting back against mine. “What did you have in mind, husband?”
The word sends a surge of possessive heat through my veins. I turn her in my arms, backing her slowly toward the king-sized bed visible through the closet doorway.
“Two weeks,” I tell her, my voice dropping to a growl. “Two full weeks of fucking you in every room of this villa. Of teaching you everything your body is capable of feeling. Of making you come so many times that you forget your own name.”
Her pupils dilate, breath catching as her back hits the edge of the bed. “Is that a promise, Raffaele?”
I capture her mouth in a kiss that contains all the darkness, all the hunger I’ve been holding back. When I pull away, her lips are swollen, eyes glazed with desire.
“It’s a guarantee, Mogliettina,” I tell her, pushing her gently onto the mattress. “Welcome to La Dolce Vita. Your sweet life begins now.”