Chapter 36
Finn
The sun filters through the glass window, and I shield my eyes from it, turning to my side. With my eyes closed, I reach for Gianna, my hand instinctively seeking her warmth beneath the sheet, but the bed is empty. My eyes slowly open. Where is she?
A soft groan escapes me as I yawn, digging my calf into the bed as I sit up, reluctant to abandon the comfort of sleep. I rub my eyes, pushing away any remnant of a dream I can't quite remember. Another yawn slips out as my eyes flick to the digital clock on the nightstand.
Why is she up so early? I peel the blanket off my legs and get out of bed, stretching my hands overhead until I hear the satisfying pop of my shoulder. I roll my neck, feeling the muscles loosen. I've never felt better. No more aching bones or bruised lips.
All my bones are fully healed, and for the first time in a long time, I feel like myself again. It's been two weeks since the meeting day. Since we escaped everything, the blood and politics. Gianna and I meant it when we said we wanted nothing to do with the family, at least for now.
I walk towards the window, barefoot on the wooden floors, my gaze on the view outside from the floor-to-ceiling window.
The clouds are bright and clear, moving slowly in the blue sky.
I rest my hand on the cold glass and close my eyes, and take a deep breath.
Things are peaceful now, which scares me just a little.
Peace is unfamiliar. Unnatural. And a small part of me still waits for the chaos to return, like a shadow that's just out of sight. I shake the thought out of my head and head to the bathroom.
I twist the door knob and step under the stream of warm water.
The heat instantly loosens my muscles. My skin tingles as the water flows down my shoulders and back, washing away the remnants of sleep.
I lean my head forward and let the water soak my hair, closing my eyes under the steam, tuning everything out.
I reach for the bottle of Gianna's shampoo, wanting to smell like her. I lather it into my hair, the familiar floral scent wrapping around me. Lavender, citrus, and something warm that I can't quite place. Just thinking of her brings a smile to my face.
After a few minutes, I step out of the shower, steam curling around my shoulders. I reach for a towel and wrap it around my waist, letting another rest over my head as I dry my hair. My feet move slowly across the tile floor.
My eyes drop to the scars on my skin; they're faded, but not invisible.
A pale line stretches across the side of my chest, just above my waist. I drop the towel and trace my hand over the scar, the skin cooler and smoother there.
I remember the sharp sting, the taste of blood in my mouth, the pounding of my heart as I fought to stay awake.
I take a deep breath and shake my head, trying to pull my head out of the past.
I step out of the bathroom, tousling my hair in the air, walking towards the closet.
I pull the doors open and scan the rows of clothes in it.
Gianna was right. I don't own many brightly colored clothes.
Everything looks the same. I reach for an ash sweatshirt.
It's the closest to bright I have. I'll need to do some serious shopping later, maybe let her pick out a few things just to see the spark in her eyes when I wear something out of the ordinary.
I slip into the sweatshirt, pairing it with black pants before walking out the door and closing it behind me.
The quiet hallway greets me, broken only by the distant clatter of a pan and the unmistakable sizzle of something on a hot stove. The scent hits me almost immediately. Bacon, eggs, pancakes, and something sweet I can't figure out. Maybe cinnamon.
As I walk down the hall, my thoughts shift to Liam.
He's assumed his position as the leader of the Irish, and even though I said I wanted nothing to do with it, he's called me a few times to ask some questions, even with Ailish by his side.
I have to admit that I'm still stunned Ailish was working with Liam all this time. It's mind-blowing.
I push the thought aside as I step into the kitchen, and I see Gianna dishing the food.
She doesn't notice me at first, but when our eyes finally meet, her lips curve into a smile that hits me square in the chest. I move behind her, sliding my arms around her waist and pressing a kiss to her neck.
Her skin is warm, and she leans into me, a soft giggle escaping her lips.
The sound is music to my ears, sweet music.
This has been our routine for a while now.
One of us wakes up and decides to make breakfast, and the other joins.
No alarms, no plans. Just us. We spend the day doing nothing in particular, watching movies, talking, teasing each other, and of course, talking about the wedding.
It still feels unreal to even think of it.
It's funny how far we've come. Our relationship started as spite, two people caught between loyalty and betrayal, wrapped in family politics and dangerous expectations.
We were meant to destroy each other, and yet, here we are.
The fire didn't consume us; it forged something deeper.
Something real, and now it's leading us into a future I never thought I'd have. Marriage.
I tighten my arms around her waist and press another kiss to her shoulder, smiling against her skin.
"You're up early," she says, leaning into my touch, her hands gently rubbing over mine where they rest on her waist.
"Yeah. You weren't by my side," I reply. I reluctantly pull away, my fingers dragging along her hips before I let go, stepping towards the counter to help with the coffee. I grab two mugs from the rack, set them on the island, then pour the steaming coffee straight from the pot into each one.
The familiar scent wafts up, earthy and strong, instantly waking me up more than any shower could. I reach into the cabinet for the sugar container and stroll over to the fridge to grab the milk. My fingers tap against the jug as I smile to myself.
Gianna doesn't like her coffee plain. We've had this talk over and over again, her insisting that coffee needs flavor, warmth, and a little love.
I, on the other hand, argue that real coffee should stand on its own.
The best way to take coffee is black, no additions, nothing.
I add the milk and sugar to her coffee, stirring it carefully, not too fast. She says that when you rush it, the flavor doesn't settle properly.
I don't believe that's true, but I do it anyway because it's for her.
"You miss me that much," she teases, setting the plates on the dining table.
"I always miss you," I answer, setting the mugs on the table.
"You smell nice," she says, glancing at me as she loads the last of the dirty dishes in the dishwasher.
"I smell like you," I smirk, grabbing the greasy pan and rinsing it before stacking it in the sink. "By the way, your shampoo? The best thing I've ever put in my hair."
She rolls her eyes and tries to suppress a smile. "I know. Which is why you should get your own and stop stealing mine."
"Hmmm, nah," I reply, grinning as I dry my hands. "I just enjoy using your stuff. It makes me feel closer to you."
"Whatever," she mutters, unable to hide her grin this time. "We need to pick up a few things at the supermarket today," she says, settling into her seat.
I walk over and drop into my chair, too. The sight of the food makes my taste buds water. I was right. It's Gianna's signature pancakes, stacked like art, crispy bacon on the side, perfectly cooked eggs, and slices of ripe avocado fanned out with care.
"Thank you for the meal," I say sincerely, picking up my fork, already feeling the hunger twist in my stomach.
"You're welcome," she answers. She leans forward slightly, grabbing her mug. A few strands of hair fall toward the plate, and she tucks them behind her ear with a quick swipe. I smile, pushing my chair back. Her eyes meet mine and follow me as I move behind her.
"What are you doing?" she asks, but there's laughter in her voice.
Slowly, I gather her silky hair, making sure there's no strand left out.
The smell of her shampoo, something strawberry and lemon, fills my nostrils, and I smile.
I just love the feel of her hair in my hand.
I pass her hair through the black rubber hair tie that's on my wrist. "There, better? " I ask as I return to my chair.
She reaches behind, touching the ponytail, a soft smile gracing her lips.
"Thank you," she says, and I nod, digging into my food.
I've been seeing her smile a lot lately, and I didn't realize how much her mood affects mine until recently.
If she's sad, I start to feel like that too, and I try to make sure she feels better, and when she's happy, it's like the whole world has aligned in my favor.
We eat in comfortable silence, my taste buds dancing with every slice I put in my mouth. As much as I try to talk about the wedding, Gianna is always finding a way to change the topic to something else. I don't know why, but I want to find out, so I try again.
"So, where do you want us to have the wedding?" I ask, and she almost chokes on her coffee. I quickly reach for a napkin, dabbing it on her lips before she takes it from me, clearing her throat softly.
"Why are you surprised by that question?" I ask, and she clears her throat.
"I'm not surprised," she says, looking away from me.
"You are," I lean back into my chair, folding my arms across my chest. "And you've been this way since Vito mentioned marriage. You don't want to get married to me?" I ask, wanting to know her mind.
Her eyes widen, a flicker of vulnerability slipping through. "I do," she says softly, almost like it's a confession she's been holding in for too long. She bites her bottom lip. "It's just... I don't know how you feel about it. It feels like it's an ultimatum you have to fulfill."
Oh. So this is the problem. "Why didn't you just say something if this is how you felt?" I lean forward, reaching for her hand across the table. Our fingers touch, and I wrap mine around hers, rubbing soothing circles on the back of her hand.
"Nothing, absolutely nothing would make me happier than getting married to you, Gianna," I say, my voice steady and full of certainty. "I want this. I want us. You have no idea how badly I want to call you my wife."
Her smile returns slowly. I raise her hand to my lips, planting a kiss on it before setting it on the table.
A chuckle escapes me, quiet but genuine.
She turns her head to me, brows drawn in curiosity. "What's so funny?" she asks, her eyes narrowing at me as she pouts, looking so cute. Moments like this remind me of when we were in college.
"It's just..." I smirk, eyes glinting with mischief. "The main reason we had sex that night at the chapel was because you didn't want to marry an Irish heir," I tease, remembering that was what led to that night, and of course, the fact that we liked each other but neither of us realized it yet.
"Looks like the act from that night is the reason we're here today," I add with a wink.
Gianna scoffs, popping the last slice of pancake in her mouth. "Is that your proposal, Finn Costello?" she teases, taking another sip of her coffee.
"Yes, Gianna," I reply, matching her energy. "Straight from the heart."
She laughs, shaking her head, but before the mood can dip back into playful banter, I let the smile slip from my face. My heart kicks up a little, but I move my chair closer, closing the distance between us.
I reach for both her hands, cradling them between mine. Her gaze flickers from playful to confused, then to something much softer as she senses the shift in me.
"Gianna Rosso," I say, my voice steady but full of emotion. "I love you with all my heart. And I promise to make you happy as long as I live. Will you marry me?" I ask with sincerity and love in my heart.
Gianna's lips break into a beautiful smile. "I will. I will marry you, Finn Costello."