18 | Principessa
The next day, the gym is quiet except for the rhythmic sound of fists hitting pads and the occasional low murmur of Franco's voice.
My arms are crossed as I lean against the doorway, watching them. Watching her.
Aurelia's hair is tied back, that fiery ginger spilling from her ponytail, her cheeks flushed from the effort. She's wearing a simple black tank top and leggings, and yet she looks like sin itself.
She throws another punch, her movements sharper, more confident than before. Franco grins, his easy charm practically dripping off him as he holds up the pads and calls her Red.
Red.
The nickname grates against my nerves like nails on glass. It's casual, familiar, too goddamn easy coming from him.
My teeth sink into my bottom lip as I watch him step closer, adjusting her stance with a hand on her hip, his voice low and encouraging. I taste blood.
I should look away, but I can't. Every brush of his hand against her skin feels like a challenge, like he's daring me to act.
My fists clench at my sides as I fight the urge to storm in and rip him away from her. And then I don't fight it anymore.
"Franco," I say, my voice cutting through the air like a blade.
He pauses, turning to me with a raised brow, his hands still on her gloves. "Boss?"
"Move," I order, my tone brooking no argument. "I'll take it from here."
Aurelia steps back, her eyes darting between Franco and me. She doesn't say anything, but the tension in her body is unmistakable.
Franco hesitates for a moment, his gaze lingering on her before he nods.
"Your call," he says, his tone casual, but there's a flicker of something in his eyes. He sets the pads down and walks out, leaving the room heavy with silence.
I step forward, closing the space between us. Aurelia glares at me, her amber eyes sparking with defiance. She starts to turn away, but I grab her arm gently yet firmly, stopping her.
"You're not leaving,Principessa," I say, my voice low.
She jerks her arm, trying to pull away, but I don't let go.
"What's your problem?" she snaps. "I was doing fine with Franco."
"I don't want him touching you," I say simply, the truth spilling out before I can stop it.
Her eyes widen slightly, but then she narrows them again, the defiance in her gaze hardening. "I didn't ask for your permission."
I smirk, leaning closer, my grip loosening just enough for her to stay but not enough for her to escape. "You're my wife. That's all the permission you need."
Her cheeks flush, but she doesn't back down. Instead, she shoves me lightly in the chest. "You're fucking unbelievable."
"And you're stubborn," I say, grabbing a pair of gloves and handing them to her. "Now put these on."
She huffs, but she takes them, slipping them over her hands as I adjust the straps. My fingers brush against her skin, and I can't ignore the way the heat of her radiates against me.
I step back, putting some distance between us before I do something stupid.
"Show me what you've got," I say, holding up my hands as targets.
She glares at me but throws a punch anyway. It's solid, and I can see Franco's influence in the way she moves. Another jab, then a cross, her focus entirely on hitting the target.
But mine isn't. My eyes drift to her face, the determination there, the way her brows furrow slightly in concentration. To the curve of her lips, parted as she breathes heavily. To the way the sheen of sweat makes her skin glow.
She's beautiful. Fuck, she's beautiful.
"Good," I say, my voice rougher than I intend.
She glances at me, pausing for a moment, and I can see the flicker of confusion in her eyes.
"What?" she asks.
I step closer, lowering my hands. "I said you're doing good."
"That's not what it sounded like," she mutters, her cheeks flushing slightly.
I tilt my head, a smirk tugging at my lips. "You're pretty, Principessa."
Her eyes widen, and for a moment, she just stares at me. Then she steps back, her foot catching on the edge of the mat, and she stumbles slightly. I reach out instinctively, grabbing her arm to steady her.
"You okay?" I ask, my voice softer now.
She recovers quickly, glaring at me again. But there's a faint pink tinge to her cheeks, and I can't help but feel a flicker of satisfaction.
"Don't say things like that," she mutters, her gaze dropping for a moment.
"Why not?" I ask, leaning closer. "It's true."
She doesn't answer, but I can see the way her jaw tightens, the way her hands clench into fists. And then, without warning, she swings.
Her glove connects squarely with my gut, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make her point. And then she goes lower to my groin.
The next punch lands on my groin. and I double over slightly, letting out a sharp breath.
"What the fuck, Aurelia?" I manage, glaring at her.
She smirks, her lips twitching as if she's trying not to laugh. "Maybe don't call me pretty when we're sparring."
I straighten up, shaking my head but unable to suppress the grin tugging at my lips.
"Noted," I say, stepping back and holding up my hands again. "Now, let's see if you can do that twice."
She laughs, the sound light and unexpected, and for a moment, the tension in the room eases. But as we continue, I can't shake the thought that I'd let her hit me a thousand times just to keep her laughing like that.