Chapter 4 #2
I dropped my towel and slipped a pair of panties on halfway and unwrapped the pad. Just as I was sticking it on—Stefan walked in.
Because of course he did.
“Twenty minutes until—” he started saying before his eyes looked me up and down. “You're still bleeding?” he asked with concern in his voice.
I gave him an annoyed look. “Apparently,” I said and continued doing what I was doing. If he didn't want to see me put a pad on, he could turn around and leave.
“How long will you bleed for?” His tone was so genuine it made me laugh.
I pulled up my panties and grabbed a matching white bra.
I hoped it would fit. I assumed it was one of Giselle's.
“How am I supposed to know that?” I shot back at Stefan.
“I've never been devirginized before.” I shook my head and put the bra on.
It didn't just fit. It fit perfectly. And it was by far the nicest bra I'd ever had on.
“What should I wear?” I pointed at the open suitcase and the multitude of clothes in there.
He cleared his throat. “Anything you want. Whatever's most comfortable.” He gave me one more look and walked out.
I sighed. “Well, that was helpful,” I muttered under my breath. I ended up choosing stylish brown pants and a cream-colored blouse. Just from the feel of the fabrics alone, I could tell how high quality they were. I slipped on a pair of brown heels and found a brush and a makeup bag.
So, I quickly wandered back to the bathroom and did what I could with what I had. Even with minimal makeup, I still felt a lot better. Surprisingly, my hair actually looked great. I felt fairly confident that Stefan would approve.
I mean, I wasn't exactly up to Giselle or Eve's standards—but I also wasn't wearing yoga pants or sweats. Like I wanted to.
I zipped up the suitcase and walked out the bedroom door.
Stefan sat in the same seat as before. There were two covered plates on the table in front of him.
He was sipping his coffee when he turned his head and eyed me coming down the aisle.
He immediately moved the cup from his lips.
I couldn't describe the way Stefan looked at me.
The way he always looked at me.
It was unlike anything anyone had ever done before.
“Is there more of that?” I pointed at his cup as I slipped around the other side of the table and sat opposite him.
He wore a white button-down shirt, and it looked darn good on him.
He left a couple of buttons open, showing that smexy smattering of chest hair that I loved.
I wished we were still in bed, and I was still lying on that chest.
“Of course,” he said and set his cup down.
Then he rose and walked to the back. I watched him pour me a cup of coffee.
My eyes stayed glued to him the whole time.
I loved watching him move. It felt like a goofy thing to be obsessed with, but I realized I was.
Maybe it was partly from all those weeks of watching him in bed.
Hurt, sick, and in pain.
Would I ever get used to seeing him like this instead?
He came back with a white cup and sat it on the table in front of me.
He lifted the cover off my plate. “If you want something else, I can make it.”
I peered down at the heaping plate in front of me.
It was bursting with fresh fruit, cottage cheese and a muffin.
I picked up the muffin and took a bite. “Mm, blueberry,” I said and chewed.
“This is wonderful, thank you.” To be honest, the muffin could be fluffier.
But it tasted good enough. And if this fruit tasted as good as it looked, I'd be in heaven.
Stefan sat down and picked up his coffee. “Did you sleep well?” he asked as he sipped from his cup. His eyes assessed my every move.
I grabbed the fork that was beside the plate and stabbed a slice of strawberry.
“I did.” I lifted the fork to my mouth and bit it off.
“Mm, so good.” My eyes closed, and I enjoyed the sweet taste bursting into my mouth.
I opened my eyes to find Stefan still staring at me.
I set my fork down and asked him, “Did you sleep?” I really had no idea because I'd been completely out. I hadn't gotten up once.
“Yes,” he said and set his cup down. “For a change.” He took the cover off his plate and dug in. We sat in comfortable silence and ate. I hadn't realized how hungry I was. I didn't even look up again until half my plate was gone.
Then I picked up my coffee and took a sip. It was nice and strong.
“How was your breakfast?” Stefan asked. He'd hardly touched his plate. His muffin was gone, though.
“The fruit was great. But I make better muffins.”
Stefan laughed and nodded. “I'm sure you do.
And I can't wait to taste them.” His eyes nearly danced.
“I think you'll enjoy my kitchen.” A pinging sound interrupted us.
Stefan reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.
He answered it. “Yeah?” His eyes held mine for a moment.
“Okay.” And then he tapped the screen and shoved it back into his pocket. “We're landing soon.”
He stood, and so did I. I helped gather the plates and cups and followed him to the back.
“I'll get you another coffee when we're off the plane.” I took a few last sips before I gave it to him, and he dumped it down the sink.
Then he took my hand and pulled me to him.
“You look beautiful,” he leaned down and kissed me, “wife.”
That word—and his kiss—sent tingles through my body. I slipped my hands up his chest and kissed him back. He tasted of coffee and cantaloupe.
When he broke the kiss, he smiled. “Let's get you buckled in for your first landing.” Stefan took my hand and guided me down the aisle to our seats. But this time, he insisted I sit beside him. “Here, let me,” he said, reaching around and grabbing my seat belt.
“I think I can handle it.”
He clicked the belt and tightened it. “I like to do it,” he said and gave me a quick kiss before buckling himself in.
I noticed the plane was definitely descending, and it made me nervous.
I wasn't sure what a landing felt like. But I assumed it would be way worse than taking off.
And that had been terrifying enough. “It's like a ride at the fair,” Stefan said, almost like he was reading my mind. His hand grabbed mine.
My head spun to him. “Is that supposed to be comforting?” I said in a snarky tone.
He let out a low laugh and lifted my hand to his mouth. “Sorry. Not a rough fair ride. A very calm, gentle ride.” He smirked and kissed my hand. “You'll be fine, Francesca. I've been through hundreds of landings. And so will you.” He dropped our hands to his thigh.
The plane tilted more. And more. And then more.
“You have quite a grip there,” he teased and placed his free hand over mine, sandwiching it between both of his now. “Breathe, Francesca.” His eyes gazed deeply into mine. “I know this is your first time. But you'll have to get used to it.” He winked and chuckled, then sat back in his seat.
Jerk.
Even though I wanted to punch him, I couldn't risk letting go of his hand. My other hand gripped the armrest for dear life as we lowered.
And lowered.
And lowered.
“We'll touch down in a few seconds.” Stefan squeezed my hand. “You'll feel a bump or two, but that's all normal. We're fine. And then the plane will slow until it stops.” He continued talking me through every movement and bump of the plane.
And although it didn't fully take away my anxiety—it sure helped knowing what was coming next.
When the plane finally stopped, I was so grateful to be alive, I wrapped my arms around him and cried, “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
He engulfed me in his arms and chuckled.
“You're fine, Chesca. Relax. Take a deep breath.
It's over. And now we're finally home.” He moved away and lifted my chin with his index finger.
“You're going to love it here. I promise.” His lips gently grazed mine.
His hands swiftly unbuckled my seat belt and then his.
After he stood, he reached his hand out to me. “Ready?”
I wiped my cheeks and nodded. “Yeah, I think so.” I slipped my hand in his, and he helped me stand. We walked to the door of the plane. A man who I assumed was the pilot stood there. Stefan introduced us, and then the pilot opened the door for us.
It was a beautiful, warm day. Almost hot.
I squinted at the bright sun shining out there.
Stefan guided me down the stairs and onto the cement.
“Over here.” He jerked his head in the direction of a black limousine.
My feet faltered slightly until Stefan stopped.
“Are you okay? Is something wrong with your shoe?” He looked down at my feet.
“Is that—” I pointed and raised my eyebrows, “yours?”
He turned his head to what I was looking at.
“The car? Yeah. Why?”
I sighed and shook my head. “No reason.” I swallowed and started walking again. I'd never been in a limo before. Obviously. And yes, I knew that Stefan was rich.
Private plane rich.
But for some reason, seeing this limo made me realize exactly how different our tax brackets were.
“It's just a car,” he muttered beside me as we walked hand in hand.
I couldn't help but laugh right the heck out loud at that. Because the vehicle sitting in front of me was definitely not—just a car. I tried to stop laughing, but I couldn't.
“What's so funny?” He jerked my hand slightly in his grip.
I looked at him and kept laughing. “You are.” I rolled my eyes.
When we were nearly at the limo, a man in a black suit exited the driver's seat. Because—of course he did. He walked around the back door and opened it. “Benvenuto, signor Sovrano.” He looked at me and said, “Signora Sovrano.”
I didn't know a lick of Italian, but I knew enough to gather he'd just called me Mrs. Sovrano.
Holy.
Crap.