Chapter 29

It was late afternoon when we landed in Venice. When Gabriel said "Italy," I thought Milan, Florence, or even Bologna. For some reason, I hadn't thought of Venice. I had only seen it in pictures and movies—the blue water flowing through tunnels, gondolas decorated with colorful flowers floating on it, houses built on both sides, and bridges where lovers often walked hand-in-hand. I was enchanted, to say the least.

We were staying in a villa. I argued with Gabriel, saying we didn't need a villa for just the two of us; we could have stayed at a hotel. But he retorted that hotels were for people who weren't rich enough for a villa. I pouted because I loved hotels and their breakfast spreads, but I didn't complain when I saw our lodging for the next few days. It was a two-story villa with vintage architecture, a spiral staircase in the living room leading to a single bedroom upstairs, a fully stocked kitchen, and even a small garden. The bedroom windows overlooked a water tunnel.

The best part of the house, however, was the painted ceilings. Stories of Roman gods and goddesses and epic battles were depicted in color on every ceiling. The bedroom ceiling featured two naked lovers, their hands almost, but not quite, touching.

Gabriel excused himself due to an unexpected work issue that had arisen before our arrival. It would take him over an hour to resolve. He asked me to rest, as we were both severely jet-lagged.

As soon as he left, I opened the bag Luna had packed for me. It wasn't bad at all! It contained many satin dresses, satin nightwear, overcoats, jeans with a corset, long dresses, short dresses, formal wear, casual wear, and plenty of comfortable clothes. I smiled; Luna knew me well. The next bag, however, contained only makeup and lingerie.

The lingerie… there was so much. I didn't even own most of it; all the pieces still had tags. She had gone shopping for me. Most was lace, with straps I didn't even know where to put, some too tiny to cover much of anything.

I gulped, looking at it. The two times I had been naked in front of Gabriel, I'd been wearing mismatched cotton underwear and a bra. And now, this.

A part of me was giddy to see his reaction.

I took a quick hot shower, changed into sweats, and got into bed, letting my jet lag overcome me. I don't know what time it was when someone switched off the lamps and covered me with a duvet.

I don't know how long I slept because, the next time I opened my eyes, the sunlight was gone. It was dark outside the blinds, and Gabriel was asleep at the other end of the bed, a respectable distance away.

I searched for my phone on the nightstand in the dark, dropping a water bottle I hadn't noticed.

Gabriel stirred as I checked the time: 3:37 A.M. I had slept for almost twelve hours straight.

"You're awake?" Gabriel's groggy voice filled the silence. I turned to him as he struggled to open his eyes.

"You should call a doctor if I sleep any longer than this," I joked, getting up. "I'm sorry to wake you. Please go back to sleep; I'm going downstairs."

"Nonsense," he mumbled. His voice was hoarse and gravelly, and so hot. "I'm waking up too." Before I could stop him, he was sitting up, stretching.

I wondered if I should get back into bed. "When did you sleep?"

"Just a couple of hours after you. Figured we could roam around wherever you want if we get some rest first."

"Hm. Yes." I nodded, grabbing my toiletry bag and heading to the bathroom to brush my teeth and freshen up.

When I came out, he was on his feet. "Are you hungry?" he asked, just as my stomach rumbled.

I nodded. "Who's going to deliver at this hour?"

"Nobody. The kitchen is stocked. We'll cook."

"You cook?" I raised an eyebrow.

"A little."

That's how we found ourselves in the kitchen an hour later. I loved baking and basic cooking, but nothing more. Between the two of us, we knew just enough to avoid burning down the kitchen.

"You're rolling the bread wrong," Gabriel commented unimpressed, looking up from the stool where he was chopping bell peppers.

"Okay, Gordon Ramsay," I rolled my eyes. "If I'm doing it wrong, why don't you do it yourself?"

"Gladly." In two long strides, Gabriel was standing behind me, his hands on either side of me, his chin resting on my temple.

I froze. "I asked you to do it… not to teach me."

"Now, what's the fun in that?" He held my hands over the rolling pin, gently helping me roll the dough into a circle—much thicker than mine, but I barely noticed. I could only focus on one thing at a time when he was near, and that thing was his touch, his breath on my face and neck.

"See? All done." He sounded almost proud as he moved away, making me miss his touch as I haphazardly spread the pizza sauce.

Another hour later, we had successfully made pizzas for breakfast. It wasn't something an Italian chef would approve of, but it was decent. We ate them by the window, overlooking the glimmering water below as the sun rose, painting the sky in ethereal shades of pastel blue and pink—a cotton-candy sunrise.

There was magic in the air as we ate. Gabriel talked about his work and my potential role if I accepted a position there—if. I wanted to capture that moment forever, especially when we were finished eating and Gabriel leaned over, gently caressing my lower lip with his thumb to wipe off some sauce, his eyes boring into mine.

For a moment, nothing else mattered except his gaze and my desire for him to kiss me.

But he didn't. He pulled away, and the moment was broken.

At noon, Gabriel wore a white shirt with rolled-up sleeves and pants, while I wore a matching white dress—completely backless, fitted to my body, then flowing to mid-thigh—with pumps. We walked through an old basilica that was almost empty despite its tall, lit walls and hand-painted corners. Despite the similar paintings in our villa, I was still fascinated.

"I figured you'd appreciate this place, being a painter and all," Gabriel whispered; even the slightest murmurs echoed in the old structure.

"I do," I barely glanced at him. "This is so… unreal. They were painted centuries ago, and they still look fresh—the technique, the ideologies, the hidden meanings."

Gabriel stood beside me quietly that afternoon as I looped my arm through his and pulled him to each corner, appreciating every detail, even taking pictures of some that I thought his mother would like.

We had lunch at a local café and spent the evening at another archeological site. In the evening, we went shopping before returning to our villa.

The sun had set when we returned to our room. My heels ached as I kicked them off, standing before the mirror to remove a gold necklace.

I was struggling to unclasp it when I caught Gabriel's eyes in the mirror as he shut the door and turned to face me.

"Can you help me?" I froze. "Can you—can you…"

He stood behind me, unclasping the necklace with one hand and placing it on the dresser.

He was about to step back when my hands reached the zipper of my dress, even though it was within easy reach. I pretended I couldn't reach it.

"Can you help me with my dress as well?" I asked, maintaining eye contact through the mirror.

He stepped closer than necessary, his fingers tracing the skin of my back until he reached the zipper.

I felt goosebumps as he looked into my eyes while unzipping my dress. He didn't stop there. He took the thin straps off my shoulders and pushed them down my arms until the dress pooled at my feet, leaving me in nothing but my lingerie.

I watched his reaction in the mirror—the flexing of his muscles, his gaze dropping to my body, lingering on the lingerie, and the way his eyes darkened, betraying the self-control he'd maintained since we landed in Venice. I knew wearing the red thong had been the right choice.