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His emotions.
Breathe.
His sanity.
Lorenzo slowly reached for his wife's hand before closing his eyes.
The blackness gradually receded.
And he found himself squeezing her hand as if needing to reassure himself that she was real.
Alive.
And still his.
The thought jarred him to the core.
Fuck.
He had never been the type to feel possessive towards anything, much less anyone.
Until her.
The phone he was holding suddenly buzzed, and Lorenzo stiffened.
Sarica: Oh my gosh, Gaz.
Sarica: I know why you're not texting me back.
Sarica: And I just can't believe our little Gazelle is all grown up!
Sarica: You're excited about your wedding night, aren't you?
Journal Entry
Why has no one warned me about my husband being a gentleman?
I STILL FEEL SLIGHTLY faint as Lorenzo takes me into his arms and carries me out of the chopper. But instead of setting me back on my feet, he ignores my half-hearted protests and refuses to let me go.
The road leading up to his place is long and winding, but I eventually have my first glimpse of my new home, and it's nothing like what I expected.
At all.
Even before our flight back to New York, I had already given myself a pep talk about needing to appreciate whatever his residence looks like. And in my mind, I had pictured something big, black, and fortress-like. Something that would fit his image and reputation as the Beast of New York.
But instead, it's the opposite.
His home is grand and old and beautiful, a palazzo surrounded by lush greenery and scenic mountain views, and is that the sound of a running brook I'm hearing?
Lorenzo finally lowers my feet to the ground. "What do you think?"
The question makes my heart race for some reason. His beautiful face is impassive, but I still can't help thinking my answer matters to him.
He wants to know what I think of his home.
Our home.
And oh, how the thought alone makes my head reel!
