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Why did it suddenly feel like God was real?
And all because of her.
I need you, Gazelle.
A girl whose existence he had ignored for years—-
And yet she had chosen to trust him from the moment he claimed her.
I need you.
I need you.
Please God, please don't take her away from me.
And when he finally dared to open his eyes and see for himself if last night was indeed real—-
Fuck.
It was to see that his wife was already awake, and it was obvious all at once that she had been watching him for some time.
This was not how it should be, dammit.
Lorenzo had caught a few scenes of rom-coms here and there because of the women in his staff, and those scenes always showed it was the man who'd wake up first, and the woman who'd blush at finding herself the object of her lover's gaze.
So why the hell had their roles been reversed?
And why was he acting like this was a big deal?
Because as much as he wished he could deny it—-
Shit, shit, shit.
Lorenzo knew he was not imagining the slight flush of color that was heating his cheeks.
"Oh my gosh, are you actually—-"
He gave his wife the meanest glare he was capable of.
"—-blushing?"
But it clearly had no effect at all, and as much as the sound of her giggles made him want to strangle her—-
His young wife gasped in shock when he abruptly rolled her to her back.
"Why, dammit?"
Because he seriously wanted to know.
"Why aren't you scared of me?"
"I was," his wife admitted in a voice tinged with shame and discomfort. "Very, very much."
"I see."
Her answer was to be expected.
He was the Beast of New York, after all.
