Page 195 of The Art of Ruin

Letty insisting we both attend a deeply alarming stuffed animal tea party because apparently even stuffed toys need tea and cakes sometimes.

And slowly, somewhere inside all those ordinary little things, trust begins rebuilding itself quietly. Which, I’m beginning to realize, might actually be more romantic.

The strangest part is watching Adriano change in tiny ways he probably doesn’t even notice himself. He asks now. Not constantly, but enough that I feel the difference every day.

Do you want me to handle it or just listen?

Are you tired or pretending not to be tired?

Can I come with you?

The first time he asked permission before stepping into the annex, I cried so hard that he panicked and almost called an ambulance. We haven’t had sex yet, although I’ve tried to seduce him into staying a number of times, but he insists we take it slow this time. Adi wants things between us to be perfect before we make love again. That hasn’t stopped us from having some seriously heavy make-out sessions, though.

I’m so on edge that when he does touch me, I’m gonna go off like a rocket. Because my man can kiss. Like, soul-destroying kisses which scramble my brain cells.

Tonight, the brownstone is warm with rain and music and the smell of garlic from the kitchen downstairs. Elena and Rossi are hosting dinner because, apparently, newly engaged people become legally obligated to feed everyone they know at least twice a month. We’re doing it here because it’s easier for us with Letty.

I’m halfway through fastening an earring when Adriano appears in the bedroom doorway.

And there he is again.

The problem.

Charcoal gray suit, tie knotted perfectly, sleeves rolled just enough to expose his forearms.

Honestly, God was showing off a little when he made this man.

Adriano’s gaze drifts slowly over me before settling back on my face. The look in his eyes is hungry appreciation.

“You’re staring,” I murmur.

“Can you blame me? You look like all my fantasies come to life.”

The dress Isabella bullied me into wearing is dark red silk and fitted enough that Adriano’s self-control visibly weakens every time he looks at me.

Not that I’m complaining. He crosses the room slowly, stopping directly in front of me before adjusting one of my earrings with surprising gentleness.

“You nervous?” he asks quietly.

“A little.”

His hand slides slowly along my waist, fingertips brushing lightly against the silk of my dress like he can’t quite help himself. “You know,” he murmurs, “I think I’ve spent most of today trying to figure out how it’s possible for you to get more beautiful every time I look at you.”

Heat rises instantly in my cheeks. “That sounds medically concerning.”

“It’s definitely becoming a problem.” His gaze drifts over me again, completely unhurried. Appreciative in a way that still makes my stomach flip embarrassingly fast. “I saw you walk into the yard earlier and genuinely forgot what Matteo was saying mid-sentence.”

“That probably happens often with Matteo.”

“Not because of Matteo.”

I laugh softly, and his expression changes immediately at the sound. Softening in a way that still catches me off-guard sometimes.

“There she is,” he says quietly.

“What?”

“That look.” His thumb brushes slowly against my hip. “Happy. Relaxed.” He swallows once before adding more softly, “You have no idea what that does to me.”