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“Bu—”
“No, my Prince,” I say, my tone brooking no argument, and lifting my hand, I slide my fingertips over his diamond chain necklace, which I gave him for our first anniversary. The one that signifies that he is mine to love, cherish, and command. Tugging gently, I hold his gaze.
“Yes, Sir.” He sighs.
“I’m looking out for you. I don’t want you to be cold or uncomfortable. Ever.” I also wanted to save him from the disappointment of not seeing the sculpture through the window.
“I just want to see it in the moonlight…”
“Fuck.” I exhale. I never thought that I would be giving in to every whim the sexy blond had, but fuck if I don’t get off on making David smile. I would do anything to make him happy. “Fine.”
David’s smile is instantaneous, and I think that maybe after his disappointment, the surprise will be even better… hopefully.
“Thank you, Sir,” he says coyly, gazing up at me before pulling my hand to lead me to the store. “We’ll be quick. I promise.”
CHAPTER FIVE
DAVID
The sculpture is gone.
Maybe the owner was cleaning it and stored it in the back room?
I should’ve bought it that afternoon, but… it’s expensive, and what if I saw something else in another store that I liked better… But I hadn’t seen anything else that drew me as much as the swans, and now I can’t stop thinking about it.
The sculpture is exquisite. The aquamarine glass with the darkest shade of blue in the middle of the glass, where I suppose a swan’s heart would be, and the tint changing as the aquamarine colour flowed into the swan’s elongated neck and tail. The blue hue surrounded with pure, clear glass is beautiful, and I’d already decided on the perfect place for it in our home to remember our honeymoon. But now it was gone—maybe. Hopefully not—Dammit.
I look up as the elevator stops; the light indicating the floor numbers shows we’re only on the third floor.
The doors swish open, and the Contessa and her partner/boyfriend/son(?) are getting on. She’s engulfed in furs, and the only piece of clothing I can see is black skin-tight leggings and shiny black heels. Her chestnut hair is swept into an updo that looks casual but probably took a team of stylists to perfect. Her makeup is dark and artful, highlighting her sharp cheekbones, but her eyes are friendly when they meet mine. She smiles as she steps in next to me, and I catch the sweet and warm spicy scent that drenches her in luxurious sensuality.
“Buonasera, signori,” she says, looking at me. After observing her this morning, I thought she would have been more haughty—she looks the part of royalty, and I didn’t think she would want to mix with us commoners.
“Buonasera, signora e signore,” Jon replies, and I swing around to look at him in surprise. “What? I know a few phrases, at least enough to get us out of trouble,” he says, smiling at my stunned face.
“Are you enjoying our beautiful city, signori?” she asks, her voice soft yet commanding—she must be royalty.
“Very much,” Jon says, because apparently, I can’t speak. “My husband has been dragging me from shop to shop today, and I can’t wait to unwind in our suite.”
“Anything catch your eye, principe?” She directs the question at me but looks at Jon, whose spine stiffens and places a claiming hand around the back of my neck, pulling me against his front.
“I would prefer you not refer to my husband in that manner, signora.” Jon’s voice has changed from congenial to irate.
“Vedi, te l'ho detto, Gio. Sono come noi. Lui è un Dom.” The Contessa says to her ‘companion,’ but her words were spoken so quickly that I could only make out the word dom. She couldn’t possibly know about that part of our relationship, surely. We just met.
“Decisamente,” her companion says gruffly, staying behind her.
“Forgive me, signore. I meant no disrespect. He looks like a beautiful, young prince. No?” she asks with her elegant eyebrow cocked.
“Yes, and he is mine. As your man is yours, no?” Jon replies, his voice still hard and unyielding.
“Si. Si. He is that—” The Contessa’s words are cut off as the doors open to our floor.
“Come, David,” Jon urges me out of the doors, his hand still locked on the back of my neck.
“Have a pleasant evening,” he calls as we cross the threshold and stride to our room door.
“That wasn’t very nice. I don’t think you can talk to royalty like that,” I say, trying to ease the tension from Jon’s countenance as he unlocks the door and pushes me in.
