Page 53 of Italian’s Christmas Acquisition

She wasn’t used to this. This feeling of being turned inside out, exposed. Yes, in a small town everybody knew her, which was its own issue, but there was also the issue of the way she lived her life. She didn’t parade her business around. She never had. She went internal. She focused on her bed-and-breakfast. Her only sanity was him. That was her version of going internal now. Losing herself in his touch, in his arms.

She and Daniela passed by a storefront on Fifth Avenue that had exceedingly shocking lingerie outfits on the manikins in the window.

“I think I’d like to go in there,” she said.

“Planning for the honeymoon?” Daniela asked.

“Or just Tuesday,” she said brightly.

Because she really was this whole other person now. This woman who reveled in her sexuality.

She was cautiously amused by herself. By this change in her.

Even while there was a bit of foreboding lingering in the background. A small amount of fear that this could rebound on her. That she would be utterly entirely lost at sea if something happened to their relationship.

But it was no matter.

Because it was too late, that was the thing. She was out in the middle of the ocean, in a small inflatable raft, clinging to a rope that kept her tethered.

Rocco was the rope.

If she lost hold of him, she didn’t know what would happen.

But she was already in the middle of the sea.

So she bought five different lace and transparent silk outfits, so little fabric for so much money, and she let herself enjoy it. Let herself get excited thinking about what he would do when he saw them.

What are you doing?

It was a text from Melody, right as she exited the store.

Just spent a ridiculous amount of Rocco’s money on underwear.

I have to get an Italian boyfriend.

Fiancé.

And she added a smiley face for good measure.

Even with the heaviness of the media barrage, she felt buoyant.

And she followed that buoyancy down Fifth Avenue, and she and Daniela made an appointment with one another to do wedding dresses the next week.

Then she walked the rest of the way back to Rocco’s penthouse, enjoying the bustle. Now that she was getting used to the rhythm of the city, she did find beauty in it.

It was different than the beauty she was born into. Different than the life she had chosen for herself.

But it was beautiful all the same.

She didn’t expect to find Rocco home in the middle of the day, and yet when she got to the penthouse, he was. Standing there with his back to her, facing the scene below. His posture looked especially straight, his figure imposing with his jet-black hair ruthlessly tamed into place, and his black suit so expertly cut to the lines of his body.

But there was an aura of something radiating from him that actually frightened her.

“Rocco?”

He turned toward her, a glass of scotch in his hand. He was home in the middle of the day, and he was drinking in the middle of the day. That was a bad sign.

“What...”

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