Page 52 of The Don's Eternal Vows

She nods, a small smile touching her lips. But, it seems strange. Like she’s practiced the motions of a smile, not aware of the purpose behind it. Worry gnaws at me, but I say nothing. Instead, I prop up the pillows behind her and place the tray on her lap. My eyes never leave her as she begins to eat.

Fork to mouth, chew, swallow, repeat. Her movements are mechanical and devoid of any real enjoyment. The spark that usually lights up her eyes when she tastes my cooking is absent.

I frown, watching her lifeless motions. This won't do. My Genoveva deserves more than just going through the motions. She deserves joy, excitement, and passion.

"How is it?" I probe, searching for a reaction.

"Fine," she murmurs, not meeting my gaze.

My jaw clenches. 'Fine' isn't good enough, not for her, not for us. I need to see that fire in her eyes again, hear the music in her laugh.

"I've got plans for us today," I say, injecting enthusiasm into my voice. "Something fun."

What I don’t say is that this is something that aims to make her feel alive again.

Her eyes flick to mine, a hint of curiosity sparking in their depths. It's not much, but it's a start. And I'm determined to fan that tiny spark into a roaring flame.

I stride to the walk-in closet, my fingers gliding over the array of designer dresses until I find it - the emerald green silk that hugs her curves like a second skin. I remember the way her eyes lit up when she first saw it, how it made her twirl like a giddy schoolgirl.

"This one," I murmur, carefully removing it from the hanger.

I lay it out on the bed, smoothing every wrinkle with meticulous care. The iron hisses as I press it, steam rising in delicate wisps as I fix it for her.

"Genoveva," I call softly. "Your dress is ready, cara mia."

She emerges from the bathroom, wrapped in a towel. Her eyes fall on the dress, and for a moment, I see a flicker of recognition, of fondness. But it's gone as quickly as it appeared.

"Thank you," she says, her voice flat.

I help her into the dress, my fingers brushing against her skin as I zip her up. She doesn't lean into my touch like she used to, and the distance between us feels like a chasm.

"You look breathtaking," I tell her, meaning every word.

She nods absently, barely glancing at her reflection. She doesn’t put on any jewelry. Her make-up pouch remains untouched.

“I’m ready,” she says, tucking her hair behind her ears.

I take her hand, leading her out the back door to avoid any of the staff

"Where are we going?" Genoveva asks, a hint of curiosity in her voice.

I smile a predator's grin. "You'll see."

We step outside, and there it is - my prized Lamborghini Aventador, gleaming in the morning sun.

"Your chariot awaits, principessa," I say, guiding her to the passenger side.

As I slid into the driver's seat, I hit the button to lower the roof. The top retracts with a smooth whir, letting in the crisp morning air.

I turn to Genoveva, drinking in the sight of her hair dancing in the breeze. "Ready for an adventure?"

“Sure,” she shrugs.

The engine roars to life, a beast awakening. I slam the accelerator, and we rocket forward, the world blurring around us. The wind whips through my hair, carrying the scent of Genoveva's shampoo - jasmine and danger.

I weave through traffic like a man possessed, the city streets our personal racetrack. Horns blare as we slice between cars, but I pay them no mind. My focus is razor-sharp, my hands steady on the wheel.

"Hold on tight, amore," I growl, downshifting and taking a corner at breakneck speed. The tires screech in protest, and I feel the car's backend slide before catching traction again.

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