Page 166 of King of Obsession

As I rolled over, I was greeted by a sight that made my heart skip a beat.

On the nightstand sat a delicate vessel filled with a vibrant bouquet of wildflowers, their petals still glistening with dew.

A steaming mug of coffee rested beside it, the rich aroma wafting through the air and enticing me from slumber’s gentle embrace.

I reached for the handwritten note propped against the vase.

‘Good morning, zuccherino,’ it read in Alessio’s scrawled script. ‘I hope these little tokens of my affection bring a smile to your beautiful face. Meet me in the garden when you’re ready. Ti amo, always.’

I traced my fingertips over the words, warmth blossoming in my chest.

Damn, we’d even come up with nicknames for each other:zuccherino, for me, as I was Alessio’s sugar, andmio leone d’oro, my golden lion, for him.

How had I won life’s lottery?

Alessio’s thoughtfulness never ceased to amaze me; his tender gestures reminded me of the depth of his love.

In the past few weeks, settling into our home and finding a fresh rhythm had only revealed how much I adored him.

Given our home’s proximity to Lorenzo’s mountain residence and Sydney, Alessio commuted when needed.

Weekends were spent with famiglia, my new family.

Mia and I took turns hosting the Calibrese clan, and our joint barbecues, cookouts, and swim parties became legendary.

When we weren’t with kin, we took advantage of the fantastic bushwalking, rock climbing, cave exploring, and hiking trails surrounding us.

There was also an abundance of wildlife, including wombats, birds, kangaroos, wallabies, and wallaroos. It was like living in a national park, a naturalist and birdwatchers’ paradise, and the starry nights had to be seen to be believed.

Twenty minutes down the road was a historic stone-built pub on the edge of the mountains, and in the winter, one could stretch by an open fire.

The local village has tennis courts, quaint shops one could explore for days, and friendly, smiling locals.

As for my farm, we’d repaired the cabin and rented the spread to a grandson of the Henderson family who’d decided to take up farming.

The Conti estate was sold off to recoup the state’s costs and pay back fines.

The Caputos left us well alone and, from all accounts, had shut up shop in Goulburn to refocus their efforts on their Sydney and Melbourne-based illegal vapes and drug distribution.

During the week, Alessio worked in the city with his brothers.

Which gave my introverted self a chance to regroup. I wandered in quiet euphoria through our gardens and vegetable patch, nurturing the nascent carrots, tomatoes, and chilies we’d planted.

Anticipating a bumper crop, I gathered ideas for jams and pickles from Mia and Alessio and incorporated their late Aunt Bianca’s recipes into the mix.

Now, sipping the perfect brewed coffee, I breathed in the delicate fragrance of Alessio’s wildflowers.

Damn, the man was a soft touch. He kept spoiling me rotten with heartfelt gestures, tender touches, and whispered words of devotion.

I returned it with joy and laughter, cooking, and long massages that ended up in melting-hot sex.

It was healing. It was heaven.

It appeared he loved life in the country, after all.

It still jolted me how much the man had transformed.

From a brooding city brawler who didn’t know the difference between a tomato and grapevine to a gentleman farmer. One who nurtured chilies with a passion bordering on mania.

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