Page 85 of Third Degree

“Where are we going?”

I could sense the familiar hint of sadness as we drove past downtown, where her old apartment was.

“We’re going to your birthday present,” I informed her, admiring her outfit that perfectly captured her essence, an oversized, ripped band shirt paired with jeans and Doc Martens.

“My present?” she questioned, her curiosity evident in her eyes. With a reassuring smile, I took her hand as our car approached the street.

“Yes, you didn’t think I’d forgotten about your birthday, did you?”

A glint in her eyes made me think she had, and she sat there and looked eagerly out the window. Then her brows furrowed. “Wait, we’re living at Julian’s house?”

I chuckled and signaled for the chauffeur to stop. I wanted her to experience the surprise fully.

“Come.” I held my hand out, and she intertwined her fingers with mine as we stepped out of the car.

“Elio,” she said, her face filled with questions, and I couldn’t contain my excitement for what I had prepared for her. “I really don’t understand what’s going on.”

“Remember how you mentioned wanting to live in San Diego?” I asked her.

“Well, yes,” she replied, glancing at Julian’s house. “I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but I’m not sure how comfortable I am living with your son.”

I shared her sentiment entirely.

I led her past Julian’s house and up the hill, reaching the pinnacle of the cliff where a small blue house stood overlooking the ocean. I bought it some time ago. While staying at Julian’s during the wedding, I noticed it was up for sale. I had worked on the garden for Daphne and arranged for renovations inside while we were away.

The little blue house stood proudly at the edge of the cliff, basking in the gentle ocean breeze. Its coastal-style architecture perfectly complemented the surrounding landscape, with its charming white trim and large windows that invited the natural light to dance within.

As we approached the front porch, I couldn’t help but notice the meticulous attention to detail that went into its renovation.

The exterior was filled with climbing vines, creating a picturesque and inviting façade. The wooden porch swing, adorned with plush cushions, beckoned us to sit and enjoy the breathtaking view. I was pretty proud of myself.

“What is this?” Gianna breathed in disbelief.

We stopped right at the front door.

“It’s our house, rosa mia.” I looked down at her and saw tears clouding her eyes. “Are you upset? I’m sorry. If you want a say, you can change anything you want, or fuck, if you hate it, we can sell it and buy something else. Maybe you would prefer your apartment again downtown. I can—”

Her arms reached up and around my neck, pulling me down so that her salty lips kissed mine. She pulled away and looked up at me with an expression I didn’t quite understand.

“Elio, this is ours?” she asked.

I nodded, still unsure of her reaction.

“I love this so much.” She looked over at me again, tears starting to fall down her cheeks. “Please don’t ever stop doing stuff like this.” She pulled me in for a tight hug, and I could smell her intoxicating scent: white roses.

I smiled against her. “Come inside.” Eager, I grabbed her hand and led her through the front door.

Entering the house, we were greeted by an open-concept living area, where the soft hues of blue and white dominated the decor. The coastal theme continued throughout the interior, with nautical-inspired accents and rustic furnishings that exuded warmth and comfort. Inside were all the plants that she had sold to Tatum when she moved out of her apartment. Julian had brought them over earlier.

Every detail of the house’s renovation was thoughtfully planned to reflect the spirit of the house in Half Moon Bay, where we’d first discovered the depth of our love.

As I looked at Gianna, her eyes filled with awe and gratitude, I knew we had found our sanctuary in this little blue house by the sea.

Gianna walked over to the living room, where I’d had Julian set a roaring fire in the corner.

“Where is the photo of your family?” She looked at the empty walls.

“Which photo?”

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