Page 45 of Plus-Size Bratva Possession
“I liked taking it off you more.” His voice dropped lower, and the air between us grew heavy with tension.
I swallowed hard. “What are we doing, Gastone?”
He set down his fork, his expression turning thoughtful. “Having breakfast.”
“You know what I mean.”
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Does it need a label right now? Can't we just... enjoy it?”
I wanted to argue, to demand we talk about what this meant for us, for the bizarre situation we found ourselves in. But his suggestion was tempting. No labels, no expectations, just enjoyment. It had been a long time since I'd allowed myself that kind of freedom.
Besides, I didn’t want to think about the alternative. The thought of doing so made my head hurt because I, too, didn’t know where I stood on last night.
“I guess so,” I conceded, returning to my breakfast. “What's on your agenda today?”
He seemed relieved at the change of subject. “Meetings all morning. Got a shipment coming in that needs my attention. Carlo's been handling most of it, but there are details I need to oversee personally.”
I forced myself to maintain a casual tone. I couldn’t believe what was happening. Gastone had cooked for me, and now he was discussing his work over breakfast like it was no big deal. It felt…surreal. Calm. Peaceful.
I liked it, and I didn’t want this conversation to end.
“Import-export, right?” I asked.
He grinned. “Exactly. All very legitimate business.”
“Of course,” I nodded, playing along, but didn’t ask more. I didn’t want to push him too much, didn’t want to pry and put him on edge. I simply wanted to enjoy this moment between us.
“What about you? Any big plans?”
I shrugged, letting him change the subject again. “I might check out that art store I passed yesterday. Been a while since I painted.”
“You like to paint?” He seemed genuinely curious.
“Love it. Always have. My brothers used to tease me about it—Elena, thinking she’s the next Picasso.” I smiled at the memory. “But painting is a great escape when you grow up mostly indoors.”
“What do you paint?”
“Everything. Oils, watercolors, palettes. I'm not picky. Neither am I good,” I snorted at the end.
“Well, you don’t have to be good at everything. Sometimes, you just have to enjoy a little something on the side, don’t you think?”
I watched him with a smile. “You’re right,” I nodded. “And I’d forgotten how much I loved to paint. Until now. It’s a good time to pick it up.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah,” I explained. “I mean, when I graduated from college, I started working on the legitimate side of things. I worked so damn hard, harder than most in the office. I felt like I needed to prove something. But along the way, I lost track of my hobbies. That’s sad, isn’t it?”
“A little,” he nodded. “Hobbies feed the soul. I try to keep up with mine.”
I quirked my eyebrow in his direction.
“Try not to look so shocked,” he drawled. “I do have hobbies beyond terrorizing the Lebedevs.”
I laughed despite myself. “Good to know.”
He glanced at his watch and frowned. “I need to get going.” His eyes traveled over me again, lingering on my bare legs. “Though I'm tempted to call in sick.”
My body responded to his look, warming from the inside out. “Tempting,” I agreed, “but I do actually want to check out that store.”
