Page 76 of Double Trouble for the Mafia Prince
He gives me that slow smirk—less arrogant than usual, more curious, like he’s not sure what to do with what just happened either.
"Something sweeter," he says, and disappears.
I expect him to be gone long enough for me to be half-asleep, but he’s back ten minutes later with a plate full of warm brownies dark as night, ice cream melting in rivulets down their sides.
He sets the tray on the nightstand and sinks beside me again, this time not to devour, but to share.
"You trying to bribe me?" I ask, picking up a spoon.
He shrugs. "Worked on me. Figured it might work on you, too."
I take a bite.
Rich, warm, decadent.
My eyes flutter shut.
"All right. Maybe you’re not completely useless."
"High praise from the mother of my children."
I snort and hand him the spoon.
"Don’t get used to it."
We sit like that for a while, sharing from the same plate, bodies close but not quite tangled, voices soft.
He tells me about a night years ago when he and Marco ended up handcuffed to a marble statue in Venice, the kind of trouble only rich boys and unlimited vodka could summon.
I remind him of the first time we met.
"I remember thinking you were a fucking menace," he says around a mouthful of brownie.
"Only because I was right."
"No," he says, wiping the corner of my mouth with his thumb. "Because you made me nervous."
I go quiet at that, not expecting the honesty.
I take another bite to avoid replying too quickly, but the warmth isn’t just from the chocolate now.
"I never thought we’d end up here," I admit softly. "Married. In bed. Full of sugar and…other things."
He leans back on one elbow, eyes still on mine.
"Yeah, well, we’re good at improvising."
The moment stretches.
My heart beats just a little too fast.
"It’s not too bad this way," I murmur, the words slipping out before I can pull them back.
He stills.
His brows lift slightly, like he’s unsure if I meant to say it aloud.
I swallow.
