𝘚𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘺.
The woman of impeccable beauty was the infinite definition of her name. Calm and poise.
Born into a violent life of guns and knives, you would assume a Mafia Princess like her would be training and preparing to be the next heir...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
♡♡♡
In reality, I never expected my dreams to come true. But here we were, sitting in a car with Silver, silently playing with the hand that had been inside of me only an hour before.
Tattoos lingered up his covered-up arm; I refrained from lifting the sleeve and inspecting each tattoo.
After our little...moment, Silver helped me clean up—well, basically did it all for me and I, still caught up in a daze embarrassingly watched. It wasn't awkward after, our conversation was as normal as ever and I felt even happier.
We sat watching the shore for a while, my mind dazed and he seemed to be as well. And then after that, we packed up and took our dried canvases—although I hadn't shown him my painting of him yet, and neither have I seen his.
"How about we reveal our paintings at a certain time? Today next month?" I suggest, circling the lines on his large palm. Slowly pulling up to a red light, Silver faces me and raises a brow.
"Can you tame your impatience?"
I scowl at him.
"Yes," I murmur, flipping his hand over and spreading his fingers against my thigh, tracing my finger in between them. "You're still coming for the tour right?" I look over his expressionless face, relieving a sigh when he nods.
"You left your whale drawing at my house that day," Strangely looking at him, my brows bunch in confusion.
Speeding down the road, I hold onto his hand tightly and face him with a racing heart, waiting for his response.
"The day we met...officially, you had left the picture of the whale you were colouring."
Oh.
He remembered.
"I kept it, 'thought you'd want it back one day." With his free hand, he reached into his pocket and picked out a neatly folded piece of paper.
His hand sticks out in front of me, and with a heavy heart, I take it.
When I unfolded the unwrinkled paper, I was met with a colourful but horribly coloured-in whale picture. The exact picture I was colouring inside his Italian home on the day we met.
"Oh, wow," I laugh, shaking my head at the drawing, "My skills back then were just suitable for a seven-year-old."
Silver chuckles as well, running his hand up and down my thigh while driving down the empty roads.
"Yeah, I thought you were a little crazy to put so much effort into your colouring, all those precise colours..." I playfully glared at him, and he smiles down at me genuinely, picking up the beats of my heart.
"You haven't changed," He adds and I frown slightly at the realisation—not that I haven't changed, but he had. He was colder now, not as lively and happy. I wondered what had changed.
