His Mafia Queen

Domestic Bliss, Part I

RILEY

"Do we really need all this stuff?" Now that we're in the city's nicest department store, I'm not so sure.

He takes my hand, his warm palm enveloping mine.

"We don't need anything except each other, beautiful," he says, bringing my hand to his lips for a kiss. My insides turn to mush at his words. No matter where we are and what we're doing, this man still gives me butterflies. The fact that not only wants to be here but is entertaining all of my wild ideas I've been chattering about nonstop — like redecorating the living room — is shocking, but here we are.

"But if people want to buy us presents, we may as well point them in the right direction."

I laugh. "Speaking of directions, I have no idea where to even start." The store is massive, spanning two floors, with everything from linens to lemon squeezers.

"This way, I think." Gabriel steers us confidently toward the home goods section. Soon we're wandering aisles filled with gleaming appliances, colorful textiles, and endless culinary gadgets. My eyes widen at a top-of-the-line espresso maker.

"Ooh, you need this for your office!"

Gabriel chuckles. "We have two of those already, plus the one I bought for your condo."

"Oh. Right." I bite my lip. Sometimes I forget just how wealthy he is. As we check out a tablet for controlling smart home devices, I nudge him playfully. "Is there anything you don't already have?"

"You," he murmurs, his hazel eyes smoldering. "But that will happen soon. Why are we shopping when we don't have a wedding date?"

I pause to wrap my arms around his neck. "Next June?"

He scrunches up his face. "That's eleven months."

"A Christmas wedding?"

"Hmm." He reaches around me and rubs my back. "That could work. You'd be mine quicker, so I like that idea."

"Smooth talker." I flush with pleasure. Gabriel takes every opportunity to remind me I'm the only thing he needs to be happy. I rise onto my tiptoes to kiss his cheek, which is dusted with dark stubble.

Wandering the seemingly endless store, I'm overwhelmed by the shiny displays and seemingly endless choices. I didn't grow up with this kind of luxury. Hell, my mom was thrilled to be able to shop at Walmart and not the Dollar Store on the rare occasions when my dad brought home a regular paycheck.

The bright lighting glints off shiny appliances packed with more buttons and settings than I can fathom. My sandals give off a muted sound as I pad on the polished wood floors. The faint scents of cinnamon and vanilla tempt me toward the gourmet food section. Gabriel's sturdy hand envelops mine, his thumb rubbing soothing circles, keeping me anchored amidst the opulence. I squeeze back gently, reminding myself I already have everything I need right here beside me.

We browse through food processors and specialty wine aerators, debating the merits of each. Gabriel is surprisingly knowledgeable about culinary gadgets.

But I know my muscular, pasta-loving man couldn't care less about fancy kitchen tools. This whole wedding registry thing seems silly. Gabriel is right. All we need is each other.

Still, I'm loving this day of domestic bliss. I never dreamed I'd be nesting, playing house, with a man like him.

As we pass gleaming silver and china patterns, I halt. "Should we be picking out stuff like this too?"

Gabriel shakes his head. "I want you to have whatever you like, but I say we keep things simple. I've got stacks of china from my mother, and my grandmother. One set is from the nineteenth century, from Italy. But," he says, raising an eyebrow, "I suggest we do go buy one thing."