Exclusively His

15: Your Woman

I rushed into the entrance of the hotel, escorted into the hotel offices. Those bloody paparazzi's never stopped. So, apparently I have been living under a rock, given that Marcus Bianchi, aka my boyfriend but not officially is one of the richest billionaires in the world. He inherited from his late grandfather's death when he was only nineteen, now he is twenty two, and I'm still eighteen, so even though he is four years older then me, he is still appealing to me, as am I to him.

People must've seen us together in Hawaii and a few weeks ago, on our very steamy second date, so now I am reportedly, his girlfriend in the media. I'm definitely not complaining, but these paparazzi's are so pesky that they won't stop following me around.

The office doors swing open, and Marcus enters.

"Morning, babe," He greets me, tiredly.

I raise an eyebrow at him. "Morning, you seem tired today. Did you not sleep well?"

He wraps his big, rugged arms around me, pouting. "No, I didn't, bambina. I was missing you too much."

"Aww, really?" I giggled, embracing him.

Achilles interrupted us as he walked into the room. We break away immediately as he greets us. Marcus and I discussed the points and made notes. All I have to do now is type up the final draft and submit it to Marcus and Achilles.

"Marcus, I'm assuming you've discussed all the pointers for our deal with Zafrina?" Achilles asked, unsure.

Marcus cleared his throat. "Yes Sir, of course,"

"I must say, Marcus Bianchi," Achilles continued. "In all my years of dealing with partners, such as yourself, one has never needed so much time to discuss points."

I flushed slightly. "Pop pop, we didn't me-"

Achilles interrupted me. "Outside the office, you two may continue whatever...relationship you have, but I don't expect to see the two of you attempting to have sex in my workplace, is that clear?"

Marcus and I looked at each other before nodding.

"I was once young too, children," He grinned as he walked out.

I gasped, shocked as I turned to face Marcus. As he held me in his embrace once again, I couldn't help but smile. I placed both hands on his chest as our eyes met. Once again, his eyes are the colour of warm honey.

They say the eyes are the windows to the soul. One may easily be able to hide their emotions, but you could never hide your emotions through your eyes: fear, anguish, love and hurt. These emotions not only displayed themselves in facial expressions, but in the eyes: whether it be the colour change, or the tears that are produced there.

When looking into one's eyes, you can see how every emotion comes together, how every bit of fear and every bit of happiness appears the same before your eyes. The eyes are like a canvas, the artist, one's heart. It forms a picture to who someone really is, and it is so truthful.

It makes me wonder. When people go through something traumatic, they end up putting up walls, or attaching a mask to their faces, but we never notice how every wall has a door, and every mask, an opening. These doorways, these openings are like a pathway to the truth.

And right now, when I looked into his eyes, all I could see the stars and a world of euphoria.

But then, anxiety overtook me. Isn't it funny, how one moment you can be so sure of what you want from life, but so unsure the next? I guess that's the beauty of life, it always keeps you guessing, it is always unpredictable, and it will come at you, no matter how wealthy you are, and what your status in life is.

His dark eyebrows furrowed. "Hey, what's wrong, il mi amore?"

I bit my lip, nervously. "Marcus, am I your woman now?"

He brought my face closer, stroking my cheek with his fingers.

"I hope you are, I'd like you to be," He chuckled. "I can't seem to stop thinking about you. Would you like to be my woman, officially?"

A smile escaped my mouth. "Please?" I begged.

"Caro signore, woman, did you just beg?" He asked, in a low voice and that famous, cheeky grin of his. "That sounded so sexy, you should do it again,"

I squealed, as I covered my mouth with both hands and giggled. "Oh, Mr. Bianchi, what a dirty mind you have!"

His deep voice echoed in fits of laughter.

"Of course you can be my woman," He spoke. "Non c'è altra donna che preferirei stare con, allora si."

there's no other woman I would rather be with, then you.