'The lost city of Atlantis once existed', 'Aliens are walking among us'. 𝒁𝒂𝒓𝒂 believes in all. But Mafia in the 21st century is a MYTH.
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𝑮𝒊𝒂𝒏 𝑨𝒓𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒊, the underboss of the organized crime family Cosa Nostra, meets a kindergarten te...
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Monday morning I dressed Van Gogh in a little waistcoat, It was black with white asymmetrical patterns like my dress. When I showed him the mirror he smiled at his reflection. As I opened the front door a soft gasp escaped from my mouth. Gian was waiting outside, waiting for me. He was wearing a dark brown 3 piece suit, his hair was carefully brushed back from his face. And I had an urge to ruffle it the way I want, falling on his forehead carelessly.
A smile tugged on Gian's lips when he saw me approach.
"Give that to me." he said in his husky voice. I almost gasped in shock, then I realized he is talking about my handbag. Not Van Gogh, Gian is yet to hold him. I huffed giving him a head shake.
"No, it's okay, Gian." I wave him off, going forth.
"It's heavy. Those straps are fucking straining, Principessa." He called after me.
"Not to me." I answer, my brows puckered to see his car parked on the street. It is difficult not to see it. The same goes for everyone else, who are turning back to get a second astonishing look at his car.
"Your chariot awaits," he asserts, noticing my line of sight. "It pains me to see you walk on those high heels and that heavy handbag every day." His gaze flickered between my heels and my handbag like it's an annoyance to him.
"I was born with a pair of heels and a handbag." I chuckle, kissing his lips sweetly. My smile fell when he didn't kiss me back and instead scanned our surroundings. Like there could be paparazzi camouflaging behind the row of trees. My cheeks burned in embarrassment over his small rejection.
Swallowing my hurt feelings, I climbed inside the car, closing the door before he could reach it. I have never considered how he feels about PDA. Because before him I had looked down on couples kissing in public. Deep down I knew the envious side of me was responsible for my held back.
Neither of us speaks when Gian came inside and I managed to avoid eye contact by focusing solely on Van Gogh. When the alley where Edward stays came I asked Gian to pull over. Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, he gave me one of his sexy smirks. But I was a little disappointed and confused from earlier so I chose not to respond to that.
"You'll see, Zara. That's why we are going early." He said merely, bringing his attention back on the road. Like a stubborn kid, I crossed my arms over my chest. Reading in my frustration Van Gogh barked at Gian, who just chuckled in response.
Upon reaching Pumpkin Patch, I didn't want to wait for Gian to open the door for me. But he quickly rounded the car while I was just preparing to hold Van Gogh and my handbag to leave. I still don't know how can he be so swift like a ballerina with a towering height and a body full of muscles.
When I climbed out Gian didn't give me room to leave and caged me between his arms, a startled gasp released from my mouth. My back was pressed between him and the cold metal of his car. So I jut my chin at him and smile as though nothing happened. I don't want him to know that his lack of response has thrown me off the rail and something so little has derailed my mood for the whole day. Like I didn't just live through a small heartbreak.
