RILEY
The next few days fly by. Work is going okay. I'm doing a story on an interesting new artist collaborative in the city, and Cath has helped connect me with all sorts of new and interesting sources.
Then, my editor mentioned that he's nominating a story I wrote on a homicide earlier in the year to a big award.
Gabriel and I have been tentatively getting to know each other again. I'd assumed we'd slip back into our old routine — dining poolside at his house, going out on the boat after work, planning to attend parties — but he's been more deliberate. More attentive. He's sent me flowers. He's directed his men to take my car for a wash.
He's also bought me a new, rare, and wildly expensive Birkin bag. I didn't even tell him I wanted one — a giant box showed up in the newsroom. When I opened it, every woman was jealous.
On Monday he made sure we went out to a new steakhouse. On Wednesday, he took us to a movie in a park downtown. He'd even brought a basket with a blanket, wine, and snacks. It was adorable. We've been talking about me meeting his father, but he says he needs a little time to arrange that.
Tonight, it's Friday, and he's invited me over.
We still haven't had sex. The day he asked me to marry him, I was so overcome by the question that we'd stopped fooling around so I could grill him on whether he actually wanted to get married.
He insisted, and continues to insist, that the answer is yes. And you know what? I believe him.
On the nights we've seen each other this week, he's taken me home, kissed me deeply and said goodnight and goodbye (while leaving a bodyguard outside my door, of course).
This has left me confused and horny, honestly.
I pull up to Gabriel's house. Lights twinkle through the windows, casting a warm, golden glow onto the stone path leading to the entrance. My heart flutters erratically, a chaotic mix of anticipation and nerves fluttering within me. I'm so happy we've gotten back together.
As I knock on the front door, the evening breeze kisses my skin. It's been stupidly hot this summer, but tonight is a brief reprieve. It's a gorgeous night, honestly, and the sun is casting sherbet shadows on the beautiful house. I'm looking forward to sitting on the terrace with a cocktail next to him. A tranquil night with the man I love.
The door swings open to reveal Gabriel. It's a surprise, because usually Andre answers.
Gabriel's grinning, wearing shorts and a T-shirt — and a dark blue apron over his clothes. I spy a streak of flour. The scent of garlic and rosemary hits my nose and my stomach immediately rumbles.
"Cara mia," he says in a Gomez Addams voice.
He draws me close and kisses my neck. I giggle in response.
With a gentle touch on the small of my back, he ushers me inside. Soft music whispers from hidden speakers, enveloping us in a cocoon of romance that feels like a comforting embrace.
He leads me to the kitchen. It's a delightful chaos, a charming mess of flour dusting the countertops. Pots and pans are nestled haphazardly, and a whirlwind of ingredients are scattered across every available surface.
I burst out laughing. "What's all this?"
Despite the chaos, the air sings with the aroma of simmering sauces, freshly baked bread, and the tantalizing scent of spices infusing the air. With a playful smile, he gestures proudly at the culinary creations.
"Took today off. I've been cooking all day," he murmurs, his voice husky and dripping with affection. "I wanted tonight to be special, to celebrate us. My dad's at his, ah, friend's house this evening."
"Did you kick him out so we could have alone time?" I reach for a stray pepperoncini and pop it in my mouth. The spicy pepper makes my eyes water.
"Yes, that. And so I could have the house to myself for the day. He's handful." He lets out a sigh. His relationship with his father is complicated, and I don't need to know more right now. Having a similar situation with my own father gives me empathy for what he's going through.
"This looks incredible," I say.
Gabriel's cooked for us before. I know his beloved Nonna taught him several Italian dishes from the old country. But he's never gone to these lengths before.
"I even went to that special Italian market across the bay, the one I try to avoid," he grins while slipping on an oven mitt.
The sight is so pure and wholesome — a muscular, Italian mafioso in a messy kitchen — that I can only smile.
"Listen, the tiramisu is almost finished. Why don't you go into the conservatory and wait for me? That's where we'll be eating."
"Oh! Not the dining room?" The conservatory — a room I didn't even know the name for prior to meeting Gabriel — is on the far end of the house. It has stunning glass walls and overlooks a beautiful tropical garden.
"I thought the dining room was too dark and held too much history. I want to make new history with you." He smiles shyly, and for the first time, I notice a bit of perspiration on his forehead.
It is warm in here from the oven, so I kiss him and head to the conservatory.
I gasp a little when I see the room. It's been redecorated since I last saw it, with plants and a beautiful gold-and-beige color scheme. In the middle is a table.
That in itself is a sight to behold, a canvas adorned with flickering candles and delicate jasmine flowers, and an array of tantalizing dishes. He's really gone all out, and I suspect he's had this room redecorated because of tonight.
"We begin with antipasto." Gabriel sweeps into the room, carrying a charcuterie board of cured meats, cheeses, olives, and marinated vegetables.
He pulls out my chair and we sit, digging into the delicious food.
Each bite explodes with flavor, a sensory delight that dances on my palate. As we indulge in the appetizers, Gabriel and I chat about our day. He's excited to hear about the award nomination.
When we're done, he brings out the primo piatto, a fragrant plate of homemade pasta adorned in a luscious tomato and basil sauce. The pasta, cooked to perfection, elicits a sigh of pleasure as it melts in my mouth.
"You've outdone yourself," I tell him. "This is the best you've ever made. The best I've ever had."
I moan a little and worry that I'm making soft snorting noises because the food is just that good.
"I'm getting full," I say as he clears the table.
"Pace yourself." He grins wickedly and brings out the secondo piatto.
I clap when I see the impressive spread. "Good thing I didn't eat much today.
The tender lamb dissolves on my tongue, accompanied by roasted potatoes and a medley of seasonal vegetables. Each dish is a testament to Gabriel's dedication in crafting a flawless evening.
"I'm so impressed," I gush. "I'm marrying a man who can cook."
Something flickers in his eyes at that remark. I'm not sure if it's fear or hesitation, or, like me, the shock we're getting married.
Then, dessert makes its grand entrance—a decadent tiramisu, layers of mascarpone and espresso-soaked ladyfingers, a sinful indulgence. The sweetness lingers on my lips, intertwining with the thoughts swirling in my mind. He also brings out small demitasse cups of espresso.
With the last morsel savored and plates cleared, Gabriel takes my hand in his, his gaze unyielding yet gentle.
"Riley, my love, my partner, cara mia," he begins, his voice soft but resolute. "Being with you has made me realize how hollow my life used to be. You've made my life complete. You are my beacon in the darkness, the one who sees beyond the shadows."
A mix of emotions swirl within me—love, uncertainty, and a foreboding sense of the life awaiting me as a mafia wife. But beneath the soft glow of candlelight, I focus on what's important.
Him.
He kneels, a small velvet box in hand, revealing a dazzling, giant diamond. I gasp.
"Riley, will you marry me?" His voice trembles with emotion, eyes locked onto mine, awaiting my response.
My heart swells with affection, thoughts racing through the uncertainties of the future. But as I gaze into Gabriel's earnest eyes, I know that despite the dangers, the love we share outweighs the risks. I can barely speak, I'm so overcome with emotion.
Tears brim in my eyes as I nod, unable to voice amidst the rush of feelings. Gabriel's smile widens, eyes shimmering with joy and relief as he slips the ring onto my finger, sealing our fate together.
We kiss, slow and sensual. Then he pulls back and chuckles ruefully while sniffling a little. "I'm sorry, I'm so nervous. I've been sweating like a nun in church all throughout dinner. I don't know if you noticed."
I did, but won't tell him that. "Were you worried I'd say no?"
"Maybe a little," he says softly. His eyes are... watering? Is he crying? "That would've killed me."
"I can never say no to you." I reach for him, and he hoists me into his arms.
In that moment, amidst the lingering aroma of dinner and the promise of a life tangled with peril, I cling to the love anchoring us, trusting that with Gabriel by my side, I'll navigate the treacherous waters ahead.