Chapter 41
Chapter 41
VENUS
I sent a picture of my hand-ring and all-alongside the one Aaron and I took. Saying they came out lovely would be the understatement of the century. I forwarded it to Gianna and Jude with the caption:
> “A whole wifey p>
Yeah. Gianna’s going to murder me. But better she hears it from me before some tabloid sniffs out our Roman wedding. Not that they would. This is Rome-ancient ruins, yes. Nosy paparazzi? Not so much.
I showered, deciding today was the day I finally ventured out. I’d been holed up in luxury too long. A gilded cage was still a cage, no matter how fluffy the pillows.
After drying off, I slipped into a yellow sundress, let my hair down, and threw on sandals. Light. Breezy. Effortlessly pretty. The kind of outfit that says, “I’m here to live p>
Next stop: Aaron’s room.
Wherever that was.
I asked one of the cleaners. She smiled-knowingly-and gave me directions like she’d been waiting for this.
I knocked once.
Silence.
Twice.
Then the door yanked open.
Aaron stood there. Just boxers. Hair mussed. Eyes half-lidded.
Sin incarnate.
His abs, that infuriating V-line… my gaze did what it always does-trailed without shame.
“Venus?” His voice was rough, thick with sleep. His hair was a messy halo of black strands, like he’d just woken up from dreaming dark, wicked things.
Lord, help me.
“I want to go sightseeing,” I said, pretending my throat wasn’t dry. “You know, like hormal people do when they come to Rome p>
“Have fun.” He started to close the door. Oh no he didn’t.
I slapped my palm against it.
“I can’t go alone. What if I get lost p>
“I’ll call you a tourist p>
Smartass.
“No. I don’t want a tourist. I want you. Come with me p>
He stared at me like I was a pop-up ad that wouldn’t close.
“No, Venus. Now, if that’s all, can I go back to bed p>
“Please p>
“No p>
“Yes p>
“I have work p>
I stepped in without asking. “You have a wife now. Welcome to multitasking p>
His eyes narrowed, “Venus p>
I rose on my toes, voice syrupy and dangerous. “Aaron p>
He exhaled like a man surrendering to war.
“What exactly do you want to see p>
Successfully unlocked!
“Everything. Ruins. Art. Stray cats. Vespas. Cute alleys Arts you believe, might let you hold my gelato p>
He stared like he was mentally checking if murder was still illegal in Italy.
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Chapter 41
Then, with a low grumble that sounded like half a curse, half a prayer, he muttered:
“Give me ten minutes p>
“Thank youuu!” I beamed, skipping out.
Fifteen minutes later-black from head to toe-he emerged like he was attending a funeral.
Probably his own.
His single life’s.
God, I’m hilarious.
We headed out.
At the Colosseum, I posed dramatically. Aaron stood off to the side, giving bodyguard energy. At the Pantheon, I peppered him with questions just to mess with his broody silence.
“What do you think happens after death, husband?” I asked with mock seriousness.
Aaron didn’t even blink. “Taxes p>
I blinked back. “Taxes p>
He glanced at me, deadpan. “The government always finds a way. Even from the grave p>
At the Spanish Steps, I made him try cannoli.
“You’re impossible,” he muttered, powdered sugar dusting his lip.
“And yet,” I said, snapping a picture mid-bite, “you married me p>
He didn’t answer. But he didn’t walk away either.
And that was… something.
He knew a ridiculous amount about everything. Dates. Architecture. Art. His answers were clean, layered, and maddeningly impressive. I hated how much I liked it.
“Smile, husband,” I teased, aiming my phone for a selfie.
He gave me the flat, dead-eyed look of a man deeply regretting his life choices.
“You’re insane p>
“And yet p>
He sighed.
By the time we reached the Trevi Fountain, my feet were sore, my gelato had melted down my wrist, and Aaron-stoic, untouchable Aaron-was holding my bag like it was some divine Roman punishment for his sins.
The sight was too good. I snapped a picture before he could glare me into ashes.
“Make a wish,” I whispered, flicking a coin into the water.
He watched me, unreadable as ever.
“What’d you wish for?” he asked.
I smiled slow. “To survive three years without strangling you p>
His lips twitched.
A smile? Maybe. Maybe not.
But something shifted.
We ducked into a cozy little trait
for lunch, the kind that smelled like tomatoes, olive oil, and old family secrets. The
waiter handed us menus in Italian. I picked something that sounded vaguely edible.
When the bill came, I grabbed it.
“I’ll pay,” I said, pulling out his black card.
Aaron raised a brow. “My card p>
“I don’t have Euros, and I doubt they accept flirty grins as payment p>
He smirked. “Good luck p>
The waiter returned a few minutes later, card in hand.
“Mi dispiace,” he said. “Rejected p>
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My jaw dropped. “What p>
Aaron was trying so hard not to laugh.
“Guess we’re washing dishes,” I muttered.
“You can start with the glasses p>
“Rude p>
He handed over a different card. This one worked. Of course it did.
I narrowed my eyes. “You did that on purpose p>
“I paid for lunch. You tried to be slick p>
“You paid for both of us p>
“I know. I’m generous p>
I huffed. “You’re annoying p>
He sipped his wine, gaze amused. “And yet, you married me p>
Touché.
After lunch, we wandered into a tiny art gallery tucked behind ivy-covered walls. The paintings looked like they’d been made by people who’d loved too hard or broken too deeply. I caught Aaron staring at one too long.
“What are you thinking?” I asked softly.
He blinked, like surfacing from somewhere deep. “Didn’t think I’d enjoy this p>
“The painting?” I tilted my head.
He looked at me.
“The day p>
く
A beat passed. My heart might’ve skipped one.
“You’ve been here more than once,” I said, teasing. “Surely you’ve toured before p>
I shot him a smug smile. “Or is it my company, Mr. Sinclair p>
He didn’t rise to the bait. Not immediately.
“For work,” he said simply. “Never took the time to tour p>
“Well,” I murmured, brushing
Outside, the sun dipped lowy fingers against his, “lucky for you, your wife’s making up for all the lost time p>
casting the city in honeyed light.
“One more spot,” I said, tugging his arm.
“Venus p>
“Please p>
“You can’t even feel your feet p>
“I can totally feel-ow. Okay, fine. One more tomorrow. Deal p>
He nodded. “Deal p>
We walked back to the hotel, our shadows stretching long and lopsided across the Roman streets.
The silence between us wasn’t comfortable yet, but it wasn’t cold either. It felt like the hush of a page about to turn.
Maybe Aaron Sinclair didn’t entirely regret marrying me.
And maybe… I liked that way too much.
E
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Ruby Walker
Ruby Walker is a rising voice in the world of romance and spicy fiction. With a gift for weaving deep emotions, sizzling chemistry, and unexpected twists, her stories are a blend of passion and drama that captivate readers from start to finish. Ruby’s writing style is bold and irresistible—perfect for those who crave intense, addictive love stories.