Page 50 of Serenity
“Bee, this is the sitting room. The rest of the house is upstairs.”
Grabbing the luggage, he smirked and led me to a staircase tucked away from everything.
The peach staircase opened to an even airier space above. I wasted no time roaming around the interior. Rife with neutral furniture, it was accented with colorful pillows. Vibrant paintings of the Italian Riviera adorned the walls.
A sizeable arched glass door was open on the far end of the living room, permitting a breeze to blow through the sheer white curtains that hung above. The door opened to a terrazzino lined with vibrant red begonias. A view of the city further complemented the design. I closed my eyes and clung to the sensation as my hands clung to the balcony. A melody of peace rang through the air. Everything was absolutely perfect.
Returning inside, I set my sights on the kitchen. Colorful mosaic tile embellished the modern space with peach cabinets and deep green cupboards.
Like a dream, everything was magical, serene, and unforeseen. Everything was picturesque. I couldn’t have asked for more.
“If you don’t like it, I have a reservation on standby.” From behind, Duke made the suggestion.
Inhaling smog-free air flavored with freedom, my eyes closed. Turning around, I exhaled and smiled for the fucking umpteenth time, decimating the few feet that kept me distant from Duke.
“It’s perfect, baby.” With my arms leisurely wrapped around him, I leaked of contentment. “I love it.”
“You ain’t even seen the room yet,” he frowned.
Hand in hand, Duke led me to the bedroom. No distinct bold colors claimed the resting space. Again, all-white furniture coated the room with pine accents and driftwood on the dresser. The placid vibe reminded me of the ocean. A set of large windows lined a single wall, offering more views of Portofino and the Italian Riviera. Peculiarly, a freestanding tub rested in the corner of the room on an elevated platform. The actual bathroom was in a separate space on the opposite side of the room with a walk-in shower.
Immediately, I headed there to relieve myself.
I hated this. Hated feeling like such a simple bitch. Hated being so easily impressed by him. Hated giving in so easily to him. Still, it was what my heart had ached for. The calm. The ease. The relaxation I often served up to people on a platter with my spa but couldn’t locate it for myself.
Tears. So many of them fell from my eyes as I tinkled. Happy tears. They freed themselves, unsanctioned and uncaring of who saw. Unable to help myself, my sniffles became audible. In an instant, Duke had joined me in the bathroom and was by my side, stooped down in front of the toilet, with my head in his hands. I wanted to be embarrassed that he’d seen me so vulnerable and on a toilet, no less, but I wasn’t. Being in his presence felt so organic. So authentic.
“What’s wrong, Bee?” His brows endeavored to connect, attesting to his confusion.
Midstream, I sniffed, shaking my head from left to right. A sucker for sweetness, I puckered my lips. He didn’t disappoint. He met my need for physical touch while wiping my tears.
“I’m overwhelmed, Duke. This is so much more than I could have ever expected.”
“A nigga has never taken you out of the country?”
“Not like this. Not to make one of my dreams come to fruition.”
“So, to be clear, these are happy tears?” Concern colored his not-quite-hazel eyes.
“Mmh hmm.” I nodded, finishing up on the toilet, wiping, and flushing.
“Okay. I’ll be in the room,” Duke announced, leaving me to recollect myself.
It took me several minutes to locate my composure. In the mirror, I patted my face with cool water to alleviate the puffiness. In the short month I’d been acquainted with Duke, he’d muddled my thoughts and quickened my heart. Upon return to the bedroom, I found him stretched out across the bed, shoes still on, snoring. A sight that caused my face to fracture into a smile. Shaking my head, I moved toward his feet, removing Ferragamo loafers.
At only a quarter past noon in Italy, I figured he could use our excess time for rest. As he slept, I showered, rinsing the funk of travel from my body, and stood in the generous white towel covering my limbs.
The realization hit me that I had nothing to wear. On the plane, Duke was prepared with a set of leggings and a Demure t-shirt for me to throw on. Recalling the two suitcases he’d hauled from the car earlier, I moved toward them in the living room.
The breeze from the open window was bountiful, and the sun from high noon was warm and bright, further illuminating the colorful interior of the house. The views overlooking the water added to it all. They were a maraschino cherry atop a Sundae.
It felt like a scene from an independent film. Italian sparrows chirped away a song similar to the dialect of the natives. The sound of romance, the sensual language, floated through the air as men and women alike shared the tongue and bickered back and forth. Pleasant and gentle in melody, the cadence was. They could have been cursing one another out, but it still sounded like one of the sweetest things I’d ever heard. Paired with Duke’s unruly snores, Portofino sounded like a slice of Heaven.
My damp feet carried me to the luggage, where I kneeled in place and unzipped the bag. Men’s tees, shorts, and jeans lined the inside. Rezipping it, I moved to the other suitcase. Opening it revealed several midi dresses courtesy of Demure, Dior, and Prada. Duke had ensured I wasn’t without. For the consideration and extra mile he’d gone, my heart was overflowing. Settling for a flowy white linen Demure dress, I pulled it over my limbs, musing over how perfectly it fit.
Tucked in the zippered section of the luggage, I located lace and mesh panties along with bras. Achy nipples encouraged me not to bother with a pesky bra. Sensing a looming period, I slid on underwear and smiled at how pretty the undergarment was.
In another section of the luggage were a couple of shoes and sandals for me to choose from. The selection caused further internal praise of the man lying unconscious on the bed. His sense of style was immaculate, as was his thoughtfulness. Never had I been regarded by anyone outside of family –man or woman– so thoroughly. From the grouping of shoes, I chose a pair of brown sandals that matched my Louis bag.