Page 37 of Forsaken Promises

I flash her my most charming grin, the one that never fails to melt even the coldest of hearts. “Maria, my love,” I say, laying it on thickly, “I need a favor from the most beautiful and talented cook in all of Italy.”

She swats at me with her kitchen towel, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Flattery will get you nowhere with me, boy,” she scolds, but I can tell she’s already softening. “What is it you want?”

I lean in conspiratorially, lowering my voice as if sharing a secret. “I want to surprise my lovely bride with breakfast in bed,” I tell her. “Do you think you could help me put together a tray of her favorite foods?”

Maria’s face softens, her eyes growing misty with emotion. “Ah, young love,” she sighs, wiping her hands on her apron. “Of course I will help you, Dominico. Anything for the newSignoraSicura.”

She sets to work, piling a tray high with freshly baked pastries, slices of ripe fruit, some whipped cream, and a steaming pot of coffee. As she works, she regales me with stories of her own courtship and marriage, her voice growing wistful with memories.

“You know, the best way to any woman’s heart is through her stomach,” she tells me, wagging a finger in my direction. “Feed her well, and she will love you forever.”

I laugh, feeling a surge of affection for this woman who has been like a second mother to me all these years. “I will keep that in mind, Maria,” I tell her, leaning in to press a kiss to her weathered cheek. “Thank you for your wisdom, and for your help.”

She waves me off, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Go on, now,” she says, shooing me toward the door. “Go woo your bride, and may God have mercy on her soul for putting up with you.”

I grin, grabbing the tray and heading back toward the stairs. As I climb, I say a silent prayer of thanks that I haven’t run into any of my family members yet. I’m not ready to face their questions or their knowing looks—especially from Valentina. She would never let me live this down.

Right now, all I want is to focus on Sofia, on showing her how much I care, how much I want to make this marriage work.

And if that means starting with something as simple as breakfast in bed? Then so be it.

I carefully balance the tray as I nudge open the bedroom door, my heart pounding with anticipation and nervousness. Sofia is still asleep, her dark hair fanned out across the pillow and her face relaxed.

For a moment, I simply stand there, drinking in the sight of her. She looks so beautiful, so innocent and unguarded, that it takes my breath away. But I know I can’t let myself get lost in the moment, not if I want to make this plan work.

I set the tray down on the bedside table and gently sit on the edge of the bed. “Sofia,” I murmur, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her face. “Wake up, sleepyhead.”

She stirs, her eyes fluttering open and then widening in surprise as she takes in the sight of me hovering over her. “Dom?” she asks, her voice husky with sleep. “What's going on?”

I gesture to the tray with a flourish, a hopeful smile tugging at my lips. “I brought you breakfast in bed,” I tell her. “All your favorite foods, just the way you like them.”

Sofia sits up, her expression wary and guarded. I can see the wheels turning in her head, trying to figure out my angle, my ulterior motive. But as her gaze falls on the tray, taking in the spread of fresh pastries, ripe fruit, whipped cream, and steaming coffee, I can see a flicker of something else in her eyes.

Something that looks almost like… pleasure.

“You remembered,”she murmurs, reaching out to pluck a strawberry from the bowl. “All my favorite things.”

I nod, feeling a rush of hope and excitement. “Of course I did,” I tell her. “I could never forget anything about you, Sofia. You're too important to me.”

She looks up at me then, her eyes searching mine for any hint of deception or insincerity, but all she finds is raw, honest emotion, a vulnerability that I rarely let anyone see.

Slowly, hesitantly, she takes a bite of the strawberry, her lips closing around the ripe fruit in a way that makes my heart race and my blood heat. I watch, transfixed, as a drop of juice escapes and rolls down her chin, leaving a glistening trail in its wake.

Without thinking, I reach out and swipe it away with my thumb, bringing it to my own lips to taste the sweetness of her skin mingled with the tart burst of the berry. Sofia’s breath hitches, her eyes darkening with a heat that I know all too well.

Emboldened by her response, I pick up another strawberry, dipping it in the bowl of whipped cream before holding it up to her lips. “Open up,” I murmur, my voice low and husky.

She does, her tongue darting out to lick at the cream before taking the whole berry into her mouth. I groan at the sight, at the way her lips close around my fingers and the soft, wet heat of her mouth.

Before I know it, I'm leaning in, my own mouth chasing the taste of her. I kiss her deeply, hungrily, the flavors of strawberries and cream and Sofia mingling on my tongue in a heady, intoxicating rush.

She responds instantly, her arms coming up to wrap around my neck and pull me closer. I lower her back down to the bed, my body covering hers as the kiss turns heated, desperate.

I trail my lips down her neck, her collarbone, my tongue lapping at her skin as I go. I paint her body with whipped cream and fruit, worshiping her with my mouth until she's writhing beneath me, her hands fisted in my hair and her moans filling the air.

As I finally sink into her warm, welcoming heat, as I lose myself in the pleasure and passion of our joining, I know that this is just the beginning.

It’s the first step on the path to winning her heart, to proving to her that my love is real and true and unending.

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