Harlow smirks, amusement flickering in her tone. “You say that every time you sit down to eat.” She helps him choose what he wants, placing food onto his plate.
A constricting sensation winds through me as I watch my wife tend to my son.
Mattia simply shrugs. “That’s because I always mean it.”
Leonardo chuckles. “I’ve heard you took the yacht out today. Did you all enjoy your time on the water?”
Mattia nods enthusiastically. “It was the best. I even convinced Harlow to get in the water. She can’t swim, you know.”
Leonardo arches a brow while Mario watches, vaguely amused.
Harlow fixes Mattia with a gaze that all but promises retribution. “You just love exposing my weaknesses, don’t you?”
Mattia grins, utterly unbothered. “Only because it’s funny.”
“You think drowning is funny?” she challenges.
“I think watching papa carry you into the water was.”
Leonardo lets out a rich laugh while Mario smirks. I observe Harlow’s irritation, perilously close to amusement myself.
“You’ll learn,” I say. “In this family, weakness is just something to be trained out of you.”
Her gaze cuts to mine. “Then you’ll be sorely disappointed.”
I lean forward slightly. “We’ll see about that, won’t we?”
A brief silence lingers before Leonardo leans back in his chair, stretching out lazily. “I can teach you to swim. We have the pool, and I’ve got plenty of free time these days.”
The words slip out before I can stop them. “Like hell you will.”
He smirks, deliberately ignoring me, which only makes my fists tighten. “Harlow, what do you say?”
Before she can answer, I cut in. “By the time I’m done with you tomorrow, the only water you’ll see is the sweat dripping down your face.” I smirk as Leo groans, though laughter rumbles from him.
“Well,” he sighs, dragging a hand through his hair, “if nothing else, this dinner has been entertaining.”
Mario chuckles darkly. “Aren’t they always?”
The meal continues, and soon, dessert is brought out—tiramisu, rich and decadent. The conversation shifts, taking on an easier, more reflective tone.
Leo exhales, settling back in his chair. “This was nice,” he admits, almost as if the thought surprises him.
“Yes,” Harlow murmurs. “It was.”
Later, when we retire for the night, I lay beside my wife in our bed, the dim glow casting soft shadows between us. The air has shifted, calmer now, more settled.
“Tomorrow,” I begin, my voice low. “Be ready at seven. We have a gala to attend, so find yourself something appropriate. Indulge.” I pause for a second, and then add, “Better yet, take the day, have a spa treatment, buy whatever you please. But understand this, you are not to stray from your security detail. Not even for a moment.”
She arches a brow, a silent challenge. “Are you asking or telling me?”
A slow, arrogant smirk tugs at my lips. “You’re free to do as you please leonessa, so long as it’s exactly what I told you to do.”
Chapter 25
Harlow
My husband hadn’t lied when he said his words weren’t a request, they were a demand.