The scent of rich espresso curls through the air before you even open your eyes.

Morning light spills through the sheer curtains, golden and warm as it dances across the silk sheets tangled around your legs. Alex’s side of the bed is empty but still faintly warm.

From the kitchen comes the soft clink of dishes and the low hum of an old Italian love song.

He’s singing under his breath—deep, effortless, a little off-key in the most endearing way.

You slip out of bed and pad barefoot toward the sound, wearing only his white button-down, the sleeves brushing your fingertips.

The marble tiles are cool beneath your feet.

He’s at the stove, shirtless, morning light catching the curve of his back and the ink on his skin.

When he hears you, he turns slightly, a slow smile spreading across his face.

“Buongiorno, bella,” he says, eyes warm and wicked. “I made your favorite.”

You wrap your arms around his waist, resting your cheek against his back. “You always do,” you murmur.

He sets the spatula down and turns, lifting your chin.

“Because I love spoiling you,” he says simply, before kissing you—slow, unhurried, like there’s nowhere else to be.