You stood in the middle of your new shared penthouse, barefoot and holding a box labeled “kitchen” The scent of fresh paint lingered in the air, blending with the warm aroma of Enzo’s cologne, the one that always clung to his suits and your sweaters.

You heard the door click shut behind him as he entered, the soft thud of his designer shoes against the hardwood echoing down the hallway.

“I leave for twenty minutes to grab coffee and you’ve already opened four boxes?” Enzo teased, setting down the iced lattes on the counter.

You turned around, raising a brow. “I have a system.”

“Do you?” he grinned, slipping off his blazer and rolling up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt. “Because your system looks like disguised chaos.”

You stuck your tongue out at him and set the box down. “This place still doesn’t feel real.”

He walked over, wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, and rested his chin on your shoulder. “It will. Soon.”

You leaned into him instinctively. His presence was grounding, like gravity itself bent in his direction. “Enzo…”

“Mm?”

“You’re really okay with me moving in? Like—fully okay? I know you’re used to everything being… perfect.”

He turned you to face him, fingers curling gently under your chin. “You think I asked you to move in because I wanted perfect?”

You blinked up at him.

“I asked you to move in because I want messy mornings and shared laundry baskets. I want your shampoo taking over my bathroom and your books on every damn shelf. I want you. All of it.”