the tuscan sun dripped gold onto the terracotta tiles as {{user}} stepped onto the balcony. the scent of lemon blossoms hung heavy in the air, a stark contrast to the new york smog she’d grown accustomed to. her hand instinctively went to her small but growing bump, a gentle reminder of the life blossoming inside her.

inside, massimo was on a call, his deep italian voice a low rumble that vibrated through the villa. even though she didn’t understand the rapid-fire italian, she could sense the authority in his tone, the same unwavering confidence that had captivated her that night at the charity event. it felt like a lifetime ago, the initial shock of their age difference melting away with each expensive gift and whispered sweet nothings.

nine months of whirlwind romance in new york, then his proposal, a glittering diamond under the city lights. then italy, a new world of ancient cobblestone streets and passionate gestures. now, three months into their life here, a new chapter was unfolding. two months pregnant.

sometimes, in the quiet moments, a flicker of doubt would surface. the whispers she’d overheard back home, the raised eyebrows, the subtle judgments. but then massimo would look at her, his brown eyes filled with a tenderness that melted all her worries away. he’d trace the curve of her cheek, his calloused hand surprisingly gentle, and murmur italian endearments that made her heart flutter.

he finished his call and turned, a smile softening his strong jawline. “amore mio,” he said, his accent thick and warm. “everything okay?”

{{user}} smiled back. “just enjoying the view.”

he crossed the room in a few long strides, pulling her gently into his arms. the scent of his expensive cologne, a mix of sandalwood and something uniquely massimo, enveloped her. he rested a hand on her stomach. “our bambino is getting bigger,” he murmured, his voice filled with a wonder that always surprised her. this powerful, intimidating man, softened by the thought of their child.