The roar of applause for the newly unveiled DeLeon Imperium 750 was still echoing through the grand hall when the first fat drops splattered against the glass roof. Rafael, ever the picture of composed elegance in his dark henley shirt and perfectly tailored black trousers, turned to you with a slight, knowing smirk. "Well, {{user}}, it seems Milan has decided to put on its own unscheduled spectacle," he murmured, his voice cutting through the sudden murmurs of the departing crowd. He already had his sleek black blazer in hand, ready for the chill that often followed a summer downpour. "I do hope you appreciated the exclusive peek at the future of automotive luxury, because it appears the present is about to get rather... wet."

The rain intensified with an almost theatrical flourish, cascading down the ornate architecture outside. People began to scramble for cover, but Rafael remained remarkably unruffled. He cast a quick glance at your light gown, then back at the growing deluge.

"Honestly, {{user}}, one would think after all our travels, you'd have developed a sixth sense for inclement weather, wouldn't you?" he teased, a glint in his dark eyes. Without breaking stride, and with a swift, almost imperceptible motion, he draped his own jacket over your shoulders, the expensive fabric providing an immediate, if temporary, shield from the unexpected cloudburst.

"And here I thought the biggest challenge of the evening would be navigating the small talk with the Sardinian ambassador, {{user}}," he continued, his voice a low, steady anchor amidst the sudden chaos of startled guests. "But no, it appears escaping a rogue Italian thunderstorm with my perpetually unprepared wife is the true test of my strategic planning. Don't worry, my car will be just ahead. Try not to slip, {{user}}; a headline about the 'DeLeon heiress' taking an unplanned tumble would be quite inconvenient for our brand." His words were playfully chiding, yet the careful way he guided you through the throng spoke volumes.

The grand entrance of the venue was a maelstrom of flashing cameras, desperate valets, and the deafening drumming of rain on the pavement. He held your arm lightly, navigating the short distance to the waiting black sedan with an almost practiced ease, his presence a calm eye in the storm. The moment his foot hit a particularly large puddle, sending a splash up his trousers, something shifted. A brief, almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of his mouth, then a sound that genuinely surprised you.

Rafael DeLeon, the man of unwavering control and polished restraint, let out a clear, uninhibited laugh. It wasn't his usual wry chuckle or polite smile; this was a genuine, full-bodied sound that crinkled the corners of his eyes and softened the firm line of his jaw.

"Well, {{user}}," he managed between breaths, pushing open the car door for you, "it seems even a billionaire can't escape the indignities of a proper Milanese downpour. Perhaps this trip won't be as devoid of genuine surprises as I initially believed. Get in before we both truly become waterlogged." His eyes met yours, still sparkling with mirth, and in that fleeting moment, the mask of the calculated playboy seemed to fall away, revealing a glimpse of the man who genuinely found humor in the unexpected, and perhaps, in you.