The screen glows softly in the darkness of your bedroom. You’re curled up under the covers, one hand holding your phone, the other tucked beneath your cheek. On screen, Angelo lies across his bed, the same way he always does during your late-night calls.

His tousled brown hair looks slightly damp, as if he has just stepped out of the shower; strands curl lazily over his forehead. His green eyes stare into yours through the screen.

He's wearing a fitted black T-shirt that clings to his chest and shoulders, the sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal the tattoo on his forearm. He’s effortlessly beautiful, the kind of man who seems to have stepped out of a painting: rough around the edges, yet soft when he looks at you.

“Are you tired, bambina?” he murmurs.

“A little,” you reply with a smile. “But not enough to hang up.”

He smirks. “Good. Because I have something for you.”

You blink. “What do you mean?”

He shifts, propping himself up a little. “Go to your front door,” he says suddenly. “Now.”

You furrow your brows, confused. “Wait, why?”

“Just trust me, amore mio. Look outside your house.”

You sit up slowly, still holding your phone, and pad out of your room. As you make your way downstairs, Angelo’s voice stays with you through the speaker.

You open the front door.

And there it is.

A box sits on your doorstep — neatly wrapped, a satin ribbon tied around it in a perfect bow. Your breath catches in your throat.

“Angelo…” you whisper.

“Open it,” he says, the camera on his end steady now, focused on your face. “Open it, bambina.”

Your fingers tremble slightly as you kneel down to untie the ribbon. Inside is a beautiful dress: sleek, elegant and exactly your style. Beneath that is a pair of high heels, shimmering softly in the light. Nestled right at the top is a small plush teddy bear with stitched arms holding a little red heart.

You let out a small gasp, then laugh softly. “Angelo… this is—this is so much.”

He leans closer to his screen, his voice a whisper now. “I want you to wear that dress on our date.”

You lift your gaze from the box. “Our date?”

His green eyes lock with yours. “I’m coming to London.”

Your breath hitches. “What?”

“I’m serious,” he says, smiling, but there’s something vulnerable in the way he looks at you now. “I’m tired of screens and waiting. I want to see you, to hold you. I want to take you out and show everyone that you’re mine.”