His smile widens as he approaches the table and stops in front of me. “Thank you, baby,” he murmurs, his strong fingers curving around my bare shoulders as he lowers his head and captures my mouth in a deep, yet incredibly tender kiss. I melt on the spot, my neck arching back under the hungry pressure of his lips, and it’s not until Ana pointedly clears her throat behind us that I regain my senses enough to realize that we’re not in our own bedroom. Embarrassed, I push him away, and Julian lets me, releasing me and stepping back with a smile.

“Dinner first, I guess,” he says wryly and, walking around the table, takes a seat across from me.

Ana, her cheeks slightly red, serves us lasagna, pours us each a glass of wine, and disappears before I have a chance to do more than say a quick thank-you.

“Lasagna…” Julian sniffs appreciatively at the food. “I can’t remember the last time I had this.”

“Ana told me your mother used to make it for you when you were little,” I say softly, watching as he takes the first bite. “I hope you still like it.”

His eyes lift from his plate, his gaze locking on mine as he chews the food. “You arranged this?” he asks after he swallows, and there is a strange note in his voice. He gestures toward the wine and the candles burning on the outer edges of the table. “It wasn’t Ana who set all of this up?”

“Well, she did all the work,” I admit. “I merely asked her for a few things. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Mind? No, of course not.” His voice still sounds a bit odd, but he doesn’t question me further. Instead he begins to eat in earnest, and the conversation turns to my upcoming exams.

After we’re done with the lasagna, Ana brings out the dessert. It looks as rich and scrumptious as any I’ve seen in an Italian restaurant, and I watch Julian’s reaction as Ana places it on the table in front of him.

If he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it. Instead he gives Ana a warm smile and thanks her for the efforts. It’s not until she leaves the room that he turns to look at me. “A tiramisu?” he says softly, his eyes reflecting the dancing light from the candles. “Why, Nora?”

I shrug. “Why not?”

He studies me for a moment, his gaze unusually thoughtful as it lingers on my face, and I wait for him to press further. But he doesn’t. Instead he picks up his fork. “Why not indeed,” he murmurs and turns his attention to the mouthwatering dessert.

I follow his lead, and soon our plates are all but licked clean.

When we get upstairs, Julian leads me to the bed. Instead of undressing me right away, however, he captures my face between his palms. “Thank you for a wonderful evening, baby,” he whispers, his eyes dark with some indefinable emotion.