Chapter 142 Devotion
The kitchen was filled with the domestic hum of the refrigerator and the whisking sound, preparing the batter for the pancake.
“Make it fluffy,” She ordered, grabbing a bunch of fruits.
“As you wish, Madam,”
William stood at the stove, his sleeves rolled up, revealing the tension in his forearms that looked undeniably desirable.
He flipped a pancake with mechanical precision, but his eyes never stayed on the pan for more than a second. They always drifted back to Arabella.
She was sitting on the counter, swinging her legs slowly. She was peeling an orange, tongue rolling over her lips, observing the man.
She noticed how he flinched whenever she moved too quickly, how he was hyper-tuned to her every breath, studying her slightest movements with concern.
“You are burning it, William,” she murmured, her voice like velvet, a sly smirk playing along her lips.
He started, quickly sliding the pancake onto a plate with a faint chuckle, “Sorry. I… I was distracted.”
“By me?” She raised one eyebrow temptingly.
“What else could it be?” He hummed, sheepishly scratching the back of his neck.
She popped a slice of orange into her mouth, releasing a suppressed titter, then leaned forward, her eyes locked on his.
She held out a segment of the fruit to him, “Eat.”
He didn't hesitate. He leaned down, taking the fruit from her fingers with a reverence, strong enough to be felt by her very core.
He didn't just eat it, he closed his eyes, savoring the fact that she was feeding him, indulging in the felicity of the closeness, of the devotion.
“Is it good?” she asked, her thumb lingering on his lower lip, tracing the curve of it, widening his smile.
“Anything you give me is good,” he whispered.
He caught her wrist, kissing her fingertips, licking the trail of juice. His actions, his body giving up, swaying along the beat of her heart.
“I would eat glass and call it the most delicious,”
She let out a beautiful chuckle, holding his chin with a seductive domination creeping on her features, “Tell me who you belong to.”
“I belong to you, I am yours. All yours.” He responded without thinking twice, kissing her fingertips over and over again until he was out of breath.
“Good.”
Arabella smiled, liking the way his desperation tasted.
Her finger pressed her harder on his lips before parting and snapping her fingers twice, breaking their rhythm.
William blinked, back to reality, “Huh?”
“I told you, you will burn it,” She winked, pointing at the charcoled pancake, lying lonely on the pan.
“I will make another one. Sorry about that.” He chuckled, turning back, cleaning up the pan to make the pancakes again as she prepared the tray of his fruits.
Later, in the evening, she stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out at the valley, her silhouette draped in a silk robe.
William didn't look at the ocean. He didn't look at the sunset gold-plating the waves.
He walked toward her, his footsteps silent on the plush carpet. He knelt at her feet, not because she asked, but because his body seemed to naturally gravitate toward the floor in her presence.
He began to undo the silk ties of her heels, his hands steady but his breathing shallow.
"The view is beautiful, isn't it?" she asked, not looking down.
"I wouldn't know," William replied, his voice thick. He pressed a kiss to the arch of her foot, a gesture of absolute surrender.
"I haven't looked away from you since we landed."
Initiating this moment, this sunset, as the beginning of their contentful honeymoon where William started becoming hauntingly devotional.
The exquisite days were passing, the mesmerizing moments they carved into their core. They were getting ready to leave for Venice.
William was setting their things to leave until Arabella entered the room.
He sat perfectly still, his eyes locked at her, his breathing synced to the rhythm of her hand placed on his cheek.
"Liyah called earlier," she said casually, her fingers intentionally snagging a small tangle at the nape of his neck.
William flinched, his body tensing instinctively at the name of his tormentor, "What did she want?"
"It doesn't matter," Arabella whispered, leaning down so her lips brushed his ear.
She felt him shudder, a violent, visible ripple of submission, disliking her mention during their celestial time.
"I told her we are busy and we are leaving for our flight to Venice,"
William reached back, “It’s alright. I will call her back and-”
"I'm the only one you need, aren't I?" She moved her hand to grip his jaw, firmly with a stern, questioning glance.
“Aren’t I, William?”
"Uh-Huh. The only one," he repeated, his voice a hollow, devotional chant, hands dropping, agreeing mindlessly.
"You are the only one, Bella,"
She grinned, “Great, then let’s get ready. Let us forget it all and exist only for each other.”
Their honeymoon was ending. The amber shadows of their bedroom were replaced by the shimmering, teal waters of Venice, a place of delight.
He didn't look at the architecture; he looked at the way the sunlight hit her hair. He didn't breathe the air, he breathed the scent of her perfume.
He was blind to everything but her.
"Do you like it here, William?" She whispered, pulling him closer as they crossed a narrow stone bridge.
“Anywhere with you is no less than a sanctuary,”
She chuckled, “You and your talks,”
“We could stay. We never have to go back to that house. You can buy a palazzo right here on the water. Just us."
It was a plea disguised as an offer. He was looking for a new cage, one with a better view, better jailers.
"Perhaps," She murmured, her fingers trailing along his forearm before playfully looking at him, “But wouldn't you miss the world, William?"
“I will or you?” He teased her.
"The world has nothing I want," she chuckled elegantly, her voice terrifyingly sincere, poking her index finger on his heart.
"The only one I want is this man right here.”
“Oh? Learning from me?”
“I am.”
As they were walking, exchanging a heartwarming moment, they saw an awfully familiar figure from afar.
Standing by a flower stall, they were laughing. She was a burst of color in the ancient city, her laughter ringing out like bells. They looked... free.
The man who adjusted a silk scarf around an angelic woman’s neck, smiling vibrantly was none other than…. Luke.