31. The Art Of Deception
31. The Art Of Deception
I was handing her pieces of my soul, because loving her felt more important than protecting anything else.
ALEJANDRO
I woke up with a stretch, the sunlight streaming through the curtains casting a soft gold across the room. For a moment, I just lay there, letting the quiet contentment wash over me. It had been a long time since I felt something so pure… so right. Even though I was miles away from the world I once ruled, in this unfamiliar place, I felt more at home than I ever had.
Because of her.
Her scent still lingered on the sheets, delicate and intoxicating, like jasmine and desire. I turned my head to see her still asleep, the morning light kissing her bare shoulder peeking from beneath the covers.
My angel.
Last night had been nothing short of magic. Not just in the way our bodies moved in sync, but something deeper—raw, spiritual, soul-touching. It wasn’t just pleasure. It was connection. And the memory of it filled my chest with a joy I couldn’t quite explain. She made me feel… human.
I sat up, raking a hand through my hair, still drunk on her scent that lingered in the sheets. I glanced around and found the most breathtaking sight of all—Gabriella, tangled in the linens, sleeping soundly with the innocence of a child and the beauty of a goddess.
God help me, I was falling deeper every second.
I reached out, brushing her cheek with my knuckles, letting my fingers drift through her hair. I could’ve watched her forever, wrapped in that moment where time dared not move.
But I had plans. A surprise.
I slipped out of bed, quiet not to wake her, and made my way outside with a mission: to create a breakfast moment that could rival the magic of last night. I wasn’t going to half-ass this—I wanted it perfect, for her.
With the help of the staff, I laid out a deep purple carpet in a cozy corner of the garden. A small wooden table went at the center, and around it, I crafted a tepee-like structure using five tall bamboos. It felt like something stolen from a whimsical dream. I adorned it with wildflowers and handpicked grasses, threading them through the poles like a madman with a romantic vision. It wasn’t something out of a five-star magazine—but it was honest. It was mine.
No, ours.
By the time I stepped back to admire it, I knew she’d feel the care in every petal and thread. It was art, chaos, and heart—just like us.
Satisfied, I turned and headed back to the room. As I opened the door, I saw her begin to stir, stretching like a cat, that sleepy smile blooming across her face.
I couldn't wait to see her eyes light up when I showed her what I had created—for her, and only her.
She stirred under the covers like a cat waking from a sunlit nap, stretching her limbs lazily before her eyes fluttered open. When they met mine, she smiled softly—sleep still lingering in their depths—and reached for me. I kissed her outstretched hand, lingering just long enough to feel her warmth seep into my skin.
Her bare back peeked through the sheets, and I couldn’t resist grazing my fingers down its smooth length—soft as cashmere and twice as tempting. A teasing thought crossed my mind, bringing a smile to my lips, but I tucked it away... for now.
I scooped her up into my arms with ease, whispering close to her ear, “Let’s shower together."
She giggled, wriggling in my grip. “Please let me down,” she pouted playfully, her voice coated in mischief. I gave in, only after stealing a kiss from her pretty little pout.
“I’m not in the mood for a shared shower,” she teased, darting off toward the bathroom, laughter trailing behind her like music.
I shook my head, grinning to myself at her childlike delight. After a cold shower to douse the temptation she left in her wake, I dressed casually—cotton shorts, a crisp button-down shirt—and made my way downstairs, anticipation simmering in my chest.
Soon enough, Gabriella descended, looking effortlessly angelic in a white sundress that danced around her knees. I approached her with a black ribbon in hand.
“Turn around,” I said softly.
She obeyed, trusting, her curiosity piqued
“Hey! What’s this?” she laughed as I blindfolded her.
“It’s a surprise,” I murmured, guiding her gently by the hand across the warm sand, each step bringing us closer to the setup I had poured my heart into.
Once seated comfortably on the plush cushions beneath our makeshift teepee of flowers and bamboo, I reached into my phone and pulled up the poem I had chosen—Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s timeless verse that mirrored the depth of what I felt for her.
And I recited it. Slowly. Deliberately. Letting every word soak into the morning breeze and settle on her heart.
“I love thee freely, as men strive for right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise…”
When I finished, silence settled like a soft blanket. Then, she smiled—radiant, moved.
“That was beautiful,” she whispered, breathless. “Now please, take off the blindfold!"
I obliged, and the moment her eyes opened, she gasped. Her hands flew to her mouth, and then she threw her arms around me, pressing a kiss against my cheek.
“This is incredible. I don’t have words. I feel… so loved.”
The morning sun bathed us in gold as we turned to the breakfast spread waiting nearby—Mexican egg casserole, chorizo tortas, bacon and quiche tarts, a fresh jug of orange juice.
And there, beneath our little canopy on the sand, love felt real. Tangible. Ours.
As we savored the last bites of breakfast beneath the floral canopy I’d built, Gabriella leaned back into the cushions, her eyes searching mine with a curious gleam. The soft crash of waves in the background lent a false sense of serenity to the moment.
“Alejandro,” she began hesitantly, tracing the rim of her juice glass with her fingertip. “There’s something I’ve been wondering about for a while now.”
I raised an eyebrow, watching her closely.
“I know a lot about you… about your empire, how you run things. But some parts still remain a mystery. Especially the way you’ve built something so vast and yet stayed completely under the radar. I’ve never asked before, and I won’t be upset if you don’t want to answer, but… how do you move it all? The product, I mean.”
Her voice was soft but steady. Not accusing. Not even overly curious—just calm, thoughtful, honest. Still, her question sent a flicker of tension through my spine.
I stayed silent for a moment, gazing out at the horizon where the sky met the sea. My instinct told me to shut it down, to protect what must stay hidden. But another part of me—the part wrapped around her finger last night—wanted to give her something. A glimpse.
“I don’t usually talk about that side of things,” I said slowly, my voice calm. “But... I’ll give you a taste of the method. Just a sliver. For you.”
She leaned forward, intrigued.
“We run an art business as a front,” I explained. “Sculptures, mostly—modern, abstract pieces. Some of our most ‘valuable’ pieces are cuboid boxes with intricate glasswork on the outside. Inside, it’s not just art.”
She tilted her head, intrigued. “So it’s not just decoration?”
“Not at all. Smash the glass, and the resin inside reacts with air. It solidifies—temporarily. Heat it just right, and it melts down into a translucent white liquid. Once cooled, it forms into solid, pure-grade product. Hidden in plain sight. Only a chemist would know what they’re looking at—and by then, it's long gone.”
She blinked, stunned, but clearly impressed. “That’s… incredibly smart. Ingenious, really.”
I smiled faintly, but the weight of my confession pressed on me more than I’d expected.
“Sometimes,” I said, reaching across the table to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, “I wonder if you see the real me… or the man I pretend to be for the world.”
She took my hand and pressed her lips gently against my knuckles. “I see both. And strangely, I think I’m falling for both.”
Her words hit me like a silent explosion. No hesitation, no games. Just truth. And it scared me more than anything.
I pulled her closer, our foreheads touching. “Careful, Gabriella,” I whispered. “Loving a man like me… it always comes with a price.”
“I’m willing to pay it,” she said quietly, “if it means I get to know the man behind the mask.”
I kissed her then—slow, lingering, unsure whether it was an act of devotion or desperation. The line between love and danger had never felt thinner. And yet, wrapped in her arms, I wasn’t sure I cared.