𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 64 : 𝐓𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲'𝐬’s 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐲.

𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚’𝐬 𝐍𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐬°°°

The door slammed shut behind them from the force of his pull.

She gasped against him, shocked, her hands bracing his chest.

But it only made him deepen the kiss fiercely, rawer — a confession made without words.

When he was content, he tore his lips away, breathing hard with restraint.

“I tried,” he rasped, voice shredded, fingers trembling against her cheek.

She lifted her eyes to him, unable to form a single word.

“Shit,” he breathed, voice cracking under the weight.

“What did I just do?”

He shook his head, breath fast, trying to rebuild his cold, untouchable façade back up.

“I—I shouldn’t have done that.” He dragged a hand down his face, pacing once in the narrow entryway.

His next mistake was stepping toward the door — because she grabbed his wrist.

Antonio froze completely.

“Don’t go,” she whispered, adamant.

He turned halfway, eyes meeting hers. “Nevena…” he warned softly, almost begging her not to make this harder.

But she stepped closer.

Her free hand rose slowly and brushed his jaw, the stubble rough beneath her fingertips.

“I love you too,” she declared— foolish, and recklessly pure.

The confession completely undid Antonio.

His breath stopped—eyes widening.

Not with regret… but fear.

The one thing he shouldn’t desire was hopelessly in love with him.

He faced her fully, but didn't close the distance.

“Nevena,” he swallowed hard, “don’t love me. Because I ruin everything that does. I just—”

“Ruin me then,” she cut him off, cupping his face. “If ruining is your love language, then Mr. Hunt — I accept.”

His walls crumbled in one silent, tortured exhale.

And when she tugged him back, just enough to close the distance—he didn’t resist.

She rose onto her toes and kissed him, unhurried.

He inhaled sharply against her lips before giving in.

He dropped his phone and cupped her face with both hands, almost reverently, as if afraid she’d disappear if he touched her too roughly.

The kiss deepened—slow, consuming, a promise neither of them dared speak aloud.

He kissed her like she was the one thing he had been dying of thirst for.

When he finally drew back, their foreheads pressed together, breaths mixing.

“Tell me to stop… and I will,” he whispered, hands curling possessively around her waist.

She shook her head, arching into him more. “I’m not telling you to stop.”

“If I continue,” he said quietly, voice raw with lust, “I won’t… know when to stop.”

“No problem,” she breathed.

Without hesitating, he leaned in for another kiss.

The sharpest thing in the world turned out not to be his trench blade—but the sound of tiny footsteps coming from the next room.

Reality crashed down on him in one brutal strike. He jerked away from Nevena’s lips—hands slipping from her hair.

He did it so fast he nearly hit the door, his breathing fractured.

“Bestie?” Junior’s sleepy voice floated out, thick and groggy, making Nevena’s heart stumble.

She turned just in time to see him rubbing his eyes with his fist.

“Baby—you’re up already?” she crouched.

The little boy nodded, falling into her embrace. When he blinked, he saw Antonio behind Nevena.

“Buddy?” Junior squinted. “You’re here?”

Antonio swallowed hard and forced his voice into its usual depth.

“Yes, kiddo. I wanted to check on you both.”

“That’s so sweet of you,” Junior commended, standing on his own now.

He blinked at both of them — the space they tried too hard to create.

Then at Antonio’s disheveled hair and collar.

“Buddy, why do you look scattered? Did you run from your house just to get here?”

“Not at all.” Antonio straightened, smoothing his hair with his palm, willing his chest to stop heaving.

“Then why is your face red?” Junior tilted toward Nevena. “Yours too, Bestie.”

“I don’t think so,” Nevena choked, scrubbing a palm over her face.

Antonio cleared his throat, stepping forward before Junior could look harder.

“Come on, kid,” he said softly, placing a firm but gentle hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

Junior nodded sleepily and shuffled back toward the room, holding Antonio’s hand like a snuggle.

Antonio tucked him under the blanket.

Buddy… will you be here when I wake up?” Junior yawned wide, sleep settling in.

“No,” he whispered. “But I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Promise?”

Antonio leaned down and brushed his curls back. “Pinky promise.”

Junior smiled faintly and drifted back to sleep.

Antonio did go immediately, he lingered, just staring at the small boy. He reminded him too much of his childhood.

He finally rose and walked past Nevena at the doorframe.

“It’s almost midnight…” she whispered.

He stopped but didn’t turn around.

Everything in his posture said he wanted to go back to her and pick up the moment they left off — until there was nothing left of his self-control.

“If I stay,” he began quietly, “I won’t… know when to stop.”

Nevena’s breath hitched. He was going alone — without an escort.

“Please — it’s dangerous.”

Antonio shook his head and reached for the doorknob.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he murmured and walked out.

The moment the door clicked shut behind him, she watched from the window until his car steered out of her curb.

—---

The next morning, as early as seven, Antonio stood in front of the dresser in his closet, checking outfits.

The door clicked open behind him. He glanced back lazily — then straightened, picking another shirt.

“Man, what do you think of this color?” he asked Grinch.

Grinch stepped inside with lethal calmness, the door shutting behind him with a soft slam.

“Well,” he drawled, eyeing the scattered clothes “either you’ve gone insane… or you’re going on a love-up date.”

Antonio froze, but a muscle jumped sharply into his jaw — too revealing for a man who preferred his countenance unreadable.

Grinch whistled. “Ah. So I guessed right?”

“What?” Antonio muttered, brushing past him. But he followed.

“You left yesterday looking like someone who lost a battle—and now you look like someone who won another.”

“Mind your business,” Antonio countered quietly. “I’m going for a meeting and mind you, I’ll be keeping late.”

“Today’s Sunday,” Grinch noted slyly.

He leaned against the counter, studying him, as he stopped tucking in his shirt.

“And you’re going on a date with the tourist.”