Lorenzo's POV
"No," she replied speedily.
"Aren't you being conceited now, dear wife?"
"I… er... that's not—no, I'm not."
"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Genevieve."
I took off my tie before removing my shirt.
"Your wound's all healed now," Genevieve observed, staring at me.
Looking down at my abdomen. It's true, but every time I look at it, I'm reminded of my deep-seated ire at Alessio and that masked fucker.
"Mhmm."
"Did it leave a scar?" she asked curiously.
"No."
But it fuels my hate fire every time I set my eyes on that particular spot.
"What's up with you asking me about scars?"
"Uh... no, I just wanted to know because stab wounds most times leave scars behind, and—"
"Dear wife, if you desire so much to explore all of me, all you have to do is ask. I'd be more than willing to let you."
Genevieve's eyes grew round while her face flushed, and she turned as red as a tomato.