Page 357 of Mario
"Do not get a big head," he warns.
"It's your fault," I tease. "You shower me with compliments, then fuck me in the sun, and expect me not to be smug about it?"
"Smug is not attractive, mia bella ragazza," he scolds.
"I disagree. You look pretty smug right now."
"Perhaps," he concedes.
"Can I hold you now?"
He rolls his eyes, but his lips twitch.
"I suppose," he says, reaching under me to release my hands.
It takes a moment of wriggling, but he finally pulls the belt away, and my hands are free.
I sigh and wrap them around his shoulders, pulling him down on top of me.
"Careful," he says, bracing himself so as not to crush me.
"It's fine," I say, tugging at him. "Just...hold me."
"As you wish," he says, and he sinks onto me.
His weight presses me into the blanket, and I sigh, nuzzling against his neck.
"Thank you," I whisper.
"For what?"
"The best birthday ever."
"You will never know how much it means to me that you think so."
"I'm serious," I say.
"As am I," he replies, pushing himself up on his elbows.
"Thank you," I say, stroking his face. "For the dress that's on the floor of the dining room. For the delicious dinner. And the garden. And the sunshine."
He smiles and shakes his head.
"Thank you," I continue, "for knowing me so well. For listening. For understanding."
"You do not have to thank me, amore."
"I know," I say. "But I want to."
His eyes search mine, and whatever he sees there softens his expression.
"Grazie," he says. "Thank you for being the best birthday present I could have hoped for."
"It's not your birthday, it's mine," I remind him.
"Non importa," he says, shrugging.
"What does that mean?"
