Elena was already out, stretching with feline grace.
"I'm hungry. Profoundly. There are no Michelin stars on this stretch of highway, so we compromise." She gestured towards the shop's dim entrance. "Sandwiches it is."
"Fine. I'll join you then." Luca stepped onto the curb, straightening the lapel of his exquisitely tailored jacket.
She gave him a look — a sharp, arching assessment that dripped with mockery.
"Naturally, you'll join me. Who do you imagine is carrying the cash? My angelic sponsors?"
Luca ran a weary hand across his face, muttering low enough only for her to hear,
"Sweet Mother of God. This woman will be the end of me."
As they walked in, the air inside the small, overheated shop seemed to crackle. Every eye — from the sleepy attendant behind the counter to the scattering of late-night patrons — snapped to them. They moved with a shared, undeniable gravity: Luca, all dark, brooding power, and Elena, a vision of polished, dangerous beauty — her defiance of the night's earlier terror visible only in the faint flush of adrenaline beneath her flawless skin.
A hush fell, quickly replaced by a fervent wave of whispers.
"My word, they are simply stunning," a woman breathed, nudging her companion. "Look at her — and the man, well…"
"Wait. Is that… Elena?"
Elena registered the sudden attention, her focus instantly narrowing on the subtle movement of a figure tucked away in the corner booth. Her hand shot out, grasping Luca's arm with a sudden, vise-like intensity.
"A sudden burst of affection, Elina?" Luca inquired, his voice a low velvet rumble, laced with teasing curiosity. "Have you finally succumbed to my fatal charms?"
She fixed him with eyes that were wide, gentle, and utterly deceptive. The sweetness of her gaze was contradicted by the sheer steel in her hushed reply, delivered between clenched teeth.
"The old bat in the corner — the one watching us like a hawk? That is my Grandmother's bridge partner. If she suspects for one moment we are not a devoted, inseparable couple, the ensuing drama will eclipse your little car chase."
Luca's smile deepened, a predator sensing a shift in the wind. He smoothly circled her waist with his hand, pulling her into an embrace that was suddenly, intensely proprietary.
"In that case, wouldn't it be better if you were… this close?" he whispered, his breath warm against her ear, intent on provoking a reaction.
He didn't get the one he expected. Elena tilted her head back, her hand cupped his cheek, and with a swift, decisive move, she kissed him hard on the jawline.
"Don't push me, Luca," she murmured, her voice dangerously soft. "I am far better than you at playing a role. Now, enough theatrics."
She spun toward the counter, her voice ringing out with cheerful authority.
"Two sandwiches, please. And quickly."
They took the sandwiches and exited as rapidly as they entered — the scrutiny of the onlookers a heavy, almost physical weight on their backs.
They settled onto the hood of the sleek black car, leaning back against the cool glass of the windshield, unwrapping their late-night bounty. Elena watched him eat, a small, genuine smile playing on her lips.
"Hey, Luca…"
He looked up, mid-bite, surprised.
"The honorifics vanish faster than a shot of good scotch with you, don't they?"
"Aren't I your beloved wife?" she purred, accentuating the question by delicately placing a sauce-stained finger into her mouth.
He chuckled, the sound deep and resonant. Without breaking eye contact, he reached out — his thumb catching a dab of errant sauce at the corner of her mouth. He didn't wipe it on a napkin; he lifted his thumb to his own mouth and consumed it.
Elena burst into peals of laughter, a bright, joyous sound that momentarily banished the darkness.
"Oh my God! Did you see that? That is exactly what they do in the bad romantic films! The dashing hero wipes the heroine's mouth with intense, meaningful hunger!"
Luca laughed, genuinely amused by her reaction.
"And did you feel it?"
"Feel what?"
He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low, suggestive murmur.
"The… intensity?"
She playfully tapped his forehead with her finger.
"Wake up, dreamer."
Her mood suddenly shifted — the lightness replaced by pragmatic curiosity.
"One question, though. Must I always resort to eating from the street? How does a man of your wealth not possess a chef?"
"Hmm. An excellent question, and an astute one. I'll answer quickly, because it's already late, and your grandmother awaits." Luca checked his watch. "The issue is… I did have a chef. In fact, I had an entire culinary team. But due to extenuating circumstances, I was forced to dismiss them."
"Dismiss them? Why?"
He took a slow, deliberate bite of his sandwich.
"I have survived multiple attempts at poisoning, Elena. So I ultimately decided: no chefs, and no permanent household staff — save for cleaners who depart hours before I return to the manor. That is my life. I trust you will adapt quickly."
Elena took a quiet breath, her eyes reflecting the streetlights.
"I trust I will too."
Her response genuinely surprised him.
"You're not bothered by the lack of prepared meals or household retinue?"
She shrugged — a gesture of profound indifference.
"I know how to cook. And failing that, there are literally thousands of restaurants. Why would I risk my life for a personal chef? I value my existence, Luca."
He nodded, a flicker of something close to respect in his eyes. He started the car again.
"We're here, Madam."
Luca parked the car smoothly. Elena stepped out and practically flew to the porch, throwing the door open to reveal a dimly lit living room. Her grandmother — a tiny, formidable woman — sat alone, the television flickering meaninglessly as she stared into the void.
"Grandmother!" Elena cried, the sound pure, unadulterated affection.
The elderly woman started — a look of brief terror crossing her face, which instantly melted into relief as she realized it was her granddaughter. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she clutched Elena tightly before delivering a sharp, affectionate tap to the back of her head.
"Where were you, you wretched girl? I was frantic!"
The deep, resonant voice of Luca cut through the tender reunion from the doorway.
"She was with me."
The grandmother released Elena and fixed Luca with an astonished, penetrating gaze.
"And who, precisely, are you?"
Elena tried desperately to intervene.
"Grandmother, let me explain, he is an—"
Luca stepped forward, cutting her off with effortless finality.
"I am Luca. Her husband, Grandmother. I came to pay my respects."
The old woman's eyes widened to saucers, her hand flying to her chest.
"Her what?!"