Waking up in the Arms of the Mafia King

25th of april, 2025

Friday

Dear diary,

Let me tell you about my day.

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"Rory, can you hurry up? What the hell is taking you so long?". My best friend, Emily, yells at me from the other side of the door. A deep sigh leaves my mouth as I stare at myself in the mirror of the bathroom at our shared apartment in Islington, London.

It is currently 07:55 on a Thursday morning. That means it is time for work. Since Emily and I work at the same store, it is always a struggle to decide who can do their business in the bathroom first. Most days, it's me, since I am an early riser, much to the displeasure of my best friend.

I look around the rather small but functional bathroom. Emily and I have been here for around 5 months. When my boyfriend, Rodney, moved back to London after spending a year studying in Amsterdam, where I am originally from, I decided it was time for a change.

So, when the opportunity arose, I rallied my best friend to join me while I followed my boyfriend to his hometown. Rodney is finishing up his last year at the University of Bedfordshire. We do not see each other as often as we used to while both living in Amsterdam, but that is because he has a lot of obligations for his studies. Which makes sense, since it is his last year, after all. Luckily for me, there is never a dull moment when my best friend is around.

Multiple hard knocks echo through the small bathroom, making the noise intolerable. I quickly unlock the door before this lunatic knocks down the door.

My eyes meet the impatient ones of my best friend, Emily Snow. What is the best way to describe this unique creature? Well, let's start with her physical characteristics. She has long, flowing blonde hair and big greenish eyes that she frequently makes men drown in. Her face is angelic and slightly chubby, but still toned at the same time. Her lips are pouty, her nose is regal, her chin is perfect, and her skin is flawless.

It has always amazed me how we ended up being best friends. She is the bubbly one. The life of the party. She doesn't have one insecure bone in her body, and she never lets an opportunity slip by to go on an adventure. And then there is me, a girl who is often a little too awkward for her good. A real homebody who loves to get lost in a good book. But I am also very loyal, determined, and easily convinced... especially when it comes to Emily. She brings out 'my fun' side, as she puts it.

"You always take forever in there." She rolls her eyes while she has her hip tilted to one side.

I shake my head slightly as I brush past her. "It takes a little more time to make myself presentable than you." Emily can roll out of bed 15 minutes before it is time to leave and still look better than I ever will. She has this natural grace about her.

"For the 500th time, stop talking shit about yourself. You are breathtaking." The annoyance is noticeable in her voice.

"Yeah, yeah," I mumbled softly to brush off this topic. We do not have time to start one of Emily's lectures. "Go get ready. We have to leave in 15 minutes."

The lock on the bathroom is heard as I walk into my modest bedroom. Since the rental prices in London are absolutely ridiculous, we have settled in a simple 2-bedroom apartment. It was all we could afford. Well, it is all I can afford. Emily is a trust fund baby, as they call it. So, if it were up to her, we would have never chosen this apartment, but since I wanted to equally contribute to the monthly costs, such as rent and other utilities, this was the best we could do.

And in all honesty, the apartment is not so bad at all. When you walk into the apartment, you are immediately in a cosy-sized living/dining room. There's a 3-seater, 2 small round-shaped coffee tables, and a little flat-screen. Behind the couch, there is a small dining table that can fit 4 people. Well, in theory, because most of the time Emily uses the table as her vanity table. On the left, there's a small kitchen. It's a bit outdated, but it's not like we use it that often. We usually go out for our meals. If you walk further down the apartment, there is a hallway with 4 doors. The two, on the left side, led you to the bathroom and Emily's room. On the right, there is a small closet where we store our larger-sized clothing items, such as coats, etc. Oh, and the closet holds an impressive collection of Emily's shoes. Mostly her heels. For a clumsy person like me, any shoe with a slightly elevated heel is my worst nightmare. I seriously do not understand how she can walk in those without breaking her ankles.

As I walk to the back of the apartment, I open the door to my bedroom. I got stuck with the smallest room of the apartment, but since Emily was already compromising on our living situation, I figured it was the least that I could do.

The bedroom accommodates a twin bed, a nightstand, a compact desk with several of my favourite books, and a reasonably sized wardrobe with a body-size mirror. Beyond that, it's quite sparse. The entire apartment was furnished when we moved in. So, aside from the two suitcases of my items, there's little here that connects me to the place. Still, for the moment, it's home.

I opened my wardrobe. Pondering what to wear. Thanks to a connection of Emily's dad, we landed a job at a store that sells upscale men's fashion. Selling clothes to privileged, vain men, who seem to own enough to clothe an entire continent, isn't exactly my cup of tea. But it pays the bills, and having Emily around makes it somewhat bearable.

Since the store caters to a specific clientele, there's an expectation to dress accordingly. For someone who usually prefers a simple tee and jeans, this was quite the adjustment to my daily wear. Fortunately, Emily helped me assemble a few outfits deemed appropriate by the owner of the store. Today, I chose a pair of crisp white pants paired with a white blouse. The tailored trousers give my modest figure somewhat of a silhouette. While working there, I have picked up that it's good to introduce another colour to 'break' an outfit when both the top and bottom of your outfit are in the same shade. So, I quickly grab the first belt I see, which I think is one of Emily's. I borrowed it a few weeks back, and she hasn't seemed to miss it.

After shedding my pyjama shorts and tank top, I quickly dressed myself. Once everything is neatly tucked in, I catch my reflection in the mirror. "Not bad, Cole," I murmur to myself, a slight chuckle escaping my lips. If my mother could see me now, she'd hardly recognise me. The girl she last saw before she passed and the girl now looking back in the mirror are worlds apart.

A vivid memory of my mom in her hospital bed flashes through my mind. It's hard to believe that next Wednesday will mark 1.5 years since her passing. It still feels like yesterday when my entire world was flipped on its head.

I recall the day, and yet it's as if I don't remember anything. Just one blur. My therapist says it's the mind's way of coping. All I remember is being in class when my phone rang. My sister was on the other end, crying hysterically, breaking the news that our mom had been hit by a drunk driver. And just like that, she was gone.

The last time we spoke, we were arguing about whether I should give Rodney a chance. He had asked me out two days earlier. Even though I thought he was incredibly good-looking, I stood him up. Knowing a bit about his privileged background, I couldn't see how he'd fit into my life or what he possibly saw in me.

Yet, after hearing about my mom, Rodney was the first to reach out, despite my rejecting him. He became my go-to person for support, and he held me for days as I mourned. In time, what began as a friendship blossomed into romance. And that's how I found myself here, 350 miles from home.

Perhaps I should start with an introduction of myself. My name is Aurora Viviana Cole, but everyone calls me Rory. I'm 22 years old and stand at 5'4. Thanks to my grandmother on my mom's side, I have a bit of Italian heritage, though I never met her. My mother was the result of an affair my grandmother had with a married man, and she was given up for adoption to my Dutch grandparents. That is where my mom met my dad. Although there is nothing Italian about me, I did inherit this deep brownish hair and my mother's striking emerald eyes. My sister, Leila, is quite the opposite of me. She got our dad's blonde hair and bright blue eyes. People often commented that she was the more beautiful of the two sisters growing up.

A whistle jolts me out of my thoughts. Standing at my bedroom door is Emily, sporting a slight smirk on her face. "You look pretty, girl." She comments. A blush heats my cheeks, but I quickly turn away so she doesn't notice. I know she would launch into her usual speech about my low self-esteem bullshit. Honestly, Emily talks so much that if I listened to everything she said, it would take up an entire workweek. "Months of my hard work are finally paying off." She declares.

I can't help but roll my eyes at one of her typical remarks. "Of course, babe," I replied, my tone dripping with sarcasm.

She narrows her eyes, clearly catching my drift. "I don't like that tone, Missy." She retorts.

I value our friendship. We can be 100% ourselves around each other. That is a good thing, or else our living arrangement would have been a disaster. Even though she drives me nuts most of the time and seems to bring trouble my way, I can't think of anyone else I'd rather share my daily life with. Well, except Rodney. I'd have liked to live with Rodney, but unfortunately, that is not possible. He's busy with his studies and lives on campus right now. I have come to terms with it, though; I need to spend more time with him. If only he weren't so busy...

I quickly grab my bag and sling it off my shoulder. "Come on, we'll be late."

It takes about 30 minutes to travel from our apartment to the Piccadilly Circus underground station. We work in Mayfair, a prestigious neighborhood in central London known for its luxury shops, upscale restaurants, high-end real estate properties, and vibrant nightlife. From the underground station, it's a 7-minute walk; you head up Regent Street for about 0,3 miles, turn left on Vigo Street, and pass by the corner where Jeweler Richard Ogden displays some of the world's most expensive jewelry. I dream of buying a beautiful piece from there one day.

But for now, our route takes up right onto Savile Row, into the beautiful headquarters and store of Fredrick & Sons. It still amazes me how we, but mostly I, landed jobs here, but that is all thanks to Emily's dad's connections. Hats off to good old Sir Snow. I've realized that having parents with extensive networks is the ultimate flex in life. For those kids, doors open automatically for them all thanks to their parents and their connections.

I didn't grow up with that kind of advantage. My parents have always been honest, working-class people from a middle-class background. They provided a loving and stable home, though we always faced some sort of challenge, mostly financially related. They gave everything to could to my sister and me. That's probably why it pains me so much that I didn't get more time with my mom. I still miss her so much, though.

Well, back to the main point. Let's talk about Fredrick. This store isn't just any store; it's the quintessential gentlemen's store worldwide. This building houses the world's most exquisitely handcrafted garments. Recognized as one of the most distinguished tailoring establishments on Savile Row, to me, its true significance lies in its embodiment of family. The team who work at Fredrick has grown to be more than just colleagues; they're like family to both Emily and me. They've embraced us from the moment we step through that front door. Everyone there is a true artist, a master of their craft, all under one roof. Working with them is an absolute joy.

We make our way around to the back of the building, using what we call the staff-only entrance, which is our go-to door 90% of the time. Our employee passes grant us access, and the heavy back door swings open. This is where Emily and I part ways- she heads down to the locker and vanity room for employees, while I dash up the stairs to my office. Well, it's more of a shared office. I share it with my boss, Tan Phillips, whom I affectionately refer to as our "big teddy bear," much to his displeasure.

Well, I work together with my boss. Emily and I both applied to be store assistants in the first instance. However, where Emily blossomed in her store assistant role, being her social self, I didn't enjoy it that much. Who am I kidding? It was horrible. I was simply terrible at it. As I said, I am not a spotlight kind of girl like Emily. Don't get me wrong, I wish I were as outgoing and social as she is, but I simply am not.

I was more like the décor kind of girl. I like to make beautiful corners in the store, so that every single square meter of this store is breathtaking.

When Taj, our boss, noticed that, he shoved a camera into my hand, and somehow, I ended up as the social media girl of the company. Well, it ended up in a good and the most secure place in the building. My little bit of quiet space. Especially if Taj is not there.

Actually, I don't mind him being around. He's not as bothersome as some others can be. He mostly keeps to himself, but throughout the day, we enjoy brief, light conversations. At the beginning of our working-in-close-proximity relationship, it was mostly work-related topics. However, as we've spent more time together, we've grown closer and our chats have expanded to include a variety of topics. He has a quirky habit of blurting out random facts unexpectedly, which I found odd at first, but I have come to appreciate them. On the days he's not at work or adds to his desk, I miss our interactions.

We've now progressed to sharing more personal aspects of our lives. For instance, he knows the broad strokes about my mom, though not the details. Apart from my family and close loved ones like Emily and Rodney, and for a while, my colleagues, not many people are privy to that information. It's not a topic I typically enjoy discussing.

In contrast, Taj's quite open with me about his feelings on becoming a father soon. If you're familiar with the high society scene in London, you'd have heard of the name Taj Phillips- a formerly celebrated bachelor. He was the epitome of a ladies' man, envied by many men and desired by countless women. But everything changed when he met Grace. He fell for her instantly, claiming it was love at first sight. Fast forward a year and a half, and they're engaged and are 6 months into expecting a baby girl.

I see why Taj is enchanted by Grace. She epitomizes Grace and charm. In a couple of weeks, she will turn 30 years old. Taj has been planning a surprise party for weeks. He even wanted to pay me to take Grace out to lunch, to interrogate her to a interrogation about her ideal 30th birthday party. I asked him if he was insane, but took Grace out for lunch anyway. Because I wanted to and I enjoyed spending time with her, not because I got paid.

After that, Taj made me co-party planner. Never asking if I wanted to do it, but I honestly do not mind. It's mostly during my working hours.

I honestly do not mind participating in their lives. I actually find it quite entertaining. Taj treats me like his little sister, which is nice most of the time but can also be annoying, especially when he criticizes Rodney's presence- the lack of it in my life, which he chalks up to disinterest.

As I climbed the stairs, I noticed the office door was ajar. Ah, he's here already. My gaze drifted to the vintage Cartier watch I inherited from my mother. He's early: it's not even 9 o'clock yet.

Pushing the door open further, I spotted him at his usual place behind his desk, phone pressed to his ear in his typical manner. If there's one thing I'd change about him, it's his phone use. Some days, he talks nonstop on the phone. Oh, please, dear lord, not today.

His gaze drifted from a spot on the wall to me as he noticed my presence. His face lit up with a warm smile upon seeing me, but it quickly turned into a scowl as he resumed his conversation in Spanish. He was probably talking to one of the fabric suppliers- I remember seeing a note about that. I made a mental note to ask him about it later.

It always pained me that I never learned Italian. Had I known my mother's biological mother, my real grandmother, perhaps things would have been different. Yet, I haven't tried to learn it on my own. It's not like there aren't any resources at my disposal.

I drop my bag beside my desk and sink into my chair, booting up my laptop to prepare for the day ahead. The first order of business is always a hot cup of tea. It's an established routine here-whichever of us arrives first brews a large pot for the two of us.

After glancing over my shoulder to see if Taj needs a top-up-he appears to have enough pour myself a steaming cup and carry it back to my desk. One of my primary duties is managing the incoming emails, including overseeing the back office account. This involves responding to client inquiries and scheduling appointments with the tailors. After sorting through the emails and forwarding pertinent or useful information to Taj, I respond to a few myself. Fortunately, today isn't too hectic, thanks in part to the extra hours I put in yesterday, getting a jump on today's tasks. Since I'm taking tomorrow off, I'm keen to keep my workload manageable to avoid a backlog after my couple of days away.

Tonight, I plan to take the train to Rodney's dorm. With the upcoming year-and-a-half anniversary of my mother's passing, spending time with Rodney feels needed-he has a way of giving me comfort like no one else can. A haven from home.

Engrossed in my work, I'm startled when a paper airplane gently brushes against my head. I look up in surprise, only to meet my smirking boss. "Well, finally. I've been trying to get your attention for about a minute."

I roll my eyes at him. Even though I am a shy girl, I do have a splash of spice in me. I blame the distant Italian genes. Often, my mouth runs before I fully consider them, and that leaves me blushing once realization sets in, much to the amusement of some of my coworkers.

"God forbid your royal highness should have to wait," I say. It's true when I say we're like siblings; we argue just as I did with my sister growing up.

He pretends to be wounded, clutching his chest dramatically. "That hurts, little one." I cringe because of this ridiculous nickname he has given me. "Right here." He adds, pointing to his heart.

"That's karma finally catching up to you for breaking all those poor females' hearts over the years," I mutter, with some little fire behind my words. Before this can escalate into a full-blown argument, I switch the topic. "Is there an actual reason you're bothering me right now?."

"What is up your ass?." He challenges me. I narrow my eyes at him. Why does he know me so well already?

"Nothing. Just in a sour mood." I always gets like this around an important moments in the events of my mom's death. First year without her, first Christmas, coming up also is my first birthday without her.

Suddenly realization seems to set in, and his eyes soften. Great, now he feels sorry for me.

"I see.." is what he says. Well, now this is awkward. To end the awkwardness, I speak up. Taj decided on the same approach. "Rory.. if you need to talk.." he begins but is cut-off by my words. "I am fine Taj." A small sigh left my mouth. "Don't worry."

He stares at me briefly. Probably trying to read if I am being truthful. When he cannot detect any doubt- due to the good amount of time rehearsing 'I'm okay' over and over again. It now comes out believable. Crazy how you suddenly discover new character traits about yourself. Who know the girl was an actress.

"Alright." He simply agrees. "Just know I am always here to listen." He smiles. Once of those real smiles.

"I know, and I appreciate it. You know that." It would be the first time I spilled my gut to him.

Yet give me yet another small nod. "Natasha messaged me; it's time for coffee."

Ah coffee. Our daily 30 minutes coffee break with our whole team. Or better known as: gossip hour.

From the outside, Fredrick might not seem like a large store, perhaps due to its narrow façade. However, this perception changes dramatically once you step inside. Upon entering, you are immediately greeted by an array of exquisitely displayed garments-suits, shirts, ties, and more, showcased in a way distinctly Fredrick's can. As you venture deeper into the store, its true size becomes visible.

The layout includes tables for client consultations, design spaces, and fitting areas. A staircase leads to the spacious, private fitting rooms where tailors craft some of the finest suits in the world. Tucked away at the back of the store is a cozy lounge area complete with a small bar, offering a place for clients to relax and enjoy a cup of coffee or perhaps a glass of wine later in the day.

At least once a day, the whole team tries to sit together in the lounge. To socialize with each other. Typically, there are about 7 to 10 people on the floor at any given time. This group includes our tailors, who primarily work by appointment. However, we also have 'ready to wear' specialists on hand. While they are still highly skilled, their expertise lies outside the tailoring process.

Our tailoring team comprises Krishan, Thomas, George, Teddy, Lisette and Gustavo, while our ready-to-wear specialists include Bjorn, Edward, Natasha, Yvonne, Martha, and Josephine. All our tailors and the male specialists are full-time employees, except for Teddy, who takes Wednesdays off to be with his kid. Most of our female specialists work part-time.

Then there are the store assistants: Emily, Chloé, Podrick, and Fred. And, of course, there's Joan, who affectionately refers to herself as my "store mother." She handles the cleaning duties around here, but as Taj always says, she's the backbone of the company. I absolutely adore her.

This building is full of backstage shortcuts, which is fortunate because otherwise I would have to walk around the entire store to get from my office to the lounge. Now, I use a staircase located at the back of the upper level, bypassing the fitting rooms. For the first month, I didn't even know these stairs existed because the door is concealed within the wall.

Somewhere along the way, I lost track of Taj, who was likely swept away into one of the fitting rooms where George was holding a session. As usual, we try to sit together, but the reality of the overcrowded agenda appointments often prevails.

While entering the lounge, I find everyone already gathered. "Good morning," I greet the room casually, my words floating loosely in the air.

I pick up a teacup that is already filled by Joan, who never fails to remember everyone's beverage preference. For me, it is tea. I never really liked the taste of coffee.

"There you are, love," Joan beams at me, her smile as warm as the tea in my hands. "I was starting to wonder where you'd got to. Didn't Tasha mention Taj was around too?" She looks past me, but doesn't find Taj.

I simply shrug. "I lost him somewhere between here and the office."

Joan laughs softly, a sound of understanding. "That man never stops working."

"Are we ever?" chimes in Thomas, sipping his coffee with a smirk.

I nod, settling onto the large sofa between Joan and Edward. "Yes, and that's exactly what worries me," Joan responds, her tone tinged with concern. She always had a motherly worry for everyone here. "I fear one of you might end up with a heart attack. It's important to sit down and take a breath every so often."

Before I can reply, Taj enters, commanding the room in a striking double-breasted blue suit new addition, I noticed. "I do not pay you guys to take a breath," he announces, half-joking.

"New suit?" I ask, turning to my impeccably dressed boss. To be honest, everyone here always looks sharp, but then again, it wouldn't exactly inspire confidence if we appeared as though we'd just left the gym, would it?

He glances down and gives me a look. "How are you only just noticing that? I've been sitting right in front of you for over an hour."

I shrug once more. "That's what you call 'focusing on my work,'" I reply with a sly grin. "Isn't that what you're paying me for?" I retort, mirroring his rhetoric with a smirk.

He tries to hide his amusement by turning his head away from me. "Remember her first day? There is no trace left of that shy, polite girl," he teases, settling into a seat next to Lisette.

"Please, you're the one who made me this way," I retort, half-serious. He was always the one urging me to speak up more. Now that I do, he seems to be surprised by it.

He looks like he wants to reply, but his attention shifts to something Gus mentions.

Then, I hear a familiar voice. "Oh, babe," my best friend calls out. I instantly know she's talking to me; I'm the only one she calls here. "Bri was wondering if we're up for dinner tomorrow night." Ah, Brittany-how have I not mentioned her before? She's the final piece of our trio, the Three Musketeers. You'll hear more about her soon, no doubt.

I shake my head. "Sorry, I can't. I'm catching the train after work to spend the weekend with Rodney." I pause, puzzled by my forgetfulness. My memory has been unusually foggy lately. Maybe a weekend away is exactly what I need.

A mix of surprise and distaste crosses her face. She's never been fond of Rodney. Too bad for her, he's part of my life. I've told her to get used to it. "Why didn't you mention it sooner? I could have invited some friends over so I wouldn't be alone." Emily has always hated being alone, even in the comfort of her own home.

"Sorry, it just slipped my mind." I apologize. Normally, she would have made a bigger deal about it, but with everything going on, she seems a bit more forgiving-or perhaps she's just decided to be more considerate of my feelings. Bless her.

She nods and forces a small smile. "No worries. I'll just go out with Bri and probably have even more fun than you will," she teases. Part of me wonders if that might be true. Bri is like a blend of both Emily's and my personalities. She's less extroverted than Emily, but far more outgoing than me. When they're together, Emily tends to bring out Bri's adventurous side. She likes to do things with everyone she meets.

"That's not very nice," Joan chides Emily.

"She's probably right, though," Taj chimes in unexpectedly. "If I had to choose between a night out with the girls or visiting that damned boyfriend of hers..." His tone is light, but I know he's only half-joking. Like I said, Taj isn't a fan of Rodney either.

"Alrightttt..." I draw out the word, hinting that I'm ready to move on from this topic. "So, what are everyone's plans for the weekend?"

-

Time seemed to race by today, and before I knew it, the clock struck 5 PM. Work is over for the day.

Fortunately, I had the foresight to bring my bag with me this morning, packed with everything needed for a weekend away.

I'm excited to see Rodney again. It's been a week since our last encounter, and his mid-term preparations have made our daily back and forward messages somewhat sporadic.

As I collected my things to head out, I noticed Taj was still on a call. Normally, I'd wait for him to finish as it is a bit rude to interrupt, but with my train to catch, I had to go. I waved at him to signal my departure.

"Sorry, one second," he said to the person on the other end before muting his call. "See you next week. Have fun and please be careful," he presses.

I nodded in agreement. "You know I always am." My safety is something I never compromise on, especially after the tragedy of losing my mother to a drunk driver. "See you next week," I replied. While many might be happy with a break from work, I do not mind being here.

After my quick departure from the store, I set off toward Green Park station, bypassing my usual stop at Piccadilly. A short six-minute walk later, I descend into the bustling London metro, joining the throngs of commuters typical for this hour.

From Green Park, it's four stops to King's Cross. I remember the panic of navigating this station when I first came here, but now it feels almost like second nature. From there, I board the EMR train bound for Luton, followed by a 15-minute walk to campus.

I could get an Uber, considering the weight of my bags, but it seems like a waste of money, especially when my legs are perfectly fine. Moreover, the weather is unexpectedly nice today, a rarity around here, leaving me with no excuses but to walk.

Upon arriving at the street where Rodney's fraternity house is located, I quickly texted him to tell him I am almost there.

The house is the epitome of fraternity life, seemingly lifted straight from a teen movie. It spans three stories and houses about 15 bedrooms, all crammed with guys, which you can imagine lends it a certain lived-in chaos. From the outside, it hides its nature, except for the empty crate of beer left by the entrance.

Most nights, they have some kind of party going on, often fueled by alcohol and crowded with guests.

I've never been keen on the idea of Rodney living in such an environment, but he assures me he mostly keeps to himself, buried in his studies or at football practice, leaving little time for partying. Honestly, I'm relieved; the thought of girls flirting with him, as they do with his fraternity 'brothers' at these infamous parties, does bother me a bit.

As I approach the house, Rodney's handsome face appears at the front door. "Damn babe," he chuckles, hurrying over as he sees me wrestling with my bags. "You moving in?" he jokes, eyeing the bags.

"It's packed with all the essentials for a girl," I explain with a hint of self-defense. I'm pretty reasonable. Take Emily; if she's going away for a weekend, she packs at least three different outfits per day to have options. I've never really understood why she needs so many choices, but it's not something I bother about. As long as I'm not the one carrying her luggage. I am good with whatever. Handling my own is enough of a struggle.

A bemused look crosses his face, but soon disappears. "Sure thing," he replies with a smile, gazing down at me. Standing at 5'8", he towers slightly over me, which I find incredibly sexy. I've always had a thing for taller guys.

He picks up my bags and turns to head back to the house. "Hey!" I call out, causing him to glance back. "Aren't you forgetting something?" I pout playfully.

With his arms full of my bags, he chuckles, "Let's get inside, and I'll make up with more than just kisses."