Chapter 21 " My family lives primarily in Altoria , " he added after a moment , his tone softening slightly . " There's a family gathering next month . I'll take you to meet them then . " F By late afternoon , we arrived at the Casanova Residence in Portano . As we entered our apartment , I realized we had no food for dinner . we can trus I should go grocery shopping , " I said , checking the empty refrigerator . " There's a supermarket just down the street . " Marco checked his watch , then nodded . " I'll come with you . " I raised an eyebrow . " You don't have to . I'm sure you have work to catch up on . " As your husband , my responsibilities extend beyond earning money , " he replied , removing his suit jacket and rolling up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt . The casual gesture somehow made him look even more attractive . We walked the short distance to the local supermarket , drawing glances from nearly everyone we passed . I couldn't blame them - Marco commanded attention without even trying . His tall frame , perfect posture , and confident stride made him stand out even in casual attire . A group of women at a sidewalk café openly stared as we passed , whispering behind their hands . I caught fragments of their Italian conversation : * … così potente … " so powerful and " … quegli occhi … " those eyes . " You attract quite an audience , " I commented , feeling an unexpected twinge of possessiveness . Marco's hand found the small of my back , his touch warm through my light sweater . " I only care about you opinion . " My cheeks flushed at his words . " Well , in my opinion , you're the most elegant and powerful man I've ever met . A low chuckle rumbied in his chest as he leaned down , his lips brushing my ear . " Powerful or not , you'll find out firsthand tonight . " Heat flooded my face and neck , spreading lower as his words conjured vivid images in my mind . I ducked my head , suddenly unable to meet his intense gaze . In the supermarket's seafood section , I selected a fresh Mediterranean sea bass , planning to prepare it Italian - style with herbs and lemon . The fishmonger , an older Italian man with weathered hands and a broad smile , greeted me warmly in Italian . " Ah , signorina ! Questa spigola è arrivata questa mattina . Perfetta per una bella cena romantica , eh ? " This sea bass arrived this morning . Perfect for a romantic dinner , eh ? I responded in fluent Italian , discussing the best preparation methods . From the corner of my eye , I noticed Marco watching our exchange with interest . " You seem popular with the locals , " he observed when the fishmonger wrapped our purchase with a flourish and a wink for me . I hooked my arm through Marco's , feeling suddenly bold . " Well , I am a charming Italian girl , after all . Instead of just accepting may playful gesture , Marco interlaced our fingers , his large hand enveloping mine completely . After selecting vegetables , pasta , and a bottle of white wine , we headed to checkout . I noticed Marco had silenced his work phone . This small gesture - prioritizing our mundane grocery shopping over his evidently important business - touched me more than any expensive gift could have . Back in our apartment kitchen , I lied an apron around my waist and began organizing ingredients . " I can help , " Marco offered , removing his watch and rolling his sleeves higher . I smiled , pointing at him with the wooden spoon . " No way , every time you help , you end up causing trouble , Chapter 21 ' I'll be on my best behavior , " he promised . I set about preparing the sea bass while starting water for pasta and chopping vegetables for the sauce . As I worked , I added generous amounts of red onion to the sauce and the fish marinade - a specialty of Portano regional cooking that gave dishes a distinctive sweetness . " Marco moved around me with surprising grace for such a large man , handing me utensils before I asked . At the dining table , I carefully served Marco first , placing a generous portion of sea bass on his plate , surrounded by pasta and sauce laden with red onions . I noticed his slight hesitation as he looked at the onion - covered dish , a barely perceptible furrow appearing between his brows . Yet instead of pushing the plate away , he picked up his fork . " You don't like red onions , do you ? " I asked , suddenly concerned . Marco paused , fork midway to his mouth . " What makes you say that ? " " Your expression changed when you saw them , " I said , remembering how observant he'd been about my preferences . " Why didn't you say something ? " He set his fork down carefully . " It's fine . The dish looks excellent . " " Marco , I pressed , " if you don't like something , you should tell me . " A brief internal struggle played across his features before he admitted , " I have a mild allergy to onions . Nothing serious . " I immediately reached for his plate . " Let me make you something else . " To my surprise , Marco placed his hand over mine , stopping me . " No need . " But- " Alia . " His voice was gentle but firm . " You went to the trouble of cooking . I'll eat it . " As I watched him take a deliberate bite , smiling at me across the table despite his discomfort . The realization that this powerful , commanding man would willingly eat something he was allergic to rather than disappoint me again sent a warm flutter through my chest . Since we got married , this was the first time I felt that marriage had meaning ,