Chapter 73

Kenya.

Thursday, present day...

"You've been awfully quiet since we arrived this morning," I said to Levi, as we stood before the magnificent white marble sculpture of Dionysus.

He turned to me, his shoulders tensing for a fleeting second before he relaxed. "It’s nothing, baby. I’m just taking it all in, just like you are." He smiled, but I caught a flicker of something deeper in his eyes—a shadow of thoughts he wasn't yet ready to share.

I had woken up this morning feeling a rare sense of peace. When I turned in bed, Levi was still asleep, his arm draped possessively yet gently around my waist. His handsome face looked so relaxed and innocent in the morning light, a stark contrast to the powerful man the world knew. I had spent a few quiet minutes just watching the even rhythm of his breathing, my mind drifting back to the evening before. It hadn't just been about passion; there was a newfound tenderness, a connection that felt like a fragile bridge being built over a wide chasm. We had spent the day talking, ordering takeout, and simply being—a luxury we hadn't allowed ourselves before.

"There is still more to see inside. Shall we?" Levi’s voice urged me out of my reverie. I nodded, slipping my hand into his as he guided us toward the Vizcaya mansion. The surrounding water and the historic architecture felt like a step back into a more romantic era.

As we strolled through the villa, checking the rooms like any other guests, I spoke up again. "You can tell me what’s on your mind. I might not be able to solve it, but I’m a very good listener."

He laughed softly, the sound echoing in the high-ceilinged hall. "I was just remembering something from my childhood when we were looking at that sculpture."

“Something good?” I pressed.

He shrugged. "Some of it. I remembered visiting a museum in Philadelphia and seeing my first Degas. I was captivated."

"No way! You love Degas too?" I asked, genuinely surprised.

“I do. And from your tone, I take it you’re a fan as well?" He chuckled.

"Of course! He’s my favorite artist because of the way he captured the soul of the ballet. The movement, the discipline... it’s all there," I beamed.

"I’ve actually acquired a few of his original sketches over the years," he said. I hadn't known that. I realized then how much I had missed because I was so engrossed in my own pain.

"Are they in the Manhattan house?" I asked, intrigued.

“They are. Didn't you notice them?" He looked at me with a soft, non-judgmental smile. I felt a flush of embarrassment at my lack of observation. "Perhaps we can spend some time looking at them properly when we return."

We stopped before an intricate Italian tapestry, its rich colors and ancient patterns telling a story of their own. "This is a masterpiece," I murmured, my eyes filled with admiration. "Timeless and unique."

I felt Levi's gaze on me before I saw it. Our fingers interlaced, his warmth radiating through me.

“You are the masterpiece, Kenya,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, intimate whisper near my ear. “You’re one in a million. If I could, I’d keep you in a frame just to admire you every single day.”

I looked up at him, a playful yet shy smile touching my lips. "I think you’re being a bit too poetic for such a crowded museum."

He smiled, a genuine, warm expression that reached his eyes. His hand rested lightly on the small of my back, a supportive and grounding touch. "Is it a crime to appreciate beauty when it's standing right in front of me?"

We shared a quiet laugh as another group of tourists passed by. I liked this new version of us—it was comfortable, light, and free of the crushing tension that had defined our early days. Perhaps we could be more than just partners in a complicated dance. Perhaps we could be friends.

Levi.

It was 8 pm, and we were preparing for an evening out.

I had already notified Liam that we were on our way to the new club on 57th. A strange sense of vulnerability had gripped me since last night. In the quiet hours, as Kenya slept, I had whispered a confession into the silence—truths I hadn't even admitted to myself. Her newfound tenderness had weakened my defenses. I felt as though her presence was no longer just a desire, but a necessity for my survival.

I wore a black long-sleeved shirt, the top buttons undone, and tailored black slacks. I made sure to discreetly check my security detail’s status on my phone. I had promised Kenya a night of fun, but in my world, 'fun' always required a layer of protection.

I wanted to give her a night to remember—a chance to experience the city not as a captive or a pawn, but as my wife. She had mentioned how her friends had planned to take her to this club before our marriage had upended her life. Tonight, I was going to ensure she didn't feel she had missed out on anything. I was going to give her a fabulous first night out, one that would finally start to overwrite the shadows of our past.