The sensation of her skin beneath my fingertips, as I slowly unzipped her dress, was divine. Her skin was silky smooth, warm under my touch. I gently reached up to undo the half-bun she had styled her hair in, letting the soft strands fall loosely.

Before I could even fully register what I was doing, I leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to her now-exposed back. I felt her breath hitch, just the faintest of gasps, a silent sign that she liked it.

A moment later, she excused herself and slipped into the bathroom, leaving me to sit on the bed, my mind wandering over the events of the night.

The dinner had been tense, especially after the incident with Raffaele and Andrea the previous day. Then there was Andrea, visibly shaken by the note he received. And my wife-Christina-so beautiful in her short blue dress, exuding grace and elegance despite everything. I could still see the reflection of her face in the mirror, the way her eyes had locked onto mine as she stood there, composed and fierce. Her warning not to push Andrea for details echoed in my head. It was clear that Christina's instincts were right, as they often were. And, of course, I couldn't forget her sharp retort when she indirectly called Raffaele an "asshole." That moment was oddly satisfying.

Unconsciously, a smile spread across my face as I thought of her-her smile, the way her breath quickened under my gentle touch.

I found myself eagerly waiting for her to come back out, wanting nothing more than to kiss her again. Christina had become like an addiction, ever since that first kiss at the altar. Every part of me longed to be near her, to touch her. It took all my self-control not to push too hard, to hold back the overwhelming desire to devour her.

Minutes passed, then more, and my anticipation slowly gave way to worry. Twenty minutes had gone by, and still, she hadn't come out. The silence from the bathroom gnawed at me, feeding my anxiety.

A disturbing memory flashed in my mind-my mother, lifeless in the bathtub, wrists slit, the water a haunting shade of pink. My chest tightened as the image forced its way to the surface.

Christina had been distressed earlier, too shaken by the note. Could it have pushed her to...?

A rational person would have knocked on the door, asked if she was okay. But panic gripped me. My body moved on instinct, and I kicked open the door with a surge of fear.

My eyes immediately found her in the bathtub, staring at me, wide-eyed in shock. She lowered herself deeper into the water, clearly startled. The water-light pink.

My heart dropped.

I rushed to her side, fury and fear battling inside me. I grabbed her wrist, inspecting it for any sign of injury, desperate to find none.

"Did you hurt yourself?" My voice came out sharp, almost accusatory. My brain was still catching up with my panic.

Her wrists were unmarked, soft and perfect as ever. There was no blood, no wounds.

I had overreacted. Realizing this, I let go of her hand and stepped back, trying to rein in my emotions. My heart was still hammering in my chest.

"Sorry," I mumbled, feeling ashamed, struggling to calm myself.

"Michael," Christina's soft voice pulled me from my spiraling thoughts. I turned back to her, meeting her warm, concerned eyes. She patted the edge of the tub. "Come here."

I hesitated, but only for a moment. Kneeling beside the tub, I leaned in as her hand reached up to cup my cheek, her fingers brushing gently against my skin. Her touch was so comforting, so inviting, that I couldn't help but lean into it.

"I'm okay," she whispered softly. "I promise. I would never hurt myself. I wouldn't do that to you or to Andrea. If things ever got that bad, I'd talk to someone. I swear. I'm not leaving you."

Her words were exactly what I needed to hear. I took a deep breath, my heart slowly returning to a normal rhythm. She was okay. I had let my fear get the best of me.

"I'll be right out," she added gently. "Just let me dry off and get dressed."

I nodded, giving her a final look before stepping out and closing the door behind me. I waited, still shaken but calming with each passing moment.

When she finally emerged, she was wearing an incredibly short lavender nightgown that hugged her figure in all the right places. My eyes traveled from her loose bun, down to her toes painted the exact shade of blue as her dress from earlier.

Mischief gleamed in her eyes as she suddenly leapt onto the bed, landing squarely on top of me. Of course, I caught her easily, wrapping my arms around her, holding her tightly. One of my hands slipped to rest on her upper thigh, and to my delight, she didn't seem to mind.

She wriggled in my arms, trying to break free. "I'm heavy," she complained playfully.

I nearly laughed at that. She was far from heavy-she felt more like a soft, warm teddy bear, perfect for holding close.

"You didn't seem to worry about that when you jumped on me, did you?" I teased, giving her a light smack on her round backside.

She yelped in surprise, and I couldn't help but laugh at her reaction.

As I looked down at my beautiful wife, I marveled at my luck. What had I done to deserve her? I leaned in and kissed her, softly at first, then deeper, more passionate. The kiss consumed us both, mind-blowing in its intensity. When we finally pulled apart, her cheeks were flushed, her lips swollen from the kiss. She looked so incredibly cute.

"Goodnight," I whispered, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face.

"Goodnight," she replied, snuggling closer to me. I wrapped my arms tighter around her, holding her as if I never wanted to let go.

And for the first time in a long while, I drifted into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.