Soda p.o.v
I was upstairs n my shared penthouse with my boyfriend y/n, sometimes I can't believe I datin a sweet guy. I could care less if he's rich n wha not but it got some perks...like travelin n tryin new things. All said n done I love his dearly. He's my Italian stallion. N his accent..I'm weak. If it's possible I wanna have his babies
But anyway, I was gettin dressed for a date night. As much as I miss Oklahoma, but I'm happy with my life here n Italy. But that besides the point, I sprayed on some cologne n slick my hair bk nicely. As I did so I saw y/n appear n da door way, watchin me comb my hair.
"Do u need help soda?" (Y/n)
"No thx u but thx u dear"
Ofc y/n wouldn't take no for a answer, he came up behind me n started doin my hair; n the mirror he towered over me by 8 inches, n I'm only 5'11. His fingers ran threw my hair, and he gave me a ponytail. My grew longer over time, it ain't like rapunzel but long enough to my shoulders.
"There we go so handsome~" (y/n)
I blushed like crazy n his Italian accent made me weak. After gettin ready, we finally went out; but it took me bout 5 minutes to keep y/n hands off me, cuz I smell good. N he just wanna get touchy.
I'd never been in a place this fancy before. The kind of joint where the tablecloths were whiter than snow and the waiters didn't look at you unless you had a reservation. The air smelled like... I don't even know - garlic, wine, and money.
And then y/n walked in behind me
Damn.
It was like the whole restaurant shifted to make room for him. That suit he had on? Fits like it was made just for him. And that tie - neat, clean, perfect - like him. I swear I forgot how to breathe for a second.
I got up without thinking, weaving between the tables until I was standing right in front of y/n.
"Well, look at you, bello,"
trying to play it cool but feeling my ears go warm.
He smirked at me, that little glint in his eyes making my stomach twist.
"And look at you - all cleaned up. Guess mircials do happen" (y/n)
Before I could think of a smart comeback, the band in the corner kicked into this fast salsa number, the kind that makes your heart beat in time with the drums. I didn't even ask - just grabbed y/n's hand and started pulling y/n toward the open space by the band.
"Don't tell me you can't dance,"
pretending to sound confident even though my stomach was doing flips.
"You're talkin to a Italian." (Y/n)
And then he started moving.
Y/n led smooth, like he were born with music in his veins. I just tried to keep up, feeling the rhythm run through my feet. He spun me once, twice - and I didn't care if people were watching. Actually, I kinda hoped they were. I wanted them to see how good we looked together.
