“where are you going?”
“church.”
“i’ll come with you.”
“no christian you can’t come with”
“why?”
“because… people will think we’re together.”
“you sleep in my bed every goddamn night, gianna.”
“you’re not even catholic!”
“i’m whatever you are.”
“where are you going?”
“church.”
“i’ll come with you.”
“what? no christian you can’t come with”
“why?”
“bc… people will think we’re together.”
“you sleep in my bed every goddamn night, gianna.”
“you’re not even Catholic!”
“i’m whatever you are.”
“he let out a rough breath, watching me lazily, as i ran my hands up his chest, over his neck, into his thick hair, and then down his biceps. grabbing my hips, christian pulled me closer to sit me on his erectíon.”
christian allister’s “she’s 😍italian😍”, gianna’s betting on him marrying another woman and the (un)healthy obsession with gianna’s hair— all in one frame 😭
“what's… my br… my brother like?"
“he leads the mafia operations in shadow port. he's determined, lethal, and he's not stopped looking for you since you were taken from him twenty-two years ago.”
“what's his name?"
“tristan caine,"
“and… what's my name?"
"luna."
christiangianna birthed me, raised me, drove me to school, fed me, stuck my artwork on the fridge, took me to ballet class, read me bedtime stories, walked me down the aisle
“Morana,” his voice broke.
“Tristan.”
“Stay with me, okay?” He was begging. “We’ll get a cat.”
“You... hate cats.”There wasn’t much he didn’t hate. But he would do anything, live anyway, as long as she stayed with him. Her eyes closed, but her pulse beat against his palm.