#exclusive]

Kimi Antonelli had been acting suspicious for three days.

Not bad suspicious.

Just… Kimi suspicious — which meant clingier than usual, hovering, smiling at his phone, and looking at you like he was about to burst with a secret he physically could not keep.

You found out why on a quiet Sunday morning.

You were still half-asleep, wrapped in the duvet, when the mattress dipped and Kimi whispered, soft and excited, “Tesoro… wake up. I have something for you.”

You blinked at him. “If this is another one of your ‘surprises’ that turns out to be breakfast cereal in a fancy bowl—”

“It’s better,” he promised, eyes sparkling.

He held out his hands.

They were cupped around something tiny. Something warm. Something wiggly.

A small, floppy‑eared golden retriever puppy blinked up at you.

Your jaw dropped. “Kimi—”

“She’s ours,” he said immediately, like he’d been rehearsing it. “I mean—if you want. I already love her. But only if you do too. If you don’t, I’ll— I don’t know, I’ll cry.”

“You would not cry.”

“I would absolutely cry,” he insisted, placing the puppy gently in your lap. “Look at her. She’s perfect. She’s basically a baby. Our baby. A furry baby.”

You laughed, already melting as the puppy nuzzled into your stomach. “Kimi, she’s adorable.”

Kimi lit up like you’d handed him pole position.

He flopped onto his side, propping his head on his hand, watching you and the puppy with the softest expression you’d ever seen on him. “I knew you’d love her. I knew it. I could feel it in my bones.”

“You’ve been vibrating with excitement for days.”

“I almost told you in the shower yesterday,” he admitted. “But then I thought, no, Kimi, be strong. Hold the line.”

You snorted. “You’re ridiculous.”

He leaned over, kissed your cheek, then kissed the puppy’s head. “We’re ridiculous. Together.”

ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴀ ᴘᴀᴛʀᴇᴏɴ-ᴇxᴄʟᴜꜱɪᴠᴇ ꜰɪᴄ ᴛᴇᴀꜱᴇʀ - ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴜʟʟ ᴘɪᴇᴄᴇ ʟɪᴠᴇꜱ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴏɴ ᴘᴀᴛʀᴇᴏɴ. ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ ɢᴇᴛꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴇᴀꜱᴇʀ, ᴘᴀᴛʀᴇᴏɴ ɢᴇᴛꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡʜᴏʟᴇ ᴛʜɪɴɢ.

ᴘᴀᴛʀᴇᴏɴ: ᴇᴀʀʟʏ ᴀᴄᴄᴇꜱꜱ, ᴇxᴛᴇɴᴅᴇᴅ ꜱᴄᴇɴᴇꜱ, ᴇxᴄʟᴜꜱɪᴠᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ: ʀᴀɴɢɪɴɢ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ꜱᴍᴜᴛ ᴛᴏ ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ, ꜰʀᴏᴍ ꜱᴏᴄɪᴀʟ ᴍᴇᴅɪᴀ ᴀᴜ’ꜱ ᴛᴏ ꜰᴀᴋᴇ ᴍᴇꜱꜱᴀɢᴇ ᴀᴜ’ꜱ - ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴘʀɪᴏʀɪᴛʏ ʀᴇϙᴜᴇꜱᴛꜱ

ᴀʟʟ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇꜱᴇ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ᴍʏ ᴏᴡɴ - ɪ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀʟʟᴏᴡ ᴀɴʏᴏɴᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ.

ɪᴛ’ꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀʀᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴋɪɴᴅ, ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛɪɴɢ.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing the private foyer of the penthouse - your penthouse. Monaco stretched out beyond the floor‑to‑ceiling windows, the harbour glittering under the late afternoon sun. Leo’s tiny golden paws clicked excitedly on the marble as he trotted ahead, tail wagging so hard his whole body wiggled.

Charles laughed, dropping the keys into the bowl by the door. “He’s already claimed the place,” he said, slipping an arm around your waist and pulling you into his side. “I think he likes it.”

You leaned into him, heart full. “He’s not the only one.”

The penthouse was airy, warm, modern - but lived‑in already, because of the boxes scattered around, the half‑assembled furniture, the framed photos leaning against walls waiting to be hung. Your life together, ready to be placed.

Charles kissed your temple. “Welcome home, amour.”

Leo barked, as if to echo the sentiment.

You wandered through the open living space, touching surfaces, imagining dinners, quiet mornings, late‑night conversations. Charles followed you, watching you with that soft, adoring expression he never tried to hide.

“You’re thinking,” he murmured.

“I’m imagining,” you corrected. “Us. Here. Everything.”

He stepped behind you, arms sliding around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder. “Everything,” he repeated, voice low. “I want all of it with you.”

ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴀ ᴘᴀᴛʀᴇᴏɴ-ᴇxᴄʟᴜꜱɪᴠᴇ ꜰɪᴄ ᴛᴇᴀꜱᴇʀ - ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴜʟʟ ᴘɪᴇᴄᴇ ʟɪᴠᴇꜱ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴏɴ ᴘᴀᴛʀᴇᴏɴ. ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ ɢᴇᴛꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴇᴀꜱᴇʀ, ᴘᴀᴛʀᴇᴏɴ ɢᴇᴛꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡʜᴏʟᴇ ᴛʜɪɴɢ.

ᴘᴀᴛʀᴇᴏɴ: ᴇᴀʀʟʏ ᴀᴄᴄᴇꜱꜱ, ᴇxᴛᴇɴᴅᴇᴅ ꜱᴄᴇɴᴇꜱ, ᴇxᴄʟᴜꜱɪᴠᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ: ʀᴀɴɢɪɴɢ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ꜱᴍᴜᴛ ᴛᴏ ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ, ꜰʀᴏᴍ ꜱᴏᴄɪᴀʟ ᴍᴇᴅɪᴀ ᴀᴜ’ꜱ ᴛᴏ ꜰᴀᴋᴇ ᴍᴇꜱꜱᴀɢᴇ ᴀᴜ’ꜱ - ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴘʀɪᴏʀɪᴛʏ ʀᴇϙᴜᴇꜱᴛꜱ

ᴀʟʟ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇꜱᴇ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ᴍʏ ᴏᴡɴ - ɪ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀʟʟᴏᴡ ᴀɴʏᴏɴᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ.

ɪᴛ’ꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀʀᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴋɪɴᴅ, ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛɪɴɢ.