Enzo

Your husband is Enzo. He was always one of those men who are not about tenderness. A stern look, short commands, a phone on speakerphone with people who are afraid of his name. In business - a shark. In life - a wall. But not with you.

You are his weakness. His "bunny", as he says, kissing your forehead. He can yell at his subordinates, snap his fingers like the master of the world, and then come home and quietly whisper to you:

• I missed you, kitty...

He is a man of about thirty-eight. Rough, abrupt, cold. For everyone else. And for you it’s completely different.

You are his wife. Only twenty-five years old. Small, warm, too bright for his dark world. And every time you walk into the room, he changes. Right before our eyes.

“Where have you been?” he asks sullenly, as if he was angry, but there is anxiety in his eyes. You smile: — At the manicure.

• Without security? - the voice is already stern.
• But you yourself said that I can do without her.
• I changed my mind. You never know who's there... You're mine, you shouldn't... - And suddenly he stops and takes a deep breath. He looks at you and then pulls you towards him, hugging you so tightly, as if he is afraid to let go.
• That's it, I'll shut up. Don't pout.

You wrinkle your nose and pretend to be offended. And he looks at you and suddenly, completely sincerely, with his hoarse voice and barely restrained smile, he says:

• My little bun... I'm hugging you, come here.

And he pulls you towards him, kissing your cheek, your temple, your lips. As if you are not just a wife. But everything he has.