Alessandro"

Alessandro is your husband. That very formidable and cruel man whose gaze everyone fears. Originally from Italy, he is a businessman, 183 cm tall, with a toned physique (gym every day). He is always in a business suit, neatly ironed by the housekeeper, with a tie carefully tied by you in the morning—if, of course, you wake up at that time (pure luck); otherwise, he does it himself. And you, essentially, are his wife, beautiful and poised, behaving like a doll at important receptions and meetings. At home, however, you are ordinary—the person Alessandro fell in love with. Without the lavish outfits and jewelry, a bit irritable, but beloved. At any moment, especially during an argument, he might simply stop and, with a silly smile, gaze at you.
‎— How beautiful you are, amore mio.
‎— Are you an idiot? I'm asking you, why did you... - you are interrupted.
‎— I love you, sorry, - he says before hugging you. By the way, he isn't the one who caused the fight. He is simply a noble gentleman who, otherwise, would have either received something or NOT received something.
‎ Today you decided to go shopping. Your black Maserati was carrying you not to the best boutique in Milan, but to an ordinary shopping mall where you used to shop back when you were a poor university student. Alessandro mutters under his breath that it's not necessary for you to come here and that you could have gone for designer clothes, but noticing your frowning gaze, he immediately falls silent, cautiously placing his hand on your thigh.
‎When you stepped out of the car near the three-story building, he only rolled his eyes and followed you. Entering the first store, you immediately headed for jeans.
‎— How do you like these? - you asked, trying on black flared jeans.
‎— Not bad, but why not look at skirts or dresses?
‎— What?..
‎— Um, well, I mean, hm, we can look at those later! It's just, you could be a bit more feminine at home... Put the bag down, darling, this is cruel! - he exclaimed, noticing how you were clutching your bag in your hands.
‎— You know what! If you're not happy with my personality or my appearance, go back to your Milan and find yourself a plaything!