Li Yaru had spent the whole day wandering around Rome, picking out a perfect gift for Kurt and, on a whim, buying Zhuang Qiting a whole bunch of miscellaneous things.
Nowadays, Zhuang Qiting was much better at gauging the situation, acting far more submissive and no longer throwing his weight around like a tyrant father disciplining her.
The once stern and cold man had finally softened, lowered his guard, which brought Li Yaru a great deal of peace.
After their divorce, they had somehow found a way to emotionally reconnect—it was truly astonishing.
Li Yaru never thought about treating Zhuang Qiting better; after all, he was still her man.
Choosing Kurt’s gift took only an hour, but shopping for Zhuang Qiting’s present consumed her entire afternoon, the credit card practically smoking from the swipes.
Ada and Young Master Rui trailed behind Li Yaru, their hands full of increasingly more shopping bags.
Li Yaru found herself addicted to it—whenever she saw something suitable for Zhuang Qiting, she couldn’t resist buying it, wanting to remake him completely into the man she desired.
Even she couldn’t tell if this was passion or a perverse hobby.
Ada exclaimed that they were going to wear themselves out, so the three of them stopped at a café tucked in a small alley near the Spanish Steps.
Opposite the café was a quaint, vintage-looking little shop that appeared plain at first glance but revealed exquisite details upon closer inspection.
Li Yaru cradled a cup of mocha and curiously approached. As she pushed the door open, the shell wind chimes at the entrance whispered softly, like a gentle murmur from the ocean.
Luxurious accessories were displayed in an old brown cabinet—mostly cufflinks, lapel pins, and pocket squares.
It turned out to be a handcrafted boutique specializing in custom men’s suit accessories.
The shopkeeper was an elderly gentleman, impeccably dressed. Upon seeing Li Yaru enter, he greeted her warmly and complimented her eyes as being more beautiful than the most expensive black gemstones.
Li Yaru smiled slightly. She had long since grown accustomed to the ever-present Italian-style romance—walking down the street and hearing boys say “I love you” was no longer surprising.
“I’m looking for a pair of cufflinks, preferably with high-quality blue gemstones. Something ornate, ideally with a camellia motif,” she said, drawing a shape in the air with her finger adorned by a large blue sapphire ring.
“Oh, camellia! Chanel! Good taste!” The middle-aged man gave a confident thumbs-up, grabbed a piece of draft paper, and began sketching fluidly with his pencil.
Within five minutes, a design was completed. A delicate and simple camellia flower bloomed on the page, its pistil dotted with diamond-cut gems.
The shopkeeper annotated the sketch with notes of gold and sapphire.
“Beautiful! Your taste is impeccable! Can you really make this?” Li Yaru gave a thumbs-up.
The shopkeeper squinted his eyes. “If it were for anyone else, the wait would be half a year, but for you, I’ll give it my all and finish it within five days. I’m so obsessed with you that I just want to see you again as soon as possible.”
Li Yaru chuckled softly—this romantic line was smoother than a Ferrari! Zhuang Qiting should learn from Italian men instead of repeating those flowery but lifeless lines.
“Alright, five days it is! I’ll pay the deposit now.”
Li Yaru admired the design sheet lovingly, already reluctant to give the cufflinks to Zhuang Qiting; she wanted to keep them for herself.
At that moment, the wind chimes jingled again as a customer entered.
“It’s Mr. Lorenzo! Finally!” The shopkeeper’s eyes lit up as he recognized the man, stepping out from behind the counter to warmly embrace him.
Li Yaru heard the familiar name and turned just in time to meet the man’s deep eyes hidden behind his glasses.
The cramped shop suddenly felt more crowded with the tall, handsome gentleman inside.
A new fragrance filled the air—coming from Lorenzo: an elegant and refined top note, reminiscent of oak, with a subtle spicy hint like a slowly burning cigar.
After greeting the shopkeeper, Lorenzo approached Li Yaru, his eyes politely landing just above her nose.
“Miss Eleanor, what a coincidence to meet you here.”
Li Yaru smiled gently. “Indeed, I thought you’d be at the gallery helping Kurt entertain guests.”
“He’s twenty-four now, no longer a child. He should learn to handle things on his own.” Lorenzo nodded toward the sketch in Li Yaru’s hand. “Did the shopkeeper design this for you? It suits you well. This shop looks unremarkable but is actually quite famous in Italy. The shopkeeper’s craftsmanship is excellent—he won’t disappoint you.”
The shopkeeper smiled and patted Lorenzo’s shoulder. “So this beautiful lady is your friend!”
Lorenzo had just picked out a gift for Kurt’s birthday party tomorrow—a pair of golden cufflinks featuring a delicate deer head motif.
Coincidentally, Li Yaru had chosen an animal motif brooch for Kurt as well.
After bidding farewell to the shopkeeper, the three stepped out, the wind chimes ringing lightly as sunlight poured down.
As Li Yaru looked for a chance to say goodbye, Lorenzo unexpectedly offered an invitation.
“Would you mind if we walked along this alley and talked a bit? The Spanish Steps are just ahead, and there’s a nice shop nearby.”
Li Yaru tilted her chin thoughtfully. There was no reason to refuse such a gentlemanly offer.
Walking down the alley, the buildings showed off various historic styles—Romanesque, Baroque, and Gothic—intertwined unevenly, their facades adorned with blue silk ribbons.
On the ancient stone pavement, the brown cobblestones echoed with different rhythms.
Lorenzo had already shed his suit jacket, wearing only a high-quality beige shirt with the top button lazily undone, revealing a sensual collarbone.
A broad-shouldered, slim-waisted, handsome man always attracted attention, especially when accompanied by a striking woman. Passersby kept glancing back at the beautiful couple.
Lorenzo said, “Eleanor, I apologize for my abruptness earlier. I hope you don’t dislike me. I mean no harm.”
“Don’t be like that, Lorenzo. I know you mean well. If anyone’s to blame… it’s probably the mysterious charm of an Eastern woman’s age.”
Li Yaru disliked gloomy atmospheres and lightened the mood with a playful quip.
Lorenzo’s amber eyes gleamed with an unexpected gentleness—something he himself hardly understood.
Men like him, trained as Western elite aristocrats, often exuded elegance mixed with aloofness and pride, but genuine warmth was rare.
“Eleanor, you’re more interesting than I thought.”
Li Yaru raised an eyebrow. “Many people find me very interesting.”
She was effortlessly in control; if she refused, almost no man could gain the upper hand. Lorenzo felt defeated, a sensation new to him.
When Li Yaru was distracted by a nearby wall of roses, Lorenzo’s gaze unabashedly drifted to her ear, where a metal earring hung from her jade-like earlobe, gently swinging with her movements.
Lorenzo didn’t know why he was so drawn to her.
Learning she was in her forties, divorced, and a mother only heightened this strange and intense attraction.
He thought to himself, maybe he was crazy. To be attracted to a divorced woman in her forties with children—he must be mad.
“Eleanor.”
Li Yaru stopped and turned her head slightly, lifting her eyelids to meet his. His sharp jawline was neat, his stubble well-groomed.
“You speak. I’m listening.”
Lorenzo said, “Kurt told me you’re divorced.”
Li Yaru rubbed her forehead. “Yes, that’s what they say. But it’s complicated—I can’t explain it in a few words.”
“No matter what, you’re divorced, so now you’re single. That means all men can fall for you. Forty is the best age, Eleanor.”
Li Yaru blinked slowly. “I…”
Lorenzo calmly stated, “I’ve fallen for you.”
Li Yaru paused, then lightly covered her face and burst into laughter. Her meticulously maintained skin glowed under the sunlight.
“Lorenzo, are all Italian men this easy to fall for?”
“We Italian men only fall for women worth it.”
Li Yaru smirked at him. “How many times have you fallen so far? Five? Ten?”
Lorenzo ignored her sarcasm and smiled faintly, his husky voice low and slow: “This is the second time.”
“Who was the first? Your first love?” Li Yaru asked curiously.
Lorenzo gazed toward the romantic rose wall, a florist’s backdrop.
“The first was a painting. The second is you.”
“That must be an incomparable painting.”
Lorenzo looked at Li Yaru. “Yes, incomparable.”
He knew he had to have Li Yaru. No matter what, by any means, he would get her.
Lorenzo told Li Yaru to wait and casually walked into the flower shop.
When he came out, he held a bouquet of red tulips, wrapped simply in brown paper and tied with a red velvet ribbon.
He handed it to her politely.
“I dare not give you red roses, fearing you won’t accept them. To me, tulips represent nobility and suit you well. I hope you’ll accept them.”
Li Yaru had no romantic feelings for Lorenzo but couldn’t resist such romantic gestures. Her cheeks flushed slightly.
No woman could resist a mature, charming gentleman speaking so and presenting such flowers.
“Thank you.” Li Yaru smiled as she accepted the bouquet, inhaling its scent gently.
Before Lorenzo could respond, his sharp peripheral vision caught sight of a furtive figure standing at the street corner, holding a camera.
He had noticed this woman tailing them all along, the camera always in hand, pretending to take pictures of the scenery, but the lens seemed always to focus on him—or rather, the woman beside him.
Lorenzo suddenly closed in on Li Yaru, his large veined hand gripping her slender arm.
He leaned close; beneath the refined scent lurked a spicy hint that Li Yaru caught clearly.
He whispered, “Don’t look around, Eleanor. Someone’s following us.”
Li Yaru’s eyes sharpened as she gripped the tulips tightly.
“Who?”
“Shh, let’s find out. Can you run?” Lorenzo glanced at her lace-up high heels.
Li Yaru nodded. Running in heels was nothing.
“Good.” Lorenzo swiftly switched on his phone’s front camera, then took her hand. He felt her tense slightly but gripped tighter.
The sudden movement startled the trailing woman, who hastily followed at a quick pace.
After a few steps, she realized she might have walked into a trap, quickly turning to hide herself.
Li Yaru was thus pulled along in a wild sprint by Lorenzo.
They ran for an unknown amount of time, wind and sunlight exploding on Li Yaru’s face. Lorenzo’s hand holding hers was steady and strong.
She felt like the heroine in an escape scene, her heart pounding wildly, her mind utterly blank except for fleeting glimpses of ancient Roman scenery in her peripheral vision.
Finally, utterly exhausted, the two gasped for breath as they stopped on the steps of the Spanish Steps.
Li Yaru was too tired to stand and collapsed onto the stone baluster in the center of the steps, sweat beading at her temple.
She panted and said, “Just for this hundred-meter sprint, I think I’ll remember this Roman trip for a lifetime. This experience… I can only describe it as a return to youth.”
Lorenzo, no longer concerned with the gentlemanly image, laughed heartily, sweat dripping from his temple into his shirt collar.
His previously perfect hairstyle now had strands falling over his forehead.
“It’s my honor to make you remember it forever.”
Li Yaru blushed fiercely and fanned herself, shooting him a sideways glance.
Suddenly Lorenzo’s heart fluttered.
“Eleanor, you look like the heroine from Roman Holiday—you know, the movie with Audrey Hepburn? She sat right here back then. Wait, don’t move, I’ll take a picture.”
He pulled out his phone and captured the timeless moment.
Her eyes sparkled, cheeks rosy, lips subtly red. Her striking red evening gown was slightly rumpled, legs lazily stretched out, heels gleaming in the sunlight.
She sat on the very stone block where Audrey Hepburn once filmed, holding the red tulips in her right hand, smiling gently at the camera.
When Young Master Rui and Ada found Li Yaru later, she had long recovered from the frantic run and was elegantly enjoying a scoop of vanilla ice cream.
Lorenzo saw the bodyguard assistants escorting her and, true to his composed gentlemanly manner, did not linger, sending her off with a polite farewell.
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