From inside the villa, I heard the door slam. I grinned to myself. Worth it. That evening, I appeared in the doorway of her room, freshly dressed, black shirt, sleeves rolled neatly to the elbows, tailored trousers that fit like sin. Just me, looking the way I wanted her to see me.
"Annie, amore mio," I said with a bow, offering my hand. "Put on something that makes you feel like a goddess. I'm taking you to my favorite spot. No chaos, no games. Just the best Italian food this realm, or any realm, has to offer."
She eyed me, suspicious. "Define 'no games.'"
I held up three fingers. "Scout's honor."
"You were never a scout."
"I was once banned from a mortal summer camp for causing a pasta-based food fight in 1923. Close enough." She smiled, despite herself. Victory.
The little restaurant was tucked away between olive trees and weathered stone, the kind of place mortals spend their whole vacation hoping to find. The owner greeted me like an old friend, kissing both cheeks and loudly exclaiming something in rapid Italian about goats and fireworks. Inside was warm, golden, full of laughter and clinking glasses. Smelling of garlic, basil, wood-fired bread. An accordion hummed in the corner. We sat at a small table by the window, a single candle flickering between us. She looked softer in that light, the sharp edges of survival smoothing just enough to breathe. She lifted her glass. I clinked mine against it. "To peace."
Her brow quirked. "And pasta."
I chuckled. "And pasta."
The food was perfect. Pillowy crusted bread and olive oil. She dipped a piece, took a bite, and her eyes fluttered shut. I watched her, quiet. Occasionally murmuring, "Do you like it?"
She would nod or mumble yes. The pasta came next, handmade tagliatelle with mushrooms and cream for her, something bolder for me. She wiped her lips with a napkin, nodded in approval. "This is incredible."
"I told you. The food is made with love. The owners, fae, both of them, have been cooking together for nearly two centuries."
Her eyes widened. "That's a long time."
"Thank the gods," I replied, topping off her wine with a flourish. "Because I never want their food to stop."
I didn't flirt beyond a smile or two. Didn't push. Didn't crowd. I let peace sit at the table with us. Dessert was espresso and tiramisu, light as air. I slid the plate toward her. "This one's my favorite."
She took a bite, hummed, and I smiled at the sound like it was the most precious thing in existence. The night air after was cool, carrying salt and citrus. Lanterns lit the waterfront. I just held her hand. My thumb brushing her skin now and then. I needed the contact but didn't want to startle her with it. She glanced at me, like she expected a smirk, a quip. But I had none. I was just… looking. At the water. At her. At this moment. My chaos was quiet. She leaned into me. I tightened my grip. It struck me, sharp and sudden: this didn't feel like god and mortal. Not trickster and survivor. It felt like two people. Walking. Breathing. Falling hard.
In the quiet, it was undeniable. I felt it. In the brush of her hand against mine, in the way our steps found the same rhythm, in the fact that she didn't pull away, and gods help me, I didn't let go. Saying it would've made it real. Saying it would've torn down the last of our walls, and neither of us was ready to be that bare. Not yet. So we just walked by the water, hearts loud, mouths quiet.
The night was nothing but whispers and soft touches, her fingers tracing my skin, my voice low and hers softer still. No rush. No demands. Just the quiet undoing of two people who didn't know how badly they'd needed this until it was right here. There was healing in every kiss, every brush of my hand along her back, every time her fingers threaded into my hair like she'd been doing it her whole life. I didn't hold her to claim. I held her to keep us both together. I had never held anyone like this before. Like if I let go, I'd lose the only thing that had ever felt like home. Maybe that was what this was. Two broken things finding something whole in each other.
｡☆✼★━ 𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓸𝓼 𝓲𝓼 𝓶𝔂 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 ━★✼☆｡
Morning light filtering through gauzy curtains that shifted with the sea breeze. The air smelled like salt, sun-warmed stone, and faint traces of her shampoo that clung to my skin. I stirred first, not because I needed sleep. I rarely did, but because she was there. Tangled against me. Breathing evenly. Her hair spilled across the pillow. She looked… peaceful. Gods, I didn't want to wake her. So I didn't. I lay still, one arm tucked under my head, the other wrapped around her waist, my thumb tracing lazy circles into her back. Our bond still hummed with the calm she'd carried into her dreams. I liked that. I liked us. When she stirred, it was slow, her body stretching into mine, a little hum slipping out before her eyes fluttered open. She smiled unguarded and soft.
"You were watching me," she murmured, voice thick with sleep.
"I'm allowed," I whispered back. "You're mine, remember?"
She rolled her eyes but didn't argue. Instead, she kissed my collarbone and dropped back against me with a sigh that damn near stopped my heart. Minutes stretched, slow and warm, before she pushed up on one elbow. "I should make coffee."
I caught her hand. "Stay."
"I can stay and still make coffee, Mally."
The nickname did things to my chest I'd rather not discuss. I groaned theatrically but let her slip away, watching her bare form move unashamed in the light. Gods. She came back minutes later with two steaming mugs. Kissed my forehead as she handed me mine.
"Thank you," I said softly, too softly for me, but I didn't care, and dragged her back into bed. The coffee sat forgotten while she curled against me again, her head on my chest, my hand moving lazy circles down her spine. No chaos. No distractions. Just us.
"This is the best vacation I've ever been on," she said, half teasing. "Technically my first vacation."
"Best vacation I've ever had. Because of you." I said it so sincerely it hurt.
She smiled against my chest. "Gods, you're such a sap."
"Only for you, tesoro mio."
The sheets tangled at our legs, warm with sleep and skin. Outside, birds sang. Inside, she traced my tattoos with idle fingers. "Do mortals always look this good in the morning?" I murmured.
She narrowed her eyes. "Do gods always flirt this early?"
"Only when they wake up next to the most breathtaking woman in any realm."
She rolled her eyes but couldn't hide her smile. We stayed like that. Talking, teasing, touching soft. Not planning tomorrow. Not worrying about the next step. Just being. Together.