Rin

My body rose from a deep, languid sleep to the smell of bacon.

I dragged in a sigh and let it out, stretching my legs, which bumped into an ass sitting at the end of the bed. Court’s ass.

I smiled lazily, my eyes blinking open, and he turned, smiling back, his face soft and boyish and devastatingly handsome. He climbed over me, pressing me into the bed, and I hated the interference of the comforter, wishing I could feel his bare chest against mine.

His arms bracketed my head, his hands in my hair. “Hi.”

Without waiting for a response, he kissed me, his lips sweet and slow and supple. He didn’t deepen it, didn’t press for more, just spent a long moment kissing me strictly for the sake of it.

He broke away, and I cupped his jaw, covered in dark stubble that made it look sharper, harder.

“Well, good morning,” I said.

Court smiled and kissed my cheek. “I ordered room service.”

“I can see that.” I nodded to the table at the foot of the bed.

“I didn’t know what you liked, so I ordered a little bit of everything.”

He climbed off me, moving to the table as I sat, reaching for his discarded shirt from yesterday. I pulled it on and buttoned it enough to keep the thing together, hooking the edge in my hand to bring it to my nose while his back was turned. God, it smelled incredible, like soap and musk and Court. I crawled down the bed, sitting next to him on my knees.

“So, I got pancakes and waffles, eggs and bacon, an omelet, a breakfast burrito, and potatoes. Oh, and one of these.” He held up an oatmeal cream pie, smiling.

“You are so, so crazy.”

He shrugged like it was no big deal that he was carrying around my favorite snack, which he did not eat. “You like them. I like you. So I got them for you.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “What happened to your morals?”

He chuckled and kissed my hair. “They went out the door when I met you along with my willpower.”

Court rolled the table closer to me, and I rose on my knees, precariously leaning on the edge to reach for the dish of potatoes, not even flinching when his hand swept up the back of my thigh and over the curve of my ass.

After the last—I checked the clock on the wall—twenty hours, his touch couldn’t possibly surprise me. We’d stayed in bed all afternoon and all night, hours and hours spent with his body and mine, marked by stretches of easy conversation and not speaking at all, a few naps, until we were so tired and spent, we fell asleep for good. My body ached, my abs, my shoulders, my thighs, the place where they met.

I’d had sex before but never like that.

The sum of my lackluster experiences with sex had been in those early years of college, awkward, bumbling affairs where neither of us knew what to do with the other. The only orgasms I’d ever had were self-imposed.

Although it was really no surprise Court knew exactly what to do with me with the rest of his body after proving what his hands were capable of. And his certainty gave me the sense that I knew exactly what to do with him, too. It was easy—I didn’t have to lead. Court knew what he wanted, even when it was my own pleasure, and he knew better than I did exactly how to give it to me.

And boy, had he. Six times.

I giggled as I popped a potato wedge into my mouth and sat.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, reaching for the bacon with that goddamn smirk still on his face.

“Oh, nothing.”

One of his dark brows rose. “It’s never nothing.”

I shrugged one shoulder, loading my plate with food. “You’re just…unexpected and perfectly predictable, all at the same time.”

He frowned. “I’m not predictable.”

I laughed and leaned over to kiss the corner of his pouting lips. “I mean that in a good way.”

“How is being predictable a good thing?”

“Well, in the way that smashes this,” I gestured to my hips, “into oblivion.”

The lines of his face smoothed to amusement. “I hope not. I’m not done with it.”

I chuckled. “Well, we don’t have any meetings today—we’d reserved it for pestering Bartolino. So, what do you want to do?”

“Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to, Rin.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m serious.”

“So am I.” He picked up his burrito and took a bite. “I wanted to show you around, take you to some of my favorite spots. You know, I studied at Accademia di Belle Arti when I lived here. Best year of my life.” He angled for another bite, and I watched his mouth like a creep as he chewed, the shadow of his jaw, the muscles at the corners, the shape of his lips.

My eyes widened. “Medici’s college. Did you really?” I asked, gaping.

He nodded. “It was while I was working on my dissertation, not as part of my degree. I wanted to take classes in the halls, in the city, where the Renaissance was born.” He turned to his burrito. “So, let’s go be tourists. Plus, we need to go back to the Accademia and really admire David.” He flicked his eyebrows with a smile and took a bite.

I shook my head at him as warmth bloomed in my chest. Everything about him had changed, and nothing had changed at all. It was as if he’d been animated, the somber, brooding man I’d come to lust and loathe filled with carefree smiles and radiant eyes, as if he’d breathed for the first time and it had filled his lungs with sunshine.

“What?” he asked with his mouth full.

“You.”

He swallowed. “What about me?”

“You’re just…”

He caught my expression, his smile broadening, brightening, crinkling the corners of his eyes gently. “Happy?”

I laughed. “Yes.”

He put down his breakfast and slid closer to me, taking my face in his hands, studying it with adoration in his fingertips, at the edges of his lips, behind his dark eyes, bluer than I’d ever seen them.

“It’s because of you.”

My flush burned hotter. “But I didn’t do anything.”

“Oh, but you did,” he said, his voice softening, velvety.

My hands rested on his chest, my eyes searching his. Before I could ask what he meant, he kissed me.

And all I could do was let him.

An hour later, I stepped out of the shower and into the room, my aching body soothed by the hot water. Court sat in a wingback next to the window with his bare feet propped on the small table, wearing jeans and a T-shirt, his book split open in his lap and face absorbed, with that familiar contemplative line between his brows as he read.

I sighed at the sight of him, one towel around my body, another in my hands as I dried my hair.

He glanced up and smiled, the line gone at the sight of me. It changed his face, made him look younger.

Happy looked good on him.

He went back to his book, and I knelt next to my suitcase, which we’d brought over the day before, to dig around for clothes, picking out jeans and a loose V-neck tank with a mirroring V in back. I’d bought it to wear under other things—that V was low and the straps thin, exposing far more skin than I typically showed—but today, it was summer in Florence. Today, Court was happy and smiling. Today, he was mine, and I was his. I wanted to feel pretty. I wanted him to think I was pretty, so that later, after he wanted me all day, the anticipation would make the payoff that much sweeter.

I stepped into my panties and slid them up my thighs under my towel, out of habit, putting my back to Court when I turned to the bed for my camisole bra. The towel dropped. I pulled on my bra with my hair dripping, sending a cold rivulet down my spine, and before I registered his movement, I felt his hot lips close over the skin between my shoulder blades.

I leaned into him as his arms wound around my waist, clasping in front of me.

He nodded to the bed. “You’re wearing jeans?”

“It’s either that or slacks.”

“No dresses?” I could almost hear him pouting.

“Just the cocktail dress you told me to bring.”

“Did you know that you in a skirt has become one of my favorite things?”

The memory of what he’d done to me in a couple of skirts set a smile on my lips. “It was a defensive measure,” I admitted. “I thought it might deter you from touching what was underneath said skirt.”

He chuckled, lowering his lips to my shoulder. “So much for that. We’re getting you a dress today.”

“I don’t need you to buy me clothes, Court. That’s such a rich guy thing to say,” I chided.

He turned me in his arms and looked down at me, one brow raised. “What if I want to buy you clothes?”

I huffed, rolling my eyes. “That’s ridiculous. I have clothes.”

“It’s beautiful outside, sunny and warm and worthy of a dress. I want to follow your legs around Florence today.” He frowned, his eyes flickering with uncertainty. “Unless you don’t want to wear a dress,” he added.

I laughed. “You look confused.”

“I am, a little.”

“Why?”

“Because I want two things—you in a dress and for you to be happy. And it only just occurred to me I might not be able to have both. Do you want to wear a dress?”

And I couldn’t help but smile. “If it will make you follow my legs around Florence all day, I absolutely want to wear a dress.”

An easy smile spread on his face. “Good. Because I really, really want you in a dress.”

He kissed me, his hands finding my ass to give it a solid squeeze before letting me go.

I pulled on my tank and jeans, heading back into the bathroom to pull my hair into a bun on top of my head with the help of a few bobby pins. I’d tried it at home a few times, but I’d never worn it out, never showed my neck.

But I looked in the mirror, my face fresh and hair casually twisted, my neck long and body longer with the aid of the V and the high waist of my jeans—I tucked my tank into it to accentuate the line. That was the trick, Marnie had said. That high waist was the showstopper, and almost everything I’d bought from her touted one.

I took a deep breath, a comforting breath, my cheeks high and rosy. I looked happy too, happy and confident and comfortable. And for the first time without makeup or fancy clothes, I felt right.

“You ready?” I called as I straightened up the bathroom.

“Whenever you are,” he answered.

I stepped out, scanning for my sneakers. I hooked them on my fingers, and when I sat on the edge of the bed, I found him still in his chair, one shoe on, the other hanging in his hand, his eyes on me, shifting with emotion I couldn’t place.

“What?” I asked on a nervous laugh, turning my attention to my shoes.

“You’re beautiful, Rin.”

I flushed, smiling as I shoved my foot in one sneaker. “Thank you.”

“I mean it.” He paused. “I didn’t see it. At first, I didn’t see it. I must have been blind.”

It was my turn to pause, meeting his eyes. “You weren’t blind. I didn’t want to be seen.”

“That’s what I don’t understand.”

I sighed again, focusing on tying my shoe so I didn’t have to endure his gaze. “I’m too tall, too quiet, too clumsy, too shy. I didn’t know how to dress or where to even find clothes that fit me. I didn’t know how to put on makeup or fix my hair, and I almost prided myself in that, you know? Like how low maintenance I was, how easygoing I was. But I didn’t feel good about myself. I didn’t feel like I fit in anywhere but with my friends.” I pulled on my other shoe, shaking my head. “I wanted to disappear, and I did my best to. But now…well, now, I’m not afraid. I know it’s stupid that I found that in something as dumb as a tube of lipstick, but it’s the truth. And I’m not sorry for it.”

I put my foot on the ground and looked up, but he was already up and moving—one shoe on, one off.

He knelt in front of me, looking up into my face. “That’s not who you are, Rin.”

“But it is. It’s who I’ve always been.”

“But it’s not who you really are. You’re not too tall—you’re the perfect height for me. I love that about you, did you know? The way you…fit.” I flushed as he went on, “And the woman I know isn’t quiet at all—at least, not anymore. She threatened to out the president of the Accademia's fetish without batting a lash. She poked me in the chest right here,” he pointed to his chest, laughing, “and called me an arrogant son of a bitch. And I am. I’m scary, too. But you stood up to me when I was wrong, and it only made me want you more. And you’re not shy. You’ve begged me to fuck you, begged me to touch you. You gave your body to me to let me do what I wanted with. And that’s not for the timid.” His hands took mine. “But you are clumsy. I’m not gonna lie. There are times when I worry you’re going to go down like a windmill, all arms and legs.”

I laughed, but my nose stung, and I blinked back tears, not wanting to cry in front of him.

“Bartolino was right about one thing only—you are art. You are the woman men chisel from raw marble to stand timelessly in a sacred place. You are the woman they spend their lives painting over and over again, unable to perfect the bow of your lips or the light in your eyes. Those things haven’t changed from the time I met you. But you have, simply by believing.”

I cupped his cheek, and he pressed a kiss into my palm.

“I don’t know what to say.”

With a smile, he kissed me, his hand in the crook of my neck and his lips soft. “You don’t have to say anything. I don’t need you to tell me I’m right. I’m always right.”

And with a laugh and a shake of my head, I took his hand and followed him into the sunshine.