CHAPTER 106: FANTASIES

The next morning slid in quietly, sun spilling pale and buttery across the villa. The shutters in the bedroom were cracked open just enough to let in a sea-salted breeze and the sound of gulls wheeling high above the cliffs.

Ella stirred first, stretching out slowly beneath the linen sheets. The bed was mostly hers now—Nicholas had gotten up a little while ago, though the warm imprint of his body still lingered beside her.

She yawned, rolled onto her back, and blinked at the ceiling with a lazy smile tugging at her lips.

Then she smelled coffee.

And peach jam.

And something lightly buttery and sinful.

Ella climbed out of bed, shrugged on one of Nicholas’s linen shirts from the night before, and padded barefoot through the villa. The floors were warm with morning sun. Somewhere, a record played softly—a gentle bossa nova tune, like something meant to sway hips and stir smiles.

She stepped out onto the terrace and nearly stopped short.

Nicholas was standing barefoot at the outdoor table, the sleeves of his linen shirt rolled up, hair artfully messy, holding a silver coffee pot like he was filming an ad for vacationing billionaires with excellent taste and no shame.

"Morning, sleepyhead," he said, pouring her a cup. "I wasn’t sure if you’d come out or just yell breakfast orders from bed."

Ella squinted at him suspiciously. "You made breakfast?"

"I oversaw breakfast."

She looked at the table. There was fresh croissant, a little bowl of berries, orange juice, the aforementioned peach jam, and two perfectly poached eggs on some kind of artisan bread she definitely hadn’t seen in the villa before.

"You oversaw this?" she asked.

"I may have flirted with the housekeeper yesterday and begged her to prepare something while we were down at the beach."

Ella slid into the chair opposite him, eyeing him over the rim of her coffee. "Are you telling me another woman made this for me?"

Nicholas grinned. "Does it help if I told her you were my dangerous, mysterious lover with a taste for beautiful things and mild violence?"

"Go on..."

"She said, ’Ah, allora, the Scorpio type.’ Then she made the jam."

Ella laughed into her cup, cheeks pink from the warmth of the sun—and him. "You’re impossible."

"I’m irresistible," he said, stealing a berry from her plate and popping it into his mouth. "There’s a difference."

They ate slowly, in no rush, the breeze warm and easy on their skin. Nicholas propped his ankle on his knee, sunglasses sliding down his nose, watching her eat like it was his favorite morning ritual.

After a while, he said, "You always make that little sound when you taste something you like."

She blinked. "What sound?"

"That little humming sigh. You just did it again. It’s criminal."

She narrowed her eyes at him over the croissant. "Are you studying me?"

"Religiously."

Ella swallowed, cheeks warming. "You’re being too charming this early."

"I haven’t even started yet," he said, voice going slow and low.

She gave him a suspicious look. "Don’t."

"Don’t what?" he asked innocently. "Flirt with the love of my life over breakfast in Italy? Sue me."

"Nicholas—"

"Do you realize how pretty you look right now?" he went on, chin in hand like he was appraising a work of art. "Wearing my shirt. With jam on your lip."

Ella licked the corner of her mouth, flustered. "There’s no jam on my lip."

"There was," he said. "And I didn’t tell you."

She glared at him.

He smiled wider. "You’re welcome."

She shook her head, laughing as she took another sip of coffee.

A beat passed.

Then Nicholas leaned back in his chair and stretched lazily. "You know," he said, "I was thinking."

"Always dangerous."

"Mm. I was wondering..." His voice dropped, playful but unmistakably suggestive. "Is there anything you’ve ever wanted to try? Something fun. A little... fantasy, maybe."

Ella blinked. "What?"

"In bed," he added, like this was a very casual and appropriate breakfast topic. "Or near a bed. Or, you know, not even remotely close to a bed."

Her mouth opened, then closed. "Nicholas!"

He smirked. "What? It’s a fair question. We’re in a villa on the Amalfi Coast. The weather’s perfect. The doors don’t lock. I’m feeling—how do I put this delicately?—very willing."

"You’re unbelievable."

"I am," he said. "And I make an excellent partner in crime."

Ella tried to hide the slow smile threatening her face. "You’re actually asking if I have a fantasy I want to act out?"

"I’m asking," Nicholas said, leaning forward now, elbows on the table, "if there’s ever been something you thought about... and then tucked away for later. I’m very good at ’later.’"

She bit her lip. "You’re enjoying this far too much."

He nodded solemnly. "I absolutely am."

She tilted her head. "You first."

"Me?" Nicholas blinked. "I asked you."

"And I’m invoking mutual disclosure rules."

"Not a real thing."

"It is now."

Nicholas grinned, sitting back again. "Fine. I have... one or two."

"Only two?"

"Would you like a numbered list?"

Ella gave him a look. "Maybe."

He leaned forward, voice lower now, teasing. "One involves you in that linen dress with nothing underneath."

"I knew it."

"Two involves you pretending not to know me at a bar, and me trying to pick you up."

"That sounds fun."

"Oh, it would be. I’d buy you the worst drink, say something wildly inappropriate, and you’d storm out dramatically. Then I’d meet you in the alley and do unspeakable things against the wall."

Ella blinked, then let out a startled laugh. "Why does that sound hot?"

"Because it is," he said, sipping his juice like a gentleman. "But I’ve talked enough. Your turn."

She hesitated. Then: "Maybe... blindfold?"

Nicholas’s brow arched, interest sparking. "Oh?"

"I don’t know," she said quickly. "Just—less about control. More about sensation. Feeling. Trust."

He leaned in, all traces of teasing gone now. "Ella."

"What?"

He reached for her hand and kissed her knuckles. "I’d love that."

She flushed, but her eyes stayed locked on his. "You would?"

"I would relish that," he said. "Every second. Every sound you make. Every twitch. I’d learn you without sight. Worship you in the dark."

Ella blinked once.

Then twice.

And then whispered, "You really are dangerous."

Nicholas’s smile was slow and wicked and entirely affectionate. "Told you I wasn’t done being charming."

Ella was still holding her coffee cup when she looked over at him, one eyebrow raised, an amused kind of shyness behind her eyes.

"So... we’re really doing this?" she asked. "Creating a fantasy to-do list?"

Nicholas leaned back, his hand still loosely holding hers on the table, thumb brushing slow circles against her palm. "Why not? Most people wait years to feel this comfortable with someone."

She arched a brow. "Comfortable enough to say ’blindfold me’ over coffee and peach jam?"

He smirked. "You said it so sweetly, too. Like you were ordering an omelet."

Ella covered her face with her free hand, groaning. "I can’t with you."

"Okay, okay," he laughed, gently tugging her hand away so he could see her flushed face. "I’ll behave. Mostly."

She gave him a squinty look. "Mostly?"

"Well," Nicholas said, twirling his glass between his fingers, "I think a fantasy list deserves a few ground rules."

"Oh?"

"Nothing on the list gets done unless both of us are very into it. No pressure. No expectations."

Ella nodded slowly. "That seems fair."

"And in return," he continued, grinning again, "you have to admit at least one other fantasy. Right now. No backing out."

"Ugh, fine." She leaned back in her chair, tapping her fingers on the arm. "Okay... rooftop. At night. Stars. City lights. Music playing from somewhere down the street."

Nicholas blinked. "That’s incredibly specific."

"I’ve had time to think about it."

He laughed. "I love how half your fantasies are about aesthetic."

"It matters!"

"I’m not judging. I’m only picturing it," he said, his voice dropping slightly. "Your dress riding up, your legs around me, your hands in my hair—"

She threw a berry at him.

He caught it in his mouth.

"Okay, your turn," she said, trying not to smile. "Another fantasy."

"Hotel room. Late check-out. You in nothing but the bedsheet, telling me to cancel all my meetings."

Ella tilted her head. "Oh, that’s hot."

"Right? Bonus points if it’s raining outside and we order room service and never make it to the food."

Her cheeks turned pink again. "Why do all your fantasies involve me naked and unavailable to the outside world?"

"Because I’m a man with taste."

She snorted and sipped her coffee again, clearly trying not to grin.

A moment of quiet passed, only the sound of waves and the soft scratch of the record turning inside.

Ella leaned forward. "Okay. Hear me out."

Nicholas perked up, already delighted. "I’m listening."

"Bathtub again. But... me in it alone. You just sitting on the edge, watching. Not touching. Just... watching me unwind."

His gaze sharpened. "That’s cruel and unusual punishment."

"It’s hot," she said.

"It’s torture."

She gave him a lazy smile, sipping her drink. "I’m discovering I like a little power."

He leaned in, elbows on the table, eyes gleaming. "You can have all of it. But be warned—I bite when teased."

Ella reached over and stole a slice of peach from his plate, popping it into her mouth slowly. "Good. I like a little danger."