Later that night, when the house quieted and the kitchen lights were turned off one by one, Ivory grabbed Jake's hand and tugged him gently outside.
The stars above Tuscany stretched wide and endless, a velvet canvas freckled with silver. The warm breeze smelled of sweet grapes and earth. They wandered hand-in-hand down the winding path between the vineyards, moonlight catching in the silver strands of Ivory's hair.
They found a small stone bench overlooking the hills and sat down, the silence between them full of comfort. Jake let out a deep, shaky sigh, dropping his head onto Ivory's shoulder.
"I think your family actually murdered me tonight," he muttered into the fabric of her sweater.
Ivory chuckled softly, resting her cheek against the top of his head. "You're still breathing, birthday boy. Barely."
Jake huffed, smiling despite himself.
They sat there a while, until he finally whispered, "I don't want to go back."
Ivory's heart twisted. She turned to look at him, finding the moonlight making his brown eyes almost look silver.
"You have to," she said gently, teasingly. "The world's waiting for JungKook."
Jake didn't answer right away. He looked up at the stars, gripping her hand tighter.
"I just... I'm scared, Ivory."
It was the first time he said it out loud. Not just the nerves of going back onstage. Not just the pressure, the cameras, the noise.
It was the fear of leaving this feeling behind — the calmness, the warmth, the belonging.
Ivory squeezed his hand, smiling. "You'll never leave this behind, Jake. It's part of you now."
He turned, studying her face — the face that had haunted and healed him since Iceland.
"You know, I never even knew your real name until today," he said with a half-smile.
Ivory grinned, a little sheepish. "Blame the press. They used my mom's family name to make me sound cooler."
Jake lifted a brow.
She laughed and leaned in close, whispering like it was a secret.
"My real name is Ivory Allegra Kim-Moretti."
Jake blinked.
"Allegra?"
She laughed harder. "It means joyful in Italian. Very fitting, no?"
Jake smiled, feeling the name settle into his heart like a puzzle piece clicking into place. Ivory Allegra. It suited her more than anything he ever heard.
He leaned forward, brushing a soft kiss against her forehead.
"Joyful," he echoed. "Yeah. That's exactly what you are."
A pause.
"You don't mind me calling you Allegra from now on?"
Ivory snorts, "Why?"
"You still call me Jake, I figured that Jake is me, the comfortable and happy in love with you. Allegra, the joyful one who's with me."
Ivory laughs, "why are you so sappy? Is this what Italy is doing to you?"
Jake shrugged his shoulders, grinning like a dork.
They stayed like that, wrapped in each other's arms under the starry sky, Tuscany breathing around them — and for once, Jake didn't feel like JungKook the superstar.
He just felt like Jake.
Ivory's Jake.
They sat in the vineyard a little longer, the world falling into that perfect quietness only found when you're sitting next to someone you love.
Jake shifted a little, suddenly nervous again — but this time, not because of her parents, or of Tuscany, or anything else. It was because of the small velvet box burning a hole in his pocket.
Clearing his throat awkwardly, he pulled it out and placed it on her lap.
Ivory blinked down at it.
"What's this?" she asked, her voice light, teasing.
"Open it," Jake whispered, rubbing the back of his neck.
Inside, nestled against black velvet, was the delicate vintage necklace — a thin gold chain that glowed under the moonlight, with a small, heart-shaped pearl glinting at the center.
Ivory gasped quietly.
"Jake..."
"I saw it at the market," he said quickly. "And — I don't know — it just... it felt like it belonged to you. Like it was made for you."
Ivory's throat closed up. The way he said it. The sincerity in his eyes. The thoughtfulness behind it.
She looked up at him, shining. "Put it on me?"
Jake's fingers trembled slightly as he fastened it around her neck, the pearl resting perfectly against her collarbone, catching the light of the stars.
"Beautiful," he whispered. "You're beautiful."
Ivory cupped his face in her hands and kissed him, soft and slow and endless, as the Tuscan night wrapped around them like a promise.
****
Tuscany Days – The Vineyard Life
The next morning, the sun barely lifted above the misty hills when Ivory nudged Jake awake.
"Come on, superstar," she teased. "Time to earn your breakfast."
Jake grumbled, pulling the covers over his head. "I thought I was supposed to be on vacation."
"Vacations in Tuscany mean work," she said, laughing. "You'll thank me later."
Drowsy but helpless under her grin, Jake dragged himself out of bed and into worn boots, following Ivory and her father out into the sprawling vineyards.
The morning air was crisp and smelled of fresh earth and crushed leaves. Dew clung to the grapevines, glittering under the pale gold sunrise.
Ivory's father handed Jake a wicker basket and guided him through the rows.
"Look for the grapes that are full, rich in color, no shrivels. They should feel like velvet," he instructed, demonstrating with practiced fingers.
Jake listened intently, tasting a grape here and there, laughing when Ivory swatted him for eating more than he picked.
"You're working, not snacking, pretty boy."
By midday, their baskets were brimming. The grapes were carted off to the next stage: the pressing.
The Grape Dance
In the courtyard behind the farmhouse, a giant oak barrel waited, filled partway with freshly harvested grapes.
"Alright, who's first?" Ivory's father announced, grinning broadly.
Without hesitation, Ivory kicked off her shoes and climbed up, her laughter ringing out as she started stomping carefully, clean feet squishing and slipping against the skins.
Jake gawked, stunned — and absolutely delighted.
"You're having way too much fun," he called up to her.
"Get up here, coward!" Ivory teased, tossing a grape at him.
Jake hesitated for half a second before giving in, tossing his boots aside and climbing into the barrel with her.
The workers clapped and cheered as the two of them pressed the grapes, laughter spilling into the bright air.
Sticky and slightly stained with juice, Jake couldn't remember the last time he laughed like this — wild and free, like a boy again.
Their legs were soaked by the time they finished, faces flushed and beaming.
The Wine-Making Process
From there, they helped transfer the fresh juice into the farm's facility, guided through the delicate steps of filtering and storing it into vast oak barrels to age.
Ivory's father's estate was massive compared to her own boutique winery in Iceland.
This was legacy work — bottles sent to private collectors, exclusive restaurants, palaces, even tucked into secret cellars across Europe.
Jake marveled at the scale, the pride humming in every wall, every old brick, every vine that wrapped the world in green.
"This..." Jake said quietly as they walked through the cool, echoing hall lined with hundreds of barrels, "this feels like magic."
Ivory smiled, reaching for his hand.
"It's love. Bottled up."
Vineyard Feast Under the Stars
By sunset, the workers and family gathered around a long wooden table stretched out under rows of fairy lights.
The vineyard hummed with music, cicadas, and the warm clinking of glasses.
Plates overflowed with crisp salads, baked lemon chicken, roasted vegetables, fresh pasta, prosciutto, and cheeses that melted in your mouth.
Baskets of warm bread passed from hand to hand, and carafes of house wine never ran dry.
Jake sat among them, glowing from the day's work, letting the workers teach him the art of food and wine pairing — which pasta to match with a bold Sangiovese, which soft cheese tasted like heaven with a honeyed white.
He fumbled a few times, making the workers laugh, but his charm was irresistible.
He belonged.
Across the table, Ivory simply watched him — her chin resting on her hand, a soft, secret smile playing on her lips.
The world blurred at the edges.
To her, there was only him.
Her Jake, golden under the fairy lights, laughing with wine-stained lips, alive in every way that mattered.
And he—
Jake looked up, catching her gaze.
Something passed between them, soft as the summer breeze, deep as the roots of the old vines.
A promise.
A future.