Rose stood by the floor-length mirror in their villa's bedroom, the ocean breeze curling through the open balcony doors and lifting the hem of the silk robe she had lazily tied at her waist. Beneath it, barely anything. Her damp hair spilled over one shoulder, and her skin still held the warmth from their last encounter.
Silvio was at the small desk, shirtless, reading something with a furrow in his brow. The tension in his shoulders made her pause. He hadn't said much since their return from the private dinner under the stars. He'd held her hand the entire time — gently but firmly — and kissed her forehead when no one was watching. But there was something in his eyes now, something stormy and quiet.
Rose tiptoed over and slipped behind him, resting her chin on his shoulder and sliding her arms around his torso. "You're thinking again," she murmured.
He turned his head slightly, brushing her cheek with his lips. "I always think."
"You know, I could distract you." Her voice was soft, teasing.
"You always do."
She smiled and untied her robe slowly, letting it fall open enough that the fabric barely clung to her skin. She slipped into his lap without waiting for permission. His hands immediately went to her thighs, a quiet, reflexive possessiveness that sent a thrill down her spine.
"I wanted to go swimming," she whispered. "But it's no fun alone."
His fingers trailed along her waist. "You're wearing that bikini to kill me, aren't you?"
"I didn't wear it," she said innocently, tilting her head. "Yet."
He chuckled low in his throat, his dark eyes lifting to hers. "You like playing with fire, La Fiora."
"I like the way you burn," she whispered.
Without warning, he scooped her up and carried her straight to the pool that overlooked the ocean, his expression unreadable but his grip possessive. Rose squealed, laughing, clinging to him as he walked them straight into the water, clothes and all.
"I didn't bring a change of clothes," she gasped as the water soaked through.
"Good," he said, and then his mouth was on hers.
The kiss was deeper this time. Not rushed or furious, but slow and claiming, like he wanted to taste every piece of her until she forgot her own name. His hands slid under the water, over her back, pulling her close until they were skin to skin. She wrapped her legs around him instinctively, lost in the tension, the unspoken hunger that always simmered between them.
"You're dangerous," she whispered against his mouth.
"And you're mine."
The water lapped around them, the moonlight painting silver over their bodies. His touch wasn't gentle tonight — it was demanding, full of aching need and silent emotion, as if he was trying to tell her everything without saying a single word. She matched it, breathless and burning, teasing him with soft gasps and whispered words.
"Do you trust me now?" he murmured into her neck, biting gently.
"I don't know," she whispered, but she held him tighter. "But I'm falling."
He stilled just for a moment, then cupped her face in both hands. "Say it again."
"I'm falling for you, Silvio Mysterio," she said, barely audible.
Something changed in his eyes — the usual guarded sharpness flickered, softening into something far more dangerous: emotion. But before she could study it too long, he kissed her again, this time so slowly it made her ache, every second stretched with meaning.
Later, they collapsed in bed, tangled and breathless. The sheets were damp from their skin and the open windows carried the scent of the ocean. Rose rested her head on his chest, feeling his heartbeat.
"Promise me something," she said softly.
His hand slid into her hair. "What?"
"That if you're hiding anything else… you'll tell me before someone else does."
He was quiet for a long moment. "There are shadows in my past I never wanted you to walk through. But if they come to our door… I'll face them with you."
She looked up at him. "Even Eleanor?"
His jaw flexed. "Especially her."
Rose nodded slowly, but the whisper of doubt curled at the edge of her heart. Eleanor hadn't returned since that first visit. And something about her eyes — the way she had looked at Rose like she wasn't meant to last — still lingered in her mind like a bad dream.
"Don't go too far into my world, Fiora," Silvio murmured, his voice already sleepy.
"Too late," she said softly, brushing her fingers across his jaw.
He caught her wrist and pressed a kiss to her palm, then drifted off with his arm still wrapped around her. Rose lay awake a little longer, staring at the shadows on the ceiling.
She was falling. God help her, she was falling so fast.
And yet, somewhere in the silence, something still felt… wrong.