For the tenth time, Rosé stole a glance at the lone customer seated at the far table. She wasn't the only one. In a place like L'Essenza, where velvet-lined booths curved like dark petals and crystal sconces cast a warm amber glow, it took a lot to command a room. Yet the tall young man did so effortlessly. He looked as though he had stepped out of a painting—every line and feature sculpted with intentional grace.
The quiet poise he carried seeped into the air, softening even the usual murmur of clinking cutlery and low conversation. Servers glided past with silver trays and practiced silence, as if not to disturb whatever spell he had cast over the cool night.
From where Rosé stood, she watched the dim chandelier light fall across him before giving way to the moonlight pouring through the restaurant's floor-to-ceiling glass wall. It draped him in a pale, ethereal sheen, turning him into something both present and untouchable. Rosé could literally hear a warning bell going off inside her head.
I have a boyfriend. She muttered to herself again and again as she handled the evening rush of orders sliding across the polished counter. But the voice inside her head kept interrupting her. Not like he is a loyal one.
Rosé argued back. So I should be like him, too?
Well, it wouldn't kill you. It's high time for you to dump that asshole, the voice said firmly.
For a few seconds, Rosé forgot all about the lone customer who had drawn half the restaurant's attention earlier. Her thoughts drifted to her boyfriend, and bitterness followed. Both he and her closest friend had betrayed her, yet she still wasn't ready to sever either bond. The hesitation made her feel small. Weak. Like a loser.
"You are a fool," Rosé muttered under her breath as she pushed through the glass door and stepped onto the balcony. The cool night air, scented faintly with the restaurant's rooftop herb garden, brushed against her skin.
Suddenly, she felt someone lift her chin gently. Rosé's heart skipped when she saw who stood before her—the same man from the far table. A shiver of excitement ran down her spine at the sound of his voice, smooth and melodic.
"A beautiful fool, maybe."
*****
Julien had no trouble ignoring the secret glances from customers and staff. She was used to it. Wherever she went, people took notice. Her reflection on the glass wall confirmed why. The sharp lines of her androgynous face, the lean, taut frame that stretched to six feet—most people almost always mistook her for a young man. Growing her hair out only made the confusion worse, so she kept it short, practical, and comfortable.
Her gaze drifted to the waitresses in lace-pink dresses, weaving between tables, offering soft smiles as they served. The rhythm of the restaurant had begun to lull her into boredom, and she was nearly ready to leave—until someone caught her attention.
A young woman, who seemed to be in her early twenties, moved through the room with a quiet elegancethat the others lacked. If she had been the only one wearing that pink dress, Julien was sure people would have mistaken her for a guest rather than staff. The way her curves shifted beneath the silk, fluid like water tracing the bends of a gentle river, held Julien's eyes without effort.
The longer she watched, the more fascinated she became.
I guess coming out was worth it, she thought.
Julien took her wine glass and slipped out to the balcony. The cool night air brushed against her skin as she settled into a seat beside a tall philodendron, its broad leaves shielding her from the view of other guests while giving her a perfect angle to observe the girl. She watched her laugh softly with the handsome bartender—too familiar, too close. Her boyfriend? Julien wondered, though the thought didn't stop her gaze from lingering.
And then, to her pleasant surprise, the girl stepped away from the bar and walked toward the balcony—toward her. But the moment she reached the railing, all lightness vanished. She stood facing the city, shoulders drooping, staring at the glowing skyline as though trying to hold herself together.
Before she could think better of it, Julien rose and walked toward her. The girl gasped softly when Julien lifted her chin with a gentle finger, hazel eyes widening at the unexpected closeness.
"Why do you think you are a fool?" Julien asked, voice low and careful.
"Doesn't everybody make a fool of themselves at least once in their lifetime?" the girl replied softly, her voice fragile at the edges.
"True." Julien smiled, warm but subtle. "What's your name?"
"Rosé, Mr.…?" she asked, hesitant, as if she doubted she would get an answer.
She is in for a shock, Julien thought as she replied, "Miss… Julien."
Rosé's eyes flew wide, but then a small smile curved her lips, color blooming pink across her cheeks. Julien brushed her fingers over the blush, feeling the warmth rise beneath the cool night air. Rosé's face deepened to a warm red at her touch.
"I blame my parents for both my looks and my name," Julien said, pulling her hand back with a faint smirk.
"You should actually thank them. You're the most gorgeous person I've ever seen. And I doubt this is the first time someone's told you that," Rosé said, voice quiet but sincere.
"Touché." Julien bowed her head slightly. "And… I'm sorry. I took the liberty of touching you."
Rosé looked up at her with a nervous, almost shy smile. "You can return the favour."
That caught Julien off guard. "How?" she asked, intrigue threading through her tone.
"Let me touch your face too," Rosé whispered, as though the night itself might overhear.
Julien nearly laughed, but only a soft chuckle escaped. "Sure. Go ahead."
She stepped closer—only for Rosé to retreat with a frightened jolt.
"I'm sorry. I was out of my mind," Rosé said, stumbling back, embarrassment flooding her features.
Julien stopped immediately and gave her space. Then she reached into her pocket, pulled out a room key, and held it out between two fingers.
"If you change your mind."
Without another word, Julien walked back inside. She didn't look back—not once. And as the night folded around her, she let both the incident and the girl slip quietly out of her thoughts.
*****
Rosé held Julien's room key card with a trembling hand. Her pulse thudded in her ears. She still couldn't believe she had actually asked to touch Julien's face. Heat crept up her neck. What's wrong with me? Everything felt unreal, like she had stepped into someone else's dream.
Timothy's footsteps approached, but Rosé barely registered them. Her gaze stayed fixed on the key card, gleaming faintly under the balcony lights.
"Lucky girl," Timothy said as he leaned against the railing, giving her a sideways look. "I was tempted to ask for his number myself."
"Her," Rosé whispered.
"What?" Timothy mumbled, distracted as he flicked his lighter and lit a cigarette.
"You wanted to ask for her number," Rosé said, still staring at the key card. And she freely gave the key card to a total stranger. Which one of us is naive… or insane?
Timothy froze mid-exhale, staring at her. "He is a… her?" He blinked, stunned. "It's a girl?"
He stood there for several seconds, the cigarette forgotten between his fingers. "Damn."
He looked at the key card again, then at Rosé—who was clearly miles away in her thoughts.
"And she gave you her key card? Are you gonna use it?" Timothy asked, his expression somewhere between amusement and concern. "I wouldn't blame you if you did. In fact… use it."
He tapped ash over the balcony rail and walked away, shaking his head.
"Timmy…" Rosé whispered, watching his retreating back before her gaze dropped once more to the key card burning warm in her palm.
*****
Julien sat on her room's balcony, gazing at the vast sky stretching above her. A quiet sigh left her lips. Thirty-five years… and how many more to go? she wondered while watching the moon sink slowly toward the horizon. She poured the last of her wine into the glass, watching the emptying bottle. If only I could empty my mind this easily.
She drained the glass in a single motion.
The soft click of her door opening pulled her from her thoughts. Julien rose, turning toward the sound. She knew it could only be Rosé—yet the sight of her standing there, eyes wide and frightened, still surprised her.
In two long strides, Julien closed the distance. She swept Rosé into her embrace with one hand, her other hand cupping the girl's face as she pressed her lips to hers in a deep, consuming kiss. Her mind emptied at once—there was only Rosé, warm and trembling, clinging to her.
She felt Rosé's arms slide around her neck, pulling her closer, matching the urgency of the kiss. Julien kissed her until she felt Rosé gasp for breath. She immediately pulled back.
"I'm sorry, love… I'm sorry," Julien whispered, their foreheads leaning together.
Rosé shook her head, breath shuddering. "Thank you," she whispered softly.
Julien lifted her and gently set her down on the bed, allowing her a moment to breathe. She watched Rosé's lashes flutter, watched the rise and fall of her chest, before brushing a tender kiss along her cheek, then her lips. Her fingers traced the soft curve of Rosé's waist, and Rosé shivered beneath her touch.
Then, to Julien's surprise, Rosé grabbed her shirt collar with trembling fingers and drew her close again.
"Touch me more," Rosé whispered, her voice barely audible but steady with longing.
*****
Rosé stood in front of Julien's door, shivering with a mixture of excitement and fear. Her heart pounded hard enough to drown out her thoughts. When she heard the neighboring door open, panic pushed her forward, and she slipped inside Julien's room as if seeking shelter from a storm.
Entering felt like stepping into a lion's den—yet one she had walked toward willingly. The moment Julien turned toward her, Rosé felt the world slow, as though time itself was unsure what would happen next. For a heartbeat, she felt detached from her own body… and then Julien's lips touched hers.
Everything ignited.
Heat rushed through her in a way she'd never known. She felt alive—fully, fiercely alive—as though Julien's touch reached past skin and bone. Desire poured through her, not overwhelming her but awakening her. She had never felt anything close to this, not even during the sweetest moments with her boyfriend. Something deeper was unfolding, something instinctive, ancient.
It felt like Julien had touched something at the very center of her.
Her soul.
Why that word came to mind, she couldn't explain—only that it felt true.
Julien held her with a strength that made Rosé melt and tremble all at once. Every place Julien's lips brushed seemed to unravel something tightly wound inside her. Rosé felt her own hands move without thinking, drawn to Julien, to the warmth and certainty of her presence. She pressed closer, guided by instinct rather than thought, responding to every gentle pull, every quiet encouragement.
The intensity rose until Rosé didn't know whether the cry that left her was spoken aloud or only echoed inside her. The world swayed, the moment stretching out, overwhelming her in a rush that left her shaking, taking way longer than usual to pass away. She felt Julien hold her and kiss her softly, hugging Rosé to her chest.
"Sleep," Julien whispered against her ear. "We can talk in the morning."
Wrapped in Julien's arms, Rosé let her eyes fall shut.
A strange, quiet certainty settled inside her—
as though she had been waiting for this warmth, this safety,
for far longer than she had ever understood.
*****
Julien watched Rosé sleep, her breath soft and even. Another one? she thought, though the words carried no mockery—only a quiet, tired wonder. Rosé looked so peaceful, so untouched by the weight of the world.
Julien reached out and brushed a few strands of hair from Rosé's cheek, smoothing them gently behind her ear. The girl didn't stir. What happened to you? Julien wondered. Rosé's presence here hadn't been born from recklessness—Julien felt it deep in her bones. Something had driven her, something deep enough to make a gentle girl step into a stranger's room.
Someone must have hurt her.
The bartender? Julien replayed the earlier scene in her mind—Rosé and the young man laughing, speaking comfortably. No, that wasn't the look of betrayal. Whatever wound Rosé carried, it came from elsewhere.
Julien's gaze drifted to Rosé's lips. They were swollen, flushed from their earlier intensity. A pang of worry struck her. Was I too rough? She leaned closer, examining them carefully to make sure they weren't bruised or hurt. Her thumb brushed the corner of Rosé's mouth, feather-light.
Julien kissed her forehead and whispered in her ear.
"Sleep, sweet little angel."
*****
Rosé woke slowly, the unfamiliar warmth around her making her blink in confusion. It took her a moment to realize she was tucked inside Julien's arms, held as though she belonged there. And then—piece by piece—the memories of the night before drifted back.
Her cheeks burned instantly. Was I mad?
She had never imagined herself with a woman. The thought had simply never crossed her mind—not in dreams, not in fleeting fantasies. Yet nothing about last night felt wrong. If anything, it felt startlingly right.
Why?
Rosé didn't know. She only knew one truth with certainty: no matter what the future held, she would never regret it. Last night was already etched inside her, luminous, unshakeable. It wasn't the physical intimacy—though it had been the most profound she had ever known. It was something deeper, something she had no name for.
Something that felt… magical.
She turned her head slightly, studying Julien's sleeping face. Her sharp features were softer in sleep, and the messy hair only made her look more breathtaking. God, you really do play with human hearts, Rosé thought helplessly.
If Julien hadn't told her she was a woman, Rosé might never have guessed it. Her body was lean, taut, almost masculine in its lines. And that strength—Rosé shivered as she remembered being effortlessly lifted with one arm, as though she weighed no more than a feather.
The memory sent a ripple down her spine, and at that exact moment, Julien's eyes opened—clear, intense gray-blue, locking onto hers. Rosé's breath hitched.
Julien smiled, slow and warm.
"Good morning, little princess."
*****
Rosé sat curled on the chair, arms wrapped around her knees as the cool morning wind brushed along her skin, raising goosebumps. She lifted her head when Julien draped a blanket gently over her shoulders. Every time Julien's face appeared close—those sculpted features, that unreadable calm—Rosé felt herself slip from reality into something dreamlike. No matter how long she looked, she couldn't reconcile Julien with the ordinary world.
She watched Julien stretch, long limbs unfolding with effortless grace. The height alone made her seem like a figure carved out of some ancient myth.
"How… how tall are you?" Rosé asked, unsure why the question felt so important.
"Six three," Julien replied with a small, lopsided smile.
The answer made something ache inside Rosé. What must it feel like to be her?
Julien seemed to have everything—confidence, mystery, even wealth, judging from the suite they were in. Yet even with a face and body that could tempt anyone, she didn't carry the air of someone who chased admiration. If anything, she looked like someone surprised to be noticed at all.
Looking back now, Rosé realized Julien had been just as startled by their connection.
"Why me?" Rosé blurted before she could stop herself.
Julien paused, studying her as though searching for the right shape of the truth. "Because you are who you are."
Rosé frowned. "But why me?"
Julien exhaled, a quiet surrender. "I don't know."
There was a sadness in her voice that sank straight into Rosé's chest.
Rosé reached out, and Julien's fingers intertwined with hers. They watched the sunrise together, golden light spilling slowly across the horizon. As the first warmth touched her skin, Rosé realized—sudden and absolute—she had fallen in love. Not a fleeting attraction, not a momentary spark, but a love that had rooted itself deep enough to last a lifetime.
But beneath Julien's calm exterior, Rosé sensed something unspoken—an inevitability. A future in which they did not exist side by side.
"Julien… may I know your full name?" Rosé asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Julien answered as though the question had been waiting in the air all along.
"Julien Saoirse O'Brien."
Rosé didn't react with shock. Somehow, she had already known. Princess Saoirse, future queen of Ireland—an heir hidden in plain sight.
Rosé rose from her chair and bowed deeply. Neither woman looked at the other again as Rosé turned and left the suite, her footsteps soft, her heart anything but.
But as she crossed the threshold, Julien heard her whisper,
"Thank you for the eternal night."