"How much of the land is still fit for habitation is far beyond my knowledge."
Cardinal Jean-Paul, Date Unknown.
Her words hit him like a second jolt. "Francis," he managed. "I work here till dusk."
"Francis," she repeated, letting the name roll off her tongue. "Sounds memorable enough."
A small shiver crept up his spine.
"Tell me, though," she continued, eyes narrowing with interest, "what is a gentleman such as yourself doing serving drinks?"
The sudden curiosity dug under his skin. Still, he answered.
"It's work," he said, shrugging lightly. "Honest. Quiet. Pays what it needs to."
"Honest and quiet," Valeria echoed with a hint of amusement. "You don't strike me as either."
He blinked. "What makes you say that?"
She tapped a gloved finger against the counter. "You've been watching every person walking through that door since I arrived. Eyes sharp. Hands steady. And when someone asks something of you, you don't hesitate. That's not 'quiet.' That's someone waiting for something."
Francis swallowed. "Or maybe I'm just good at my job."
"Maybe," she said, though her smirk suggested she didn't buy it for a second. "But I've met enough men in enough ports to know when someone's hiding a little ambition."
He looked away, pretending to straighten a few empty mugs. "Even if I am, it doesn't matter much here."
"Who said anything about staying here?" Valeria asked, almost casually.
The words hit him harder than he expected. His pulse kicked up—hope slipping in before he could guard against it.
"…Are you inviting me to your crew?" Francis asked, unable to hide his excitement.
Valeria's grin sharpened. "Awfully impatient, are we?"
He felt heat rise to his face. "You can't blame a man for asking."
"Perhaps," she said. "Perhaps not." She leaned her elbow on the counter, blue eyes glinting. "It doesn't matter much, however. We won't be sailing for a while."
He opened his mouth to ask why, then stopped. Something in her tone told him it wasn't the kind of question she wanted to answer.
Silence settled between them for half a beat.
Valeria broke it first. "Good. You're smart enough to hold your tongue. That's rare in these waters."
Valeria shifted slightly, her gaze sweeping the room. "Don't worry," she said, voice low but clear. "My crew won't be causing much fuss over the next few weeks. Most will stay on the ship. This town isn't exactly equipped to host the lot of them."
Francis blinked, trying to process it. "So… it won't get chaotic?"
"Not more than usual," she replied, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. "They're disciplined enough… for the most part."
He nodded slowly, feeling a mix of relief and curiosity. "And the rest… the ones who do come ashore?"
"They'll behave," Valeria said, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Mostly. Keep your wits about you. You'll see soon enough."
Her tone carried a subtle edge, but it did little to quell the excitement coursing through him.
***
By the time Francis' shift ended, he barely had time to lock the bar door before spotting Camila walking toward him from the opposite direction.
"It's like she's been waiting all day," he muttered under his breath, falling into step beside her.
"Francis!" she chirped in her usual cheerful energy. "Guess what? My mom invited you for dinner tonight!"
Francis blinked, caught off guard. "Dinner… with your mom?"
She laughed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she usually did. "Yes! She says you need to eat something proper for once."
He rubbed the back of his neck, half grateful, half offended. "I… suppose I could manage that."
"Good!" Camila said brightly. "Come on, she's waiting. And I think she's been looking forward to seeing you all day."
Francis shook his head slightly, smiling despite himself. "Of course she has."
They walked the rest of the way in a companionable silence, and Francis couldn't help but wonder if he was slowly getting used to his new life.
The moment they stepped inside, the warm glow of the hearth caught Francis off guard. Camila's mother practically beamed at them from the kitchen doorway, her eyes bright and sharp, the mischievous smile Francis had learned to tolerate tugging at her lips.
"Francis! Camila!" she called, clapping her hands lightly. "Come in, come in! You've kept me waiting long enough."
Francis offered a polite nod, while Camila laughed softly, pulling him gently toward the table.
After the usual pleasantries, she urged them to sit.
Francis glanced at the spread. Fresh salad, soup steaming in bowls, a perfectly roasted chicken taking center stage, and wine poured into glasses that looked too expensive for Saint Agnes.
He nearly froze, realizing with a pang that the meal was more than mere hospitality. The array, the attention to detail… it was deliberate.
His eyes flicked to Camila, who caught his glance and gave a small shrug, eyes twinkling with unspoken mischief. Francis exhaled softly. Of course. The purpose of the invitation was clear as day.
Her mother leaned back slightly, eyes flicking between them with practiced amusement. "So. How would you two like to go about this?" she asked, still managing to catch Francis off guard despite the conversation being inevitable.
Camila shrugged lightly. "Just a wedding in the chapel would do," she said simply.
Francis frowned, clearly puzzled. "Isn't that… too small?"
Camila laughed softly, a teasing lilt in her voice. "I just want to get it over with, to be honest. You never know when you might change your mind."
Her mother chuckled heartily, slapping the table lightly. "Smart girl. Men like him are better snatched as soon as possible."
Francis' cheeks warmed, and he opened his mouth to reply, only to be met with another round of her mother's laughter. Camila simply smiled, the playful glint in her eyes saying she was thoroughly enjoying his discomfort.
Francis cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. "Your confidence in me is… flattering."
Camila tilted her head, a faint smile playing on her lips. "Took you long enough to see it," she said, her tone light, though it bore no trace of resentment—probably.
Francis picked at his salad, trying to keep his tone casual. "The town's gossip… it never stops. Anything new becomes yesterday's story by sundown."
Camila smirked. "And yet you know every bit of it. Seems like you have your own sources."
He shrugged. "Observing is easier than talking. People reveal more than they intend. For instance… that ship that came in. Privateers. Captain named Valeria. Blonde, piercing blue eyes, black tricorne, long coat. She doesn't exactly blend in."
Camila tilted her head, frowning slightly. "Female captain, you say?" There was a note in her voice—half curiosity, half something else.
Francis nodded, careful to stay neutral. "Yes. Her presence… it's sharp. Even her crew seems… unusually disciplined. Not just a pirate. Someone used to being obeyed."
Camila's gaze sharpened, and her smirk thinned. "Hmm. Interesting." Her voice carried a subtle edge now. "And you're telling me all this because…?"
Francis hesitated. "I—well, she's… notable. That's all."
Camila's eyes flicked up, sharp but playful. "Notable, you say? Must be something extraordinary to catch your attention that way."
He cleared his throat, trying to stay composed. "She's… commanding. That's all I mean."
Camila tilted her head, leaning back slightly, letting a tiny smirk play on her lips. "Commanding, hmm? Interesting." Her tone lingered, teasing. "You always notice things like that, don't you?"
Francis exhaled, rubbing his temples. "I'm just… observant. That's all. Doesn't mean—"
She held up a hand, cutting him off with a wink. "I know, I know. I'm not foolish, Francis. But you'd better be careful how much attention you give the stories you tell."
Francis opened his mouth to respond, but the air had grown thick. Camila shot him a look, sharp yet restrained, as if daring him to say something wrong.
Before either could speak, her mother leaned back in her chair, a sly grin on her face. "Ah, lovebirds, don't get all stiff on me. This isn't an inquisition. Speak before you turn as red as the wine."
Francis coughed lightly, glancing at Camila, who mirrored his hesitation with a faint smile. "Well… I suppose…" he began, but trailed off, unsure how much to reveal.
Her mother chuckled, shaking her head. "Suppose? Francis, you're meant to marry my daughter, not solve a puzzle. Speak plainly, or I'll start guessing for you—and trust me, my guesses are far bolder than either of yours."
Camila laughed softly, her tension easing, while Francis' eyes widened slightly at the thought. He exhaled, giving in to the moment. "I… I think we'll figure it out together," he said, careful yet earnest.
"Good answer," her mother said, clapping her hands lightly. "Now, eat before it gets cold. I didn't make all this for philosophical debates."
It wasn't long before Camila did her thing again. "So, you're still thinking about that captain of yours?" she asked, voice sharp, teasing.
Francis coughed, cheeks flushing slightly.
Her mother snorted. "Oh, for heaven's sake!"
Camila smirked, leaning forward slightly. "Don't worry, Francis. I'm not jealous… not enough to hold it against you. But maybe… pay attention to what matters right here, hmm?"
Francis exhaled slowly, a mix of relief and embarrassment. He couldn't bring himself to argue. "Right," he said quietly. "I… I'll focus."
Her mother clapped, delighted. "Ah, finally! Some semblance of civility."
Francis allowed himself a small, private smirk. Camila's jab had landed, but beneath it, there was a silent acknowledgment between them. He hadn't won the argument—but he'd survived it. And for now, that was enough.