Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The alarm went off at 6:30 a.m., and Rio Vidal groaned into her pillow like she’d been summoned by death itself. Another day working under her — the high-heeled terror of the 23rd floor.

She rolled out of bed, hair a chaotic mess, grabbed her phone, and blinked at the texts from her best friend Alice.

Alice Wu:
u got this babes
don’t let the witch eat you alive today 🪦💅

Rio sent back a middle finger emoji, half-smiling as she pulled on her blazer and shoved her hair into a claw clip.

By 7:45 a.m., she was on the subway, latte in hand, earbuds blasting a playlist called “do not cry at work.” The train rumbled toward Midtown. Her fingers drummed against the paper cup. She wasn’t just Agatha Harkness’s assistant, she was her emotional punching bag, schedule wizard, and unofficial therapy dog.

THE OFFICE

The elevator doors opened with a chime, and as soon as Rio stepped onto the floor of Harkness & Wolfe Publishing, the air tensed. Everyone moved faster. Straighter. Quieter.

Agatha Harkness hadn’t even arrived yet, but the fear of her did.

"She's early," whispered someone from the art department.
"I saw her in the lobby," muttered the mail guy, pale.
"I heard she fired someone for sneezing during a call yesterday," said another.

And then, like a horror movie villain in designer heels, she appeared.

Agatha Harkness, long coat flowing, black turtleneck pressed crisp, sunglasses still on despite being indoors. She was elegance and death incarnate. Not a single hair out of place. Her stride was silent. Her expression, unreadable.

And no one, absolutely no one, met her eyes.

Except Rio.

"Good morning, Ms. Harkness," Rio said with a fake-chipper smile as she caught up to her.

Agatha didn’t break stride. “Coffee?”

Rio handed it over without missing a beat. “Almond milk, extra shot.”

Agatha took it without thanks and walked into her office. Rio exhaled and muttered, “And once again, I live another day.”

She sat down at her desk, opened her laptop, and almost immediately, her phone buzzed. Mom.

"Not now, Mami," she whispered, but answered anyway. “Hi, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong! I’m calling to remind you: Lilia’s birthday is in three days! You’re coming home, right? Don’t make me fly up there and drag you myself.”

Rio’s stomach turned. “Mami, I want to — but my boss is gonna say no. She doesn’t even know what a weekend is.”

“You haven’t been home in years, Rio.”

“I know,” she whispered. “I miss Abuela too, okay? I just… I can’t right now.”

Before her mom could respond, another line buzzed in.

Agatha Harkness.

“Shit. I gotta go. Love you.”

She clicked over. “Yes, Ms. Harkness?”

“You forgot to schedule Wanda Maximoff for 11. She’ll be here in ten. Fix it.”

“I did schedule it. You just haven’t checked the updated—”
“Fix it,” Agatha snapped and hung up.

Rio groaned and stood, fixing her blazer. She knocked once on Agatha’s glass door and stepped in.

“Ms. Harkness, your meeting with Wanda is in—”

“I know,” Agatha said coldly. “And don’t forget I still need your notes for the Burton manuscript.”

Rio inhaled slowly. “Actually, I… need to request time off. Just a few days. My Abuel- My grandmother's turning eighty-five. My whole family’s flying back to Puerto Rico—”

Agatha didn’t even look up. “Denied.”

Rio blinked. “Excuse me?”

“We haven’t hired a second assistant yet. You can’t leave me alone right now.”

Rio swallowed. “It’s her eighty-fifth, Ms. Harkness.”

“I don’t care if it’s her one hundred and fifth. You’re not going.”

Before Rio could argue, the door opened and Bob, the Editor-in-Chief, stuck his head in, looking mildly panicked. Behind him stood Jennifer Kale, sharp suit, federal badge, clipboard in hand.

“Agatha,” Bob said. “We need to talk. Now.”

Agatha raised an eyebrow, standing calmly. “What is this?”

Jennifer stepped in. “Ms. Harkness. We’ve reviewed your immigration paperwork. Your visa expired last month. You’ll be deported within weeks.”

Rio froze, still inside the room.

Bob looked like he was about to pass out. “Agatha, this company can’t survive without you. We’ll fix this. Whatever it takes.”

At that moment, Rio cracked open the door a little more and cleared her throat. “Your meeting with Wanda is in ten minutes.”

Agatha’s eyes flicked to Rio, then back to Jennifer. Something shifted in her face. Calmly, confidently, she said:

“We’re getting married.”

The room stopped.

Bob’s mouth dropped open. Jennifer blinked. “Pardon?”

“Rio and I,” Agatha said smoothly. “We’re engaged. In fact, we’re flying to Puerto Rico in three days to meet her family. For Lilia Calderu’s birthday. Eighty-five. Very big.”

Rio’s hand clenched the doorknob. “I’m—we’re what?”

Bob beamed. “Fantastic. Romance in the office, who knew you had it in you, Agatha?”

Jennifer, on the other hand, didn’t flinch. “You’ll both need to come in tomorrow. For a formal interrogation. Paperwork. Details.”

“Of course,” Agatha said. “We’ll be there.”

When the room cleared, Rio stood frozen in the doorway, staring at her boss.

Agatha sat back down like she hadn’t just set the entire building on fire.

Rio stepped in, cautiously. “What the hell just happened?”

Agatha looked up, mildly annoyed. “You’re staring.”

“Because you just told my boss and a government agent that we’re engaged.”

Agatha sighed, tapping her pen. “They’re deporting me. I needed a solution.”

“You said that like you were commenting on the weather!”

“I don’t do panic, Rio.”

Rio narrowed her eyes. “You don’t do reality either, apparently.”

Agatha tossed her pen aside. “Once I’m gone, Bob’s going to replace me. Probably with Tony Stark, which means you’re out too. Your little dream of becoming an editor? Gone.”

Rio opened her mouth, but Agatha cut her off. “But if we get married, I stay. You stay. And then… quickie divorce. Boom. You’re free. And so am I.”

“You’re insane.”

Agatha leaned back, cool and calm. “Tell me. Are you saving yourself for someone special?”

Rio scoffed. “I’d like to think that, yes. But that’s also illegal.”

Agatha smiled, just barely. “It’s a fake marriage, Rio. Not a honeymoon. You’ll help me, I’ll protect your career, we’ll lie to the government, and then we’re done. Until then...”

She stood slowly, towering over her.

“Whether you like it or not, your wagon is hitched to mine.”

Chapter Text

The soft whirring of a ceiling fan broke the silence in the agency’s beige waiting room. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead as the muffled sound of heels clicked against linoleum. The receptionist glanced up briefly from her computer, then quickly returned to typing.

Agatha and Rio walked in at the exact same time, Agatha in her sleek brown leather jacket and sunglasses perched atop her head like a crown, and Rio, slightly breathless, wearing a pastel blouse with a modest ribbon collar. Her curls were in a half-pony, a little frizzy from rushing. Their eyes met with a flash of panic. They hadn’t planned on arriving together. That was mistake number one.

A dozen people were already seated in the waiting area, flipping through magazines or scrolling through their phones. The receptionist barely looked up. “Ms. Harkness, Ms. Vidal. Please take a seat. Jennifer is still in a meeting.”

Agatha didn’t stop walking. Without missing a beat, she gave Rio a short nod—an unspoken “follow my lead”—and sauntered straight past the front desk.

“Ms. Harkness, you can’t just-” the receptionist tried, but Agatha had already opened Jennifer’s office door.

Jennifer, polished and severe in a navy pantsuit, looked up from a thick file with arched brows.

“Well, well. If it isn’t our favorite pair of rule-benders,” she said dryly. “You're twenty minutes late, Rio. And Agatha, cutting the line? That’s a new low, even for you.”

“Jen, we’re sorry,” Rio began, her voice tight and nervous, already clutching the hem of her blouse.

Jennifer raised a hand. “Save it. Sit.”

They sat, side by side on the faux-leather chairs in front of her desk, hands almost touching.

Jennifer continued, “This isn’t a scandal. It’s a legal issue. If this investigation proceeds, Rio, you could go to jail for falsifying government documents. And Agatha, if your visa isn’t adjusted, you’ll be sent back to Scotland. Or, if you want to stay, you’ll have to restart the process, which takes six months to a year. No work. No sponsorship. No job.”

Rio’s heart was pounding so loud she thought Jen might hear it. The mention of jail sent a cold sweat down her back.

Jennifer leaned back in her chair, tapping her pen. “Or, you can both come clean. Right now. But if you want to keep up this... ‘secret love affair’—then you're going to need to convince me. And I mean convince me.”

A tense silence settled in. Rio swallowed hard. Her throat was dry, like cotton.

Jennifer’s eyes narrowed. “So what’s it gonna be, ladies? Do we come clean? Or do we keep lying?”

Rio hesitated. Her fingers dug into her lap. Then, finally, she spoke. Nervously. Stammering. Her voice cracking slightly.

“Well... t-the truth is…” she paused, turning to Agatha for reassurance, her heart beating out of rhythm. “Agatha and I are just… two people… who weren’t supposed to fall in love.”

She looked back at Agatha, and to her surprise, Agatha gave her a soft, emotional nod. Her eyes were suddenly tender. Sympathetic. As if this, somehow, was real.

Rio’s voice strengthened, barely. “But did. We couldn’t tell anyone we were working with because of my big promotion coming up.”

Jennifer blinked. “Promotion?”

“Yeahhh,” Rio said awkwardly. She offered a strained smile, then added, “We… uhh both felt that it would be deeply inappropriate if I were to be promoted to editor…”

“Editor... hmm mhh,” Agatha repeated with a curious tilt of her head, playing the part like a jazz solo—smooth, spontaneous, slightly amused.

“…while we were…” Rio trailed off again, using vague hand gestures to fill the space her words couldn’t.

Jennifer was unimpressed. “Have you told your parents yet about this forbidden office romance?”

Agatha cut in, quickly. “Oh, I haven’t,” she chuckled with a snort. “Well, you see, both of my parents are dead. I’m all alone. Then she came along.”

She looked at Rio with such convincing softness that Rio nearly forgot they were pretending.

Jennifer raised a brow. “And you, Rio?”

Agatha jumped in again. “Oh! Actually, I’m meeting the family for the first time this weekend. We’re going for Abuela's 85th. So sweet, the whole Vidal fam is gonna be there. We thought it’d be a nice surprise for everyone.”

Rio shot Agatha a sideways glance, her mouth slightly agape.

Jennifer narrowed her eyes. “Oh really? And where is this ‘nice surprise’ going to take place?”

“At Rio’s parents’ house,” Agatha answered smoothly.

Jennifer didn’t miss a beat. “And where is that located again?”

Agatha blinked. Panic glimmered. “Ohhh, haha, why am I doing all the talking? It’s your parents’ house. Go on, honey. Hmm, jump in.”

Rio cleared her throat. “San Juan.”

“San Juan,” Agatha echoed.

Rio added, “Puerto Rico.”

“Puerto Rico?” Agatha repeated again with a breathy tone of surprise, nodding. “Yes… yes. We are definitely going to Puerto Rico. That’s uhh... where my little baby Rio is from.”

She reached over and patted Rio’s shoulder with exaggerated affection.

Jennifer squinted at them, clearly unconvinced but growing tired. “Fine. I see how this is gonna go.”

She reached into her drawer and pulled out a slip of paper. “You’ve got two weeks until your scheduled follow-up interview. I want your story straight. Your details matching. Your lies seamless.”

She handed the paper to Rio, who took it with trembling fingers.

“And I will be checking up on you,” Jennifer added, looking directly at Agatha. “Personally.”

They both stood awkwardly, muttering faint goodbyes and heading for the door. But just before they stepped out, Jennifer called after them:

“Oh—and don’t forget. One slip, one inconsistency, and the next office you walk into will be a federal courtroom.”

Agatha and Rio exited in silence, the door clicking shut behind them.

Outside, the hallway felt colder. Agatha reached over and ruffled Rio’s hair.

“Well,” she said, grinning, “wasn’t that romantic?”

As soon as the door closes behind them, Rio exhales shakily and mutters, “We are so dead.”

Agatha smirks, already heading toward the elevator. “Not if you book a flight to Puerto Rico, mi amor.”

The moment they stepped out of Jen’s office, Agatha was cool as ever, already tapping away on her phone as she led the way to the parking lot. Rio trailed behind, visibly shaken, her brain still reeling from the chaos that had just unfolded.

By the time they got into Agatha’s car, a sleek black Jaguar that looked like it had never been parked under the sun for more than five seconds.

Agatha was already humming to herself, sunglasses on, one hand casually on the wheel.

Rio sat in the passenger seat, stiff and silent, her fingers nervously tapping against her thigh.

“Stop fidgeting,” Agatha said, not looking at her. “We have a lot to cover and I need your full brain cells, Vidal. First off, you’ll need to confirm the Puerto Rico flight, first-class for me, obviously. Hotel suite too, none of that standard double-bed nonsense. Also, the interview with immigration’s on Thursday, so clear your calendar. Oh, and remind me to send my assistant the engagement ring specs-”

Rio hadn’t said a word. She was just staring blankly at the windshield, lips pressed tight.

Agatha glanced sideways. “Hey. Why aren’t you taking notes?”

That did it. Rio blinked hard, then reached out and slammed her hand against the dashboard, forcing Agatha to pull the car over.

“I’m sorry! but were you in that room?!” Rio snapped, her voice shaking as much as her hands.

Agatha blinked at her, surprised. “What?... Oh! The thing you said about the promotion? Genius! She completely fell for it.”

“I was serious,” Rio said flatly. “I’m looking at a two-hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar fine, Agatha. Years in jail. That changes things.”

Agatha scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. “Promote you to editor? No. No way. Absolutely not.”

Rio’s eyes widened, her face a mix of betrayal and exhaustion. “Oh, okay then. You’re on your own. I quit. Bye.”

She threw open the car door and stepped out onto the sidewalk.

“Rio!” Agatha barked, throwing her door open too and chasing after her. “Fine! FINE! I’ll promote you to editor! If you do the Puerto Rico weekend and go through the immigration interview. Happy now?!”

Rio halted, then slowly turned back around. “And not in two years- right away.”

Agatha stared at her for a beat, jaw tight. Then, with a sigh, she muttered, “Fine.”

Rio crossed her arms. “And you’ll publish my manuscript.”

Agatha rubbed her temples. “Ten thousand copies at first ru—”

“Twenty thousand,” Rio interrupted, stepping forward. “First run. And we’ll tell my family about our engagement when I want and how I want. Now…” She leaned in, eyes sharp. “Ask me nicely.”

Agatha blinked. “Ask you nicely what?”

Rio tilted her head. “You heard me. On your knee.”

“What does that even mean?” Agatha groaned.

“You heard me.”

Agatha stared at her like she wanted to say about twelve sarcastic things, but instead, she slowly dropped to one knee on the pavement, looking dramatically inconvenienced. A few passersby slowed their walk.

Agatha cleared her throat. “Will you marry me?”

Rio raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

Agatha let out a long groan. “Rio…”

“Yes, Agatha?”

Agatha inhaled deeply. “Sweet, Rio…”

“I’m listening,” Rio said smugly.

Agatha muttered through her teeth. “Would you please, cherry on top, marry me?”

Rio smiled, her tone teasing but her eyes soft. “I don’t appreciate the sarcasm—but that’ll do. So yes, Agatha Harkness… I’ll marry you.”

“Oh good,” Agatha said, letting Rio help her up.

As they brushed off, Rio gave Agatha’s hand a squeeze. “Now c’mon. Get up.”

Agatha muttered under her breath, “Just wait till I get you on your knees. Karma’s a bitch.”

Rio’s breath hitched slightly, but she didn’t respond. They walked back to the car, settled back in, the tension shifting into something strange, charged and confusing.

When Agatha pulled up to Rio’s apartment building, Rio grabbed her bag and got out without another word.

“I’ll meet you at the airport,” she said, turning away.

Agatha frowned. “Tonight??”

Rio didn’t answer. She just kept walking, her head high, her steps certain.

Agatha leaned against the wheel, watching her go, lips parted like she wanted to yell something smart and cold—but nothing came out.

She just watched as Rio disappeared up the stairs, then sighed and muttered, “What the hell did I just agree to?”

With that, she pulled away from the curb and sped off.

Chapter Text

The soft roar of the plane hummed under them as Rio flipped through a thick stack of papers in her lap. Her voice was dry but focused.

“So these are the questions the INS are gonna ask us. Now, the good news is I know everything about you. The bad news is, you’ve got two weeks to learn all this about me.”
“So, you should... probably get studying.”

Agatha lazily reached over and snatched the stack from her hands, eyes flicking down the list like she was reading stock reports. “You know all the answers to these questions about me?”

Rio didn’t even look away from the window. “Scary, isn’t it?”

Agatha blinked, quiet. “A little bit.”

“What am I allergic to?”
“Pine nuts,” Rio answered instantly, then added without missing a beat, “and the full spectrum of human emotion.”

Agatha didn’t even look up. “Ha ha. That’s funny.”

“Oh, here’s a good one. Do I have any scars?”
“Yes. One on your elbow. I see it every time you wear a ¾ sleeve shirt. Oh, and I’m pretty sure you have a tattoo.”

Agatha paused. “You're pretty sure?”

“Well, two years ago your dermatologist’s office called about a Q-switched laser. I Googled it  it removes tattoos. You cancelled the appointment. So, what is it? Tribal ink? A pentagram? Maybe a sigil?”

Agatha forced a smile. “You know, it’s exciting for me to experience you like this.”
She rolled her eyes and flipped another page.

“You’re gonna have to tell me where it is,” Rio said, peeking over her eyemask.
“No, I’m not.”
“They’re gonna ask.”
“We’re done with that question,” Agatha said firmly.
“But-”
“We’re done with that question.”

And with that, Rio slipped on her eyemask and turned away.

Three hours later, the captain’s voice stirred the cabin. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are now landing in San Juan, Puerto Rico.”

Agatha was already upright, flawless as ever. Rio blinked the sleep away and murmured under her breath.

“Okay. Here we go.”

Outside the airport, the sun blazed down on the humid Puerto Rican air, coating everything in a soft shimmer. The crowd buzzed with families reuniting, taxi drivers shouting names, and luggage wheels rattling over uneven pavement.

Then came a familiar voice, cutting through it all like music to Rio’s ears.

“Mi muñeca!”

Rio’s head whipped toward the sound, and in an instant, her bags hit the ground. She bolted across the pickup zone, her curls bouncing, eyes already glassy with emotion.

“Abuela!” she cried, crashing into Lilia Calderu’s open arms.

Lilia wrapped her tight, arms strong despite the years, holding her like no time had passed. She smelled like vanilla and dried herbs, like warmth and home.

“Ay, mírame. You’ve lost weight again,” Lilia scolded softly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You work too much, muñeca. And you forget to eat. Still stubborn like your mother.”

“She gets it from your side,” Victoria quipped, stepping forward with her usual grace, arms crossed, sunglasses perched high on her head, and a soft smile betraying her pride.

Rio laughed, pulling her mother into a one-armed hug while still holding Lilia. “I missed you both.”

Then Lilia’s eyes sharpened, suddenly scanning the crowd behind Rio. “Where’s your girl?” she asked, her tone teasing but curious.

Rio opened her mouth, but she didn’t need to answer.

From the terminal doors emerged Agatha Harkness, a vision in tailored black slacks, a deep navy trench coat, sleek sunglasses perched on her nose, and her signature confidence radiating like armor. Her suitcase rolled silently behind her, and she stood out from the chaos — cool, composed, untouchable.

The air changed.

Even the birds seemed to pause.

Lilia’s eyebrows shot up. “I suppose calling her your ‘girl’ doesn’t quite fit,” she murmured to no one in particular, her voice laced with dry amusement. “She looks like she runs a boarding school for witches.”

Victoria tried, and failed, to stifle a laugh. “Ma,” she said, gently nudging her mother’s side. “Behave.”

Agatha reached them, extending her hand with polite, practiced calm.

“Agatha Harkness. Thank you for letting me be part of this weekend.”

There was a beat of silence. Lilia took the hand but held it longer than expected, studying her with eyes that missed nothing.

“We’re thrilled to have you,” she finally replied, lips curling upward. “Just don’t hex my granddaughter.”

“Not unless she asks,” Agatha said dryly, and Rio choked on her own laugh.

Victoria blinked, raising her brows, unsure if that was a joke. Lilia, however, barked a laugh loud enough to draw glances from nearby passengers.

“Well. She’s got bite,” Lilia muttered approvingly.

Agatha glanced sideways at Rio, who was already smiling, cheeks flushed.

Rio leaned back into her grandmother’s arms, wrapping both around her again. She whispered against Lilia’s ear, voice small and sincere:

“Thank you for being cool.”

Lilia patted her back, whispering just as softly,

“I haven’t been cool since 1940, doll. But for you, I try.”

And with that, they gathered their bags and climbed into Lilia’s old navy-blue van — a little rusty, but reliable. Agatha slid into the backseat beside Rio, who reached for her hand without thinking. Their fingers laced quietly between them as Lilia pulled away from the curb.

The weekend had only just begun. And already, it was anything but ordinary.

The car ride to the estate was filled with chatter. Agatha watched the city slip by, and every few blocks she noticed another shop: Vidal this, Vidal that.

Her brow lifted. She leaned toward Rio, nodding toward her monogrammed bag.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the family business, honey?”
“I'm sure she’s just being modest, dear." Lilia chimed in proudly from the front seat.
“Of course she is,” Agatha said with a tight smile.

When they pulled up to the dock and Agatha spotted the boat, she froze.

“Hey, I’m not getting on that.”
“You don’t have to. See you in a week,” Rio said smugly.
“You know I can’t swim.”
“Hence... the boat.”

Agatha reluctantly climbed down the ladder. Her heels wobbled, and Rio “helped” by placing a hand, strategically, on her ass.

“Hands off ass... off ass!” Agatha snapped.
“Just trying to help,” Rio said, completely not sorry.

When they arrived at the island estate- mansion, really, Agatha’s jaw dropped.

“That is your home? Who are you people?”

 

As they walked the boardwalk, Agatha hissed, “You told me you were poor.”

“I never said that.”
“But you didn’t say you were rich!”
“My parents are rich.”
“God, that’s something only rich people say.”

From ahead, they heard voices- cheers. Then Victoria whispered, “Just a little welcoming party.”

“Fifty of our closest friends and neighbors,” Lilia added with a wink.
“And all excited to meet you!”
“A party?” Agatha asked, frozen.
“Yeah,” Rio said. “Come on, faster. My Abuela moves quicker than you.”

The party was a blur of strangers and compliments. Everyone seemed to know Rio. Everyone had a story about her. Every time Agatha tried to pull away, someone else greeted her with a, “Welcome to the family!”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were some kind of Puerto Rican Kennedy?” Agatha muttered.
“Why would I?” Rio answered. “We were always talking about you.”

“Okay but,” Agatha murmured as they paused near the drink table, her voice low and teasing, “when are you gonna tell them that we’re getting married?”

Rio cocked an eyebrow at her fiancée, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “Chill, babe,” she drawled, taking a sip of her champagne. “You’ll get a piece of me soon.”

Agatha rolled her eyes, trying not to smile too hard when a voice suddenly called out from behind.

“Oh, Rio! Nice to finally see you again,” came the warm, cheerful tone of an older woman, Mrs. Davis, one of Rio’s long-time family friends. She beamed at the couple before narrowing her eyes curiously at Rio. “You know, I always wondered… what does a book editor actually do?”

Before Rio could respond, a masculine voice chimed in from the side. “That’s a great question, Mrs. Davis. I’m curious to know the answer myself.”

Agatha turned her head in time to see a tall, broad-shouldered man approach, sharp jawline, slight grays at his temple, and eyes that made Rio instantly stiffen beside her.

“Papá,” Rio muttered, her voice clipped, guarded.

Javier smiled thinly and said, “Hola, mija.” Then his eyes flicked to Agatha. “You must be Aggie?”

Agatha extended her hand with composed politeness, replying, “Ah, Agatha, sir.”

“Javier,” shaking her hand firmly. “Rio’s father. Pleasure to meet you.”

Agatha gave a diplomatic smile. “Pleasure’s mine.”

They broke the handshake, but the tension didn’t break with it. Javier’s next question came in a deceptively friendly tone. “So, why don’t you tell us what a book editor does? Besides taking writers out to lunch and getting bombed.”

Mrs. Davis laughed at the jab, followed by her husband. “Now that sounds like fun. No wonder you like being an editor.”

But Javier corrected sharply, with a dismissive glance toward Rio. “No, Mr. Davis. Rio’s not an editor. She’s an editor’s assistant. Aggie here is the editor.”

“Agatha,” Agatha corrected, not missing the smug tone he’d used.

Mrs. Davis tilted her head curiously toward Agatha. “So, you’re actually—?”

“Rio’s boss,” Javier finished with a smug grin before laughing with the couple. He raised his empty glass. “Excuse me, I need a refill.”

As he walked off, Agatha turned to Rio with raised brows.

Rio looked like she was chewing glass.

“Charming,” Agatha muttered, Rio stands there barely holding her composure.

Without another word, she peeled away from Agatha and followed her father toward the bar.

“That’s a hell of an impression, Dad,” Rio hissed once they were out of earshot.

Javier gave her a side glance while pouring himself a bourbon. “¿Qué fue eso, Rio? Apareciste aquí todo este tiempo con esa mujer que odiabas?”
(What was that, Rio? You showed up here all this time with that woman you hated?)

Rio took a sharp breath through her nose, trying not to raise her voice. “Nosotras acabamos de llegar aquí, okay? Can we like wait two seconds before we throw the kitchen sink at each other?”

Javier sipped his drink with calculated calm. “Just never figured you as a lady who slept her way to the middle.”

Rio’s face darkened. “Actually, I’ll have you know that woman in there is one of the most respected editors in New York.”

“She's your meal ticket,” he snapped. “And you brought her home to meet your mother?”

Rio’s patience shattered like glass. “No. No, she’s not my meal ticket, Dad. She’s my fiancée.”

Javier froze, mid-sip. “What did you say?”

“You heard me,” she said, turning on her heel. “I’m getting married.”

Meanwhile, back in the living room, Agatha was weaving through the crowd when someone waved her over.

“Hey there, Agatha, right? I’m Alice. Rio’s college friend,” the girl smiled brightly, holding out a tray. “You’ve gotta try these dumplings. They’re insanely good.”

“Thank you,” Agatha said, taking one and biting into it with curiosity. As she chewed, she heard a familiar voice float in from the kitchen.

“Hey! Everybody!” Rio’s voice was playful, but firm, demanding attention.

Agatha moved toward the sound, wiping her fingers discreetly on a napkin. Just as she stepped into the kitchen entrance, Rio raised her glass and pointed at her.

“There she is,” Rio announced with a wide grin, “my beautiful soon-to-be wife!”

The room hushed for a second, the words hanging in the air like confetti caught mid-fall. Then came the rush, gasps, surprised smiles, raised eyebrows.

“Oh my god!” Lilia cried out, rushing over to engulf Rio in a joyful hug. “You didn’t even tell me!”

Rio’s mom followed, misty-eyed and glowing, holding Agatha’s hand with both of hers. “I’m so happy for you both,” she said with a warm squeeze.

Glasses clinked. Someone popped open a bottle of champagne. Cheers erupted around them.

Amid the chorus of congratulations, Agatha leaned into Rio’s ear and whispered, “So this is your idea of perfect timing?”

Rio winked and clinked their glasses together. “You bet your fine editor ass it is.”

Then... she appeared.

“Congratulations,” said Natasha, smile deadly and warm all at once. Her dress was red. Dangerous.
“Thanks,” Rio said, lips twitching.
“Congrats to you too,” Natasha said to Agatha before walking away.

“Who was that?” Agatha asked. “Damn, she’s gorgeous.”

“That was Natasha,” Alice said beside her.
“Rio’s ex.”
“Shut the fuck up, dude,” Rio said, already moving.

The evening had settled into a comfortable hum. The dining table was half-cleared, drinks refilled, and laughter passed easily between bites and sips.

Natasha leaned forward, chin propped on her hand, eyes locked on Rio with a hint of mischief.
“So… how did you propose to Agatha?”

Rio blinked. “Huh?”

Lilia chimed in right away, grinning ear to ear. “Yeahhhh. Tell us! How’d you do it? Did you cry? Did she cry?”

Caught off-guard, Rio laughed nervously and grabbed her glass of water. “Oh, you know what, Agatha actually loves telling that story. So why don’t we all just sit back and let her… perform.” She gestured dramatically to Agatha, eyes wide and pleading.

Agatha raised a brow, but her lips curled upward. The thespian in her awakened. “Right. Well. It was our sixth monthsary-”

“Your what?” Natasha cut in, laughing.

“Shh!” Lilia swatted her arm. “Let the gay speak.”

Agatha cleared her throat. “As I was saying, it was our sixth monthsary. We took this trip to this cabin by the lake, all wood panels and fairy lights. Very cliché. But romantic, I guess.”

Rio muttered under her breath, “I would never book a lake cabin.”

Agatha heard it but continued, “I made dinner. Burnt the pasta. She ate it anyway.”

“Lies,” Rio interrupted. “I can’t even eat burnt toast. I made the dinner, and you almost burned the cabin down lighting those damn candles.”

There was a beat of silence, then everyone at the table burst into laughter.

“So it was a team effort disaster?” Lilia asked.

“Basically,” Rio replied, then took over. “Anyway, I had the ring hidden in this ridiculous fortune cookie she almost didn’t eat because she was full of burnt spaghetti.”

“I wasn’t full. I was offended.” Agatha smirked.

“Right. So, she opens it, pulls out the ring, and just—goes blank. Like, completely frozen. And I’m down on one knee panicking, thinking I’m about to be publicly humiliated-”

“I said yes in like three seconds!” Agatha cut in.

Rio leaned in. “Three long seconds.”

They stared at each other a little longer than necessary. That pause... intimate, slow... made the room’s air shift slightly.

“And then,” Agatha picked back up, quieter now, “three days later… I proposed to her, too.”

The group collectively gasped and cooed.

“You’re like lesbians but in stereo,” Alice sighed. “Disgustingly adorable.”

Then someone yelled, “Kiss!”

The crowd took it and ran. “Yeah! Kiss your fiancée!”
“C’mon, Rio! Let’s see some love!”

Rio laughed, reached for Agatha’s hand, and gently kissed her knuckles. “There.”

Alice groaned. “Ugh. Lame. Kiss her in the mouth, Ri. Like you mean it!”

The whole table echoed, “Yeahhh!!”

Rio glanced at Agatha. Their eyes locked, hesitant. Rio’s smile faltered just enough to betray her nerves.

Agatha leaned in first. A brief peck. Polite. Performative.

“Boooo,” Lilia jeered. “That’s not a kiss. That’s a business handshake!”

Everyone cheered louder. And somehow, it happened.

Agatha looked at Rio again, their faces inches apart. Rio’s hand cupped her cheek. Their lips met again—this time slower, deeper, guided by the electricity that buzzed between them. A soft sound escaped one of them- whether real or for the show, they didn’t know.

But it was too much for too long.

The cheers brought them back. Rio pulled away first, blinking rapidly. Agatha sat there breathless, blinking too, lips parted as if words had vanished from her vocabulary.

And then Lilia practically tackled them into a hug.
“MY GIRLS!” she shouted. 

Everyone clapped and whistled. Glasses clinked. The moment passed. But something under their skin lingered.

Victoria unlocked the guest room door with a dramatic flourish, pushing it open like she was unveiling a five-star honeymoon suite. “Mi casa es su casa,” she sang. Lilia followed behind, balancing a couple of throw pillows she insisted made the bed look more “intentionally romantic.”

The room was cozy, with fairy lights strung above the headboard, rose-colored linens tucked tight into a plush mattress, and a tray of cookies and chamomile tea sitting on the nightstand. Too thoughtful. Too… couple-y.

Agatha froze at the doorway, hands on her hips. “We’re sleeping here together?”

“Uh-huh,” Lilia said innocently. “It’s a queen bed. You’re engaged, remember?”

Rio tried not to look too eager. “Right. Engaged fiancées sleep in queen beds. Cozy, very cozy.”

Before Agatha could reply, something soft brushed past her foot.

She yelled. “What the-?!”

A grayish-white blur zoomed between her ankles and hopped straight into the room. Rio bent down swiftly and scooped up the little invader.

“Relax, it’s just the bunny,” she chuckled. “You okay?”

Agatha stepped back, pointing at the thing in her fiancée’s arms. “That rodent attacked me.”

Rio raised her brow. “He brushed your foot.”

“Same thing.”

Lilia grinned and ruffled the bunny’s ears. “That’s Señor Scratchy. We adopted him from the pound last week. The cage hasn’t arrived yet, so he’s just roaming. But! Don’t let him out at night, or the eagle might swoop in and-” She made a snatching gesture with her fingers. “Poof.”

“Eagle?” Agatha asked, frowning. “You have a pet eagle?”

“No,” Victoria replied, completely serious. “Just a really persistent one that nests near the roof.”

Rio carefully handed the bunny over to Victoria, who cuddled it like a baby and backed toward the door.

“Well, we’ll leave you two to… settle in,” she said with a cheeky smile.

Lilia winked. “Don’t do anything we wouldn’t do.”

“We’re not doing anything,” Agatha insisted, arms crossed.

“Sure, sure,” Victoria muttered as the door shut behind her.

Silence.

Agatha slowly turned toward the bed. “Queen, huh.”

Rio kicked off her boots and flopped on the mattress, arms outstretched. “Queen. Welcome to your royal throne, babe.”

Agatha rolled her eyes but smiled faintly. She reached for her overnight bag, setting it on the desk chair, then peeled off her jacket and kicked off her heels with precise, annoyed grace. “No funny business. We sleep, we wake up, we leave.”

“Agreed,” Rio said, eyes on the ceiling. “No touching. No spooning. Zero lesbian tomfoolery.”

“Tomfoolery?”

“I’m trying to be respectful.”

Agatha smirked. “You’ve never been respectful a day in your life.”

Rio gave her a sly look. “True. But I’m trying for you.”

That caught Agatha off guard. Her hand stilled on the zipper of her hoodie, her face suddenly softer. She didn’t answer.

Rio, still lounging on the bed, said more quietly, “Hey… thank you. For earlier. That story? You really pulled it off.”

Agatha sat on the edge of the bed, facing away from her. “You helped. With the lies.”

“Yeah, but it felt kinda…”

“Real?” Agatha finished.

Rio looked at her. The tension between them thickened like summer air before a thunderstorm. She smiled faintly, but didn’t answer.

Agatha finally slid under the covers. “Don’t even think about cuddling.”

“I won’t,” Rio whispered as she turned off the bedside lamp. “Unless you beg.”

“Good night, Vidal.”

“Good night, Harkness.”

They lay back to back, eyes open in the dark, the silence heavy with something unspoken.

Something electric.

Chapter Text

The soft rays of morning crept into the room, lighting the gentle mess of their shared bed, tangled sheets, one pillow on the floor, and Rio still snoring lightly with a strand of hair falling over her face.

Agatha stirred, squinting at the obnoxious ringtone vibrating near her elbow. She groaned, blinked once at the name on the screen "WANDA" and slowly slipped out from the blanket cocoon.

She padded barefoot out of the room, her long T-shirt wrinkled, her silver-streaked hair a little wild.

“Wanda, it’s... eight in the morning,” she whispered, stepping outside onto the back garden steps, cradling the phone between shoulder and cheek. “What fresh chaos is this?”

“You will not believe who I just interviewed,” Wanda whispered with all the excitement of someone holding in a scream.
“Patti. LuPone. The goddess herself. And guess what? she remembered my Off-Off Broadway Gypsy audition. Said I had... spirit.”

Agatha chuckled, brushing sleep from her eyes. “Wanda, Patti LuPone probably says that to people in elevators.”

“Okay rude, but fair.”
“Anyway, how’s the love nest? Is it giving you everything you dreamed of? Are you thriving? Fertile? Staring into her eyes like a lesbian Dr. Zhivago?”

Agatha rolled her eyes, stepping further into the garden. “Wanda, we just got here. And don’t use ‘fertile’ like that, please—"

She stopped mid-step.

Something furry brushed against her foot.

She yelped. “Holy hell!” jumping back as a white bunny hopped lazily toward a patch of mint leaves.

“Senior Scratchy?” Agatha blinked, recognizing him from last night. “Oh no no no, you’re not supposed to be out here-”

Still on the phone with Wanda, she started tiptoeing toward the bunny like she was stalking prey. Meanwhile, Wanda kept yapping in her ear:

“Anyway, I’m thinking of pitching a show. Gay, musical, queer grief, found family. Maybe call it ‘Sapphic in the City’? You’d love it... Agatha? Are you even listening?”

“Yes, Wanda- one sec- this damn rabbit-"

Then came the swoop.

A sharp shadow passed overhead.

CAW.

Agatha gasped in horror as a massive eagle dove, claws outstretched.

“NOPE!” she screamed, “NOT TODAY, AMERICA!”

The eagle was inches from the bunny when, without thinking, Agatha hurled her phone like a javelin. It hit the eagle's wing with a dull thwack, and it stumbled mid-air. The bunny darted under a bush.

Agatha sprinted forward. Wanda’s voice still screeched through the speaker:

“Did you just throw me?! Did you just throw me at a bird?!”

“I saved a life!” Agatha barked, dusting dirt off her knees. “You should be grateful!”

“I was almost murdered by Patti LuPone’s biggest fan and an eagle in the same day.”

“Okay, drama queen- bye.”

Just as she ended the call, the eagle, insulted and vengeful, swooped back and snatched the phone straight out of her hand with the elegance of a Bond villain.

“Are you KIDDING ME?!” she shouted after it.

Thinking quickly, she held up the bunny like an offering. “Come back! I have the goods! The furry protein you want!”

She didn’t realize she was being watched.

From the kitchen window, Lilia sipped her coffee slowly. Victoria leaned beside her, arms folded, utterly still.

“She’s trying to trade the rabbit for her phone,” Victoria said flatly.

Lilia just nodded, her eyes wide with fascination. “I like her.”

Inside, Rio stepped out in a rumpled tank top, rubbing her eyes. “What’s going on?”

Victoria nodded toward the glass. “Your fiancée’s negotiating with wildlife.”

Rio blinked once, squinted at the garden, and her jaw dropped.

Outside, Agatha crouched on the grass, one arm extended dramatically, bunny held in both hands like Simba in The Lion King.

Rio groaned, rubbing her temples. “Oh my God.”

Victoria turned to her with a thin smile. “Tell her to get ready. We’re going to the town plaza today. And we’ve got a surprise planned.”

Rio opened the door and stepped out.

“Hey!” she called out. “You okay out here?”

Agatha turned to her with frazzled hair and a wild look in her eyes.

“The eagle took my phone, Rio.”

Rio blinked.

“...What?”

“And I tried to bribe it with the bunny.” She cradled Senior Scratchy like a hero returning from battle. “Didn’t work.”

Rio walked closer and gently took the bunny from her arms.

“Okay. You’re coming inside now. We're going to the plaza later, and my mom and abuela have a surprise for you.”

Agatha tilted her head. “Is it a new phone?”

“...Maybe.”

They both laughed as they walked back inside, Agatha barefoot, bunny in hand, Rio shaking her head with a smile that wouldn’t leave.

The plaza buzzed with afternoon heat and rowdy laughter. Agatha sat squished between Alice and Natasha at a tiny table outside the gay bar, her sunglasses sliding down her nose. Lilia was dancing with a drag queen who had just pulled her into the center of the floor. Victoria was recording it all with a grin. Day drinking had not been on the itinerary, but Alice insisted on shots and wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Agatha was three tequila shots in, slouched and flushed.

Natasha sat still, reserved, sipping her rum like it was her only tether to composure. She didn’t speak much. She just watched. Drag queens danced to a Dua Lipa remix, glitter flying, wigs snatching. The crowd cheered, and Alice yelled out, “That’s my wife!” even though she was single.

Meanwhile, back behind the house, Rio stood by the lake, her hands in her hoodie pockets. Her father was playing a slow game of golf by himself near the edge of the fairway. She hadn’t planned to talk to him, but something about the loneliness of that sight made her walk over.

“Dad,” she called out.

He turned. “Well, look who finally decided to come home.”

“Didn’t exactly get a choice this time,” she muttered, hands still buried.

A beat of silence passed. Her father hit another golf ball, sloppy. He was getting old. She could see it now.

“So,” he said, “last time you were here, you slammed the door, told me to go to hell, and then moved to New York.”

Rio scoffed. “You told me I was a disgrace.”

“You were running away.”

“No,” she replied firmly. “I was surviving. You never accepted me. Not really. You pushed Natasha away. You made it impossible.”

There was a long pause. Then he looked up at her. “I was wrong about that. About a lot of things.”

That made her stop.

“I’m... sorry, Rio.”

Her brows furrowed. She wasn’t ready to hear that, not from him.

But he didn’t let it breathe. “That said, I’m retiring soon.”

There it was.

“Don’t,” Rio warned.

“I need someone to run the company.”

She looked away, biting down her anger. “You think I came all this way to be your backup plan?”

“I think you’re the only one who can do it.”

“I have a job. In New York. A real one. A job I worked for.”

He stared at her, silent. Judging. Always judging.

“I’m sorry,” Rio said, voice cold. “I’m sorry you didn’t get the perfect daughter. The one who’d follow you around like a loyal dog. But you got me.”

She turned on her heel, fists clenched.

Back at the plaza, Agatha was already swaying on her feet when Victoria and Abuela agreed it was time to bring her home.

They all piled into the car, Alice driving, Natasha in the front.

As they pulled into the long driveway, they saw Rio at the side of the house, sweat glistening on her forehead.

She was holding a bat and slamming it repeatedly into the wooden hull of a small boat.

Thwack.
Thwack.
Thwack.

Natasha leaned forward. “That’s her old boat,” she said quietly. “We used to take it out... back when... anyway.”

Everyone went silent.

“I think it’s best if we just leave her alone for right now,” Victoria murmured. “Come on, let’s go inside.”

But Agatha stepped out of the car before anyone could stop her.

She walked toward Rio carefully. The bat lifted mid-air again, then came crashing down.

Agatha timed it, one breath, one step and reached out to touch her shoulder.

Rio spun, bat raised, breath erratic, until she saw Agatha. Her grip loosened. The bat dropped.

Tears welled up so fast Rio couldn’t blink them away in time. She looked wrecked, body trembling with rage that had nowhere to go.

Agatha hugged her, and Rio started to break down in front of her.

Agatha tried to calm her down, murmuring something that was half comfort, half joke.

Rio let out a shaky laugh through the tears.

They let go of the hug.

“You smell like alcohol,” Rio muttered, wiping her eyes.

Agatha shrugged, a little too casually. “They took me day drinking.”

Rio raised her eyebrow in disbelief. “Damn, how did they get you to drink?”

Agatha laughed, a little breathless. “Seriously, aren’t you tryna sober up? You told me that two months ago.”

“Well, I am drunk. So... you... as a respectable fiancée, you’re gonna take care of me,” Agatha said as she put her arms on Rio’s neck and smiled.

Without thinking, she leaned in for a kiss.

They kissed for about twenty seconds, unrushed, deep, too full of everything unsaid, until Agatha pulled away like she just realized what she’d done.

She let go of Rio and scratched the back of her neck, a habit she didn’t usually do. Just when she was nervous.

Agatha Harkness was never nervous. Not until now. Not with Rio.

From the porch, Alice yelled, “LUNCH! Get your hot gay asses in here!”

Agatha laughed lightly. “I need to shower.”

Rio nodded. “I’ll... I’ll be inside in a minute.”

She watched Agatha walk away, arms still tingling from that kiss. Her lips still tasted like tequila and secrets.

And Rio stood there, staring at the broken boat, wondering how many more times she'd have to let her heart break just to feel whole.

The steam clouded the glass panels of the shower, softening the outline of Agatha's figure as water cascaded down her shoulders. She ran a hand through her damp hair, letting out a sigh. The only sound filling the warm space was the water and her own thoughts. Until…

Shuffle.

She didn’t hear anything at first.

Rio, earbuds in and fully unaware, padded barefoot into the bathroom. She had peeled off her sweatshirt and sweatpants after grabbing a towel from the cabinet outside. Her mind was lost in the music, something dramatic and orchestral, of course as she opened the frosted glass door to the shared bathroom space, eyes hazy with sleep and focused on the warm mist ahead.

She didn’t see Agatha.

Agatha, on the other hand, paused. Her gut told her something was off. She could’ve sworn she saw a flicker of movement by the mirror.

She turned.

And through the steamed-up glass of the shower, she saw a silhouette that definitely wasn’t hers.

“What the fuck are you doing in here?!” she called out instinctively.

But Rio didn’t hear her. The music was still in her ears as she casually reached for her toothbrush.

Agatha’s eyes went wide. She wiped a patch of steam from the inside of the glass and banged her hand on the door.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Rio turned and screamed.

“OH MY GOD!”

Agatha screamed too, both startled and mortified as Rio stood stark naked, her towel now crumpled uselessly on the floor. She spun around, one arm over her chest, the other covering lower.

Agatha hastily reached for the towel hooked beside the showerhead, her own body still dripping wet as she pressed herself against the far end of the glass.

“What the hell are you still doing in here!?” Agatha yelled.

“I didn’t know you were... You didn’t lock the door!”

“You know people usually knock, right?!”

“Oh my god, you’re such a menace.”

“Well, some people don’t just strip and invade the only privacy I have!”

“Whatever,” Rio muttered, flustered and turning red as she stormed out, yanking her towel off the floor to cover herself. Just before she exited the bathroom entirely, she paused and added sarcastically over her shoulder, “Nice tattoo, by the way.”

Agatha blinked.

She looked down.

Her abdomen, the crescent moon tattoo, barely visible above her hip bone, was on full display.

Agatha clutched the towel tighter around her.

“…Shit.”

The dining room was sun-drenched and impossibly perfect, arched windows overlooking the snowy pines, fresh flowers in a vase, and a long oak table already set with a charcuterie board, steaming soup bowls, and slices of rustic sourdough. Victoria had clearly gone all out.

Agatha walked in first, hair freshly towel-dried, sleeves rolled, and trying not to make eye contact with Rio, who followed seconds later in an oversized hoodie that almost swallowed her whole.

Neither spoke.

They sat down simultaneously, as if rehearsed. The air was thick with something unsaid, but Victoria, ever the radiant hostess was too busy ladling soup into bowls to notice.

“Well, this is cozy,” she said cheerfully, handing Agatha a spoon. “I figured a simple lunch would do.”

Lilia was already seated, munching on grapes and watching the two like she was in the middle of a live reality show. She leaned toward Victoria and whispered loudly, “Something’s weird.”

Agatha cleared her throat. “Just hungry.”

Rio nodded stiffly. “Yup. Starving.”

Lilia smirked. “Sure. So… how was the bathroom situation?”

Agatha’s spoon paused midair. Rio dropped a piece of bread in her soup.

Victoria blinked. “Did something happen?”

Alice probably noticed the tension, too, because she leaned on the doorframe, cocked her head, and smirked. “You two didn’t just cry it out in the shower, did you? Bet you had some extra emotional release in there.”

Rio groaned. “Alice-”

“Oh, come on. You were in there for ages,” Alice teased. “What, shampooing each other’s feelings away?”

Agatha flushed deep. So did Rio. But neither of them denied anything. They just... let the teasing happen, let the moment carry itself.

Rio caught Natasha looking at her from across the room. Their eyes met, lingering just a little too long. But then they both looked away.

After lunch, Agatha and Rio ended up on the porch together. It was quieter now, just the two of them.

Agatha nudged Rio gently with her elbow. “Wanna go for a swim in the lake?”

Rio turned to her, lifting a brow with a teasing smirk. “I thought you couldn’t swim?”

Agatha made a face. “Well, it’s probably not that deep.”

Rio laughed, her eyes glinting. “We’ll go when the sun’s lower.”

They headed back inside.

Rio grabbed her book and curled up with it on the couch while Agatha typed away on her laptop. It was quiet again, comfortable this time. They waited.

By the time the sun had softened and stretched over the sky in streaks of gold and rose, Rio stood and reached her hand out. “Come on. Swim time.”

Agatha followed her, both of them walking barefoot down to the shoreline.

She wore a black bikini, almost completely covered by a sheer white robe tied loosely around her waist. When she saw where they were, her brows furrowed.

“I said lake. This isn’t a lake,” she said dryly, glancing at the vast stretch of ocean.

Rio turned around, already undoing her ponytail, and said without missing a beat, “Well, if you wanna get bitten by a snapping turtle, go ahead and be my guest…”

She paused and caught Agatha’s eye as she peeled off her clothes, revealing a dark green bikini that clung perfectly to her curves. “…and I will enjoy the Atlantic Ocean.”

Then, with a wink, she took off running toward the waves.

Agatha didn’t mean to stare but she did. Rio’s almost-naked, leaving-nothing-but-imagination body moved with wild, unapologetic grace.

Agatha huffed, rolled her eyes, untied her robe, and let it slip to the sand.

Then she ran after her.

Just as the sun dipped low, casting golden streaks across the water, Natasha appeared from the edge of the hill, towel in hand, calling out with a smile, “Mind if I join?”

Agatha blinked in surprise, then offered a friendly grin. “Of course not. The more, the merrier.”

But as Natasha kicked off her sandals and sauntered toward the shore, Agatha’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. The red bikini Natasha wore left little to the imagination—and the way Rio’s gaze trailed after her, lingering just a second too long, didn’t go unnoticed.

Agatha turned her attention back to Rio, watching her eyes flick back and forth between her and Natasha. That was enough.

She took a few casual strokes through the water, approaching Rio, her expression softening into something deceptively sweet.

“Honey,” she said, voice light and sugary. “I saw a motorcycle by the garage this morning before we left. Whose is it?”

Rio blinked, caught off guard for half a second before her lips curled into a knowing smirk. “It was mine, baby. Why?”

Agatha draped her arms over Rio’s shoulders, bringing herself closer. “Well,” she murmured, drawing her finger lightly along the back of Rio’s neck, “I was hoping maybe you could take me for a ride tomorrow?”

Rio tilted her head, amused and amusedly aroused. “Sure, baby. Whatever you want.”

Then, without breaking eye contact, Rio leaned in and kissed Agatha slpw, purposeful, and hot with the kind of fire that made it very clear she knew exactly what she was doing. Agatha tensed for the briefest second caught off guard by the intensity but she recovered quickly, responding in kind, her lips moving against Rio’s as the water lapped around them.

When they finally broke apart, the air between them crackled.

Agatha blinked when she realized Natasha had disappeared from the shoreline. The red bikini was gone. So was the playful competition in the air.

She pulled away from Rio quickly, heart racing and lips still tingling.

Rio let out a low chuckle and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her eyes glinting like she’d just won something. “Damn. You’re good.”

Agatha narrowed her eyes. “I didn’t do that for you.”

“Oh, I know,” Rio said, wading a little deeper into the water, her shoulders slick and glistening. “You did it for her.”

Agatha huffed and turned to float on her back, trying to cool the heat rising up her neck. “You were drooling.”

“Me? Please,” Rio smirked. “I was just... noticing. She showed up looking like a Coke commercial from hell.”

“You noticed a lot.”

Rio laughed softly, but then there was a beat of silence. When she spoke again, her voice dropped a little. “So what was that, really?”

Agatha didn’t look at her. “A reminder.”

“To her?” Rio asked.

Agatha flipped upright, her wet hair clinging to her skin. “To you, actually.”

Their eyes locked.

For a second, neither of them spoke.

Then Rio swam closer, the water between them churning lightly. “So... what if I liked it?”

Agatha swallowed hard. “Liked what?”

Rio was in front of her now. Close. Very close. “All of it. The kiss. The pretending.” Her voice softened. “The way your hands felt on me.”

Agatha’s breath caught.

Rio leaned in. “You really wanna play games, Agatha? ’Cause I’m starting to enjoy them.”

Agatha's mouth parted slightly. “Are you flirting with me?”

“I think I already did more than flirt,” Rio murmured, her lips brushing the shell of Agatha’s ear.

And just when Agatha thought she might kiss her again-

“Hey!” a voice called out.

Alice.

They both jolted and turned to the shore. Alice stood with her hands on her hips, squinting. “Y’all good out there, or are we gonna find a drowned lesbian love triangle on tomorrow’s news?”

Rio laughed, turned to Agatha, and whispered, “To be continued.”

Agatha bit her lip. Half annoyed, half breathless and started swimming back to shore.

Her mind raced the whole way.

She wasn’t sure if she’d just won... or just started a fire she couldn’t put out.

Chapter Text

The engine of the motorcycle purred low, cutting through the quiet morning air. Rio drove like the wind had whispered her name, wild but sure. Agatha, arms around Rio’s waist, had her eyes half-closed behind tinted glasses, letting the breeze press soft kisses across her cheeks and collarbone.

They didn’t speak much during the ride, just exchanged glances at red lights and chuckles during sharp turns. Less than an hour later, Rio parked outside a large colonial-style building with arched windows and warm terracotta walls.

“Museo de Arte de Puerto Rico,” she said, pulling off her helmet, her hair slightly tousled by the wind. “Figured you’d like it.”

“Figured you might like it. You know it’s… artsy and stuff.”

Agatha blinked in surprise, her eyes flicking from the gallery tickets to Rio’s face, studying her like she wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or suspicious. But then, a soft smile tugged at her lips, blooming slowly, like warmth spreading through her chest.

“You guessed I liked Arts and stuff ?”

Rio shrugged, casually but there was a glint of pride in her eyes. “You always get this quiet little smile when people talk about art stuff. I figured maybe… it’d hit the right spot.”

Agatha stared at her for a moment, touched and a little stunned. “You’re either psychic,” she murmured, “or extremely lucky.”

“Maybe both,” Rio grinned, handing her the tickets with a wink

Inside, the light was soft and golden, filtering through skylights and settling gently on polished floors and painted frames. The gallery was quiet,  reverent… like it knew what kind of moment this was.

Agatha’s voice echoed lightly as she stood in front of “Ensoñación de amor” (Daydreaming of Love).
She lifted her hand as if brushing invisible dust from the air in front of the canvas. “He painted this in 1905,” she murmured, her fingers sketching ghost shapes in the space between her and the painting. “Look at the girl. Her posture… her longing. Frade captured that stillness, that ache… like she’s waiting for someone who may never come.”

Rio didn’t reply.

She was staring at Agatha. Not the painting. Not the brushwork. Not the shadows cast by art long dead.

Just her.

The curve of her lips.
The way her fingers moved like they were painting memories midair.
The faint line of her collarbone, dipping into a navy dress that looked like it was made to belong in oil and gold leaf.

Agatha turned to her, a soft question on her lips, but it died when she caught the look in Rio’s eyes.

Rio blinked, then hurriedly looked up at the canvas. “Oh- Uh yeahhh, beautiful indeed,” she lied poorly, nodding along as if she’d heard every word Agatha just said.

Agatha laughed under her breath and leaned in just a little, her voice velvet-smooth. “You really think I wouldn’t notice?”

Rio smirked but didn’t answer.

They stood close, too close to be “just friends,” too far to be what they once were. And in the quiet between them, surrounded by centuries of longing immortalized in paint, Agatha slowly, deliberately took a step toward Ri o , her eyes still on the painting.

"She’s dreaming of someone,” Agatha whispered. “Maybe someone she shouldn't.”

Rio's throat tightened.

“…Or maybe someone she can’t stop thinking about,” Agatha added, glancing sidelong at her.

And this time, Rio didn’t look away.

After they wrapped up the last exhibition, the sunlight had started to mellow, spilling across the brick walkways of Santurce with a soft, honey-like glow. Agatha and Rio stepped out of the museum and made their way toward Lote 23 , a colorful open-air food court tucked between murals and local artisan stalls. The scent of roasted pork, fried dough, and freshly brewed coffee hit them almost immediately, making Agatha’s stomach growl in a way that made her chuckle under her breath.

“I could eat a whole pig right now,” Rio muttered with a grin, scanning the kiosks.

“Let’s not go that wild,” Agatha teased, bumping her shoulder gently against Rio’s as they walked.

Rio’s eyes lit up the moment she spotted a rustic little stand near the corner with a handwritten chalkboard menu. She turned to Agatha, beaming. “You ever had gazpacho before? Cold soup, but like… sexy.”

“Sexy cold soup?” Agatha blinked. "I never wanna hear those words paired up ever again."

“You’ll like it. Trust me!”

Before Agatha could protest, Rio stepped up to the counter with a confident sway to her walk. The woman manning the stall, a middle-aged señora with silver-streaked hair and the warmest smile then looked up expectantly.

Rio pushed her sunglasses onto her head, leaned slightly on the counter, and said, in near-perfect Spanish:

“Hola, buenas tardes. ¿Nos podrías dar una ración de tortilla española, un gazpacho, y… dos limonadas frías, por favor?”

Her voice dipped into that lilting rhythm native to Spanish, and though her accent had a distinct softness to it, she spoke with fluency and ease. She glanced back at Agatha, then added:

“¿Y también unas croquetas de jamón? Se ven increíbles.”

La señora grinned and nodded. “Claro que sí, mi amor. Todo suena delicioso.”

Agatha, now standing beside Rio, tried to play it cool. She tapped on her phone aimlessly, but she wasn’t reading anything. She was watching Rio—closely. Watching the way her lips moved around the rolled r s and soft ch sounds. The way she smiled, biting her lip ever so slightly when she ordered. The way she tucked her hair behind one ear, casual but somehow… tantalizing.

Agatha swallowed hard.

She was not prepared for this version of Rio.

There was something undeniably hot about seeing her speak a different language, especially one that rolled off her tongue with such a sultry rhythm. Agatha didn’t know what the hell gazpacho tasted like, but suddenly it was the most appealing dish in the world.

Rio turned back to her, sipping her ice water.

“See? That wasn’t so hard,” she said with a smirk.

While eating their lunch, Rio mentioned, “There’s gonna be an open mic karaoke tonight at a cozy cabin near the house. Everyone’s going.”

Then she smirked and added, “Just like the one I rented out when I ‘proposed,’ remember?”
Agatha laughed, catching the reference to the ridiculous made-up story they tell everyone. “Oh, yeah,” she said, amused. “That fake proposal was very heartfelt.”

“You in?” Rio asked, popping a fry into her mouth.
“Sure,” Agatha nodded. “Let’s make more fake memories.”

After their meal, they went back to the museum.

Agatha had seen a flyer earlier for a painting workshop and insisted on checking it out. Rio drove them back, and while most of the attendees were kids, they didn’t care—they were kids at heart anyway.

“Let’s paint each other,” Agatha challenged, her eyes playful.
“Oh, we’re doing that now?” Rio grinned.
“It’ll be fun,” Agatha said, grabbing two easels. “Winner gets... a free massage.”
“You just want a free massage.”

It took nearly two hours to finish the painting challenge—though calling it a “challenge” was generous at best. If one were to break down the actual effort: it was maybe 10% real painting, 40% shameless goofing around, and a solid 50% blatant, unfiltered flirting. They flicked paint at each other, teased every stroke of the brush, and kept leaning too close with excuses like, "Oops, just need to see how you’re doing the shading there."

Rio, of course, had her tongue between her teeth as she focused—not on her canvas, but on how Agatha’s brow furrowed when she was concentrating. Meanwhile, Agatha spent more time watching Rio swirl her colors than mixing her own.

By the time they both declared they were “done,” it was already close to sunset. They stood side by side in front of each other’s easels, cheeks flushed not just from the heat of the afternoon but from everything unspoken between them.

Rio flipped her canvas around first. “Okay, ready?”

Agatha nodded, bracing for a mess.

But then… she saw it.

It was her. Her face, her messy hair, the little mole by her jaw—somehow captured in delicate but expressive brushstrokes. Not hyper-realistic, but undeniably her . It had a bold, abstract charm. The lines were rough, but it had depth. Soul. Emotion.

Agatha blinked, her lips parting slightly. “…Huh.”

Rio tried to play it off, wiping imaginary sweat from her brow. “Not bad for someone who flunked art class, right?”

“That’s… unfair,” Agatha muttered, crossing her arms but failing to hide the upward twitch of her lips. “You said you were bad at painting.”

“I said I was rusty, ” Rio corrected, her smirk widening. “And maybe I just needed the right muse.”

Agatha laughed, light and breathy, shaking her head. “God, that was corny.”

“Yeah, but you liked it.”

“Maybe,” Agatha said softly, her eyes lingering on the portrait a little too long.

“Yours is cute!” Rio lied, trying not to laugh at the abstract disaster Agatha had created.

“Liar.”

“An honest one,” Rio chuckled, just before Agatha gave her a playful punch on the arm.

By almost 4 PM, the sun began to stretch its golden rays lower in the sky, painting the streets in a soft amber hue. Rio squinted behind her sunglasses as she drive through the narrow streets leading back to the house.

The warm wind whipped against their faces as Rio sped through the dimming streets of San Juan on her sleek black motorcycle. Agatha clung to her from behind, arms wrapped around Rio’s waist, her chin lightly resting on her shoulder. The engine purred beneath them, a low, steady rhythm that almost matched the beat of Agatha’s heart.

They’d spent hours wandering through art booths and getting paint on each other, their fingers still faintly stained with dried colors. Rio had a smear of blue under her jaw that Agatha hadn't told her about, partly because she liked the way it looked on her.

Just as they passed a small street corner, something caught Agatha’s eye. Her whole body jolted forward.

“Stop!” she suddenly shouted.

Rio gasped and hit the brakes, her hand instinctively reaching behind her- to Agatha’s shoulder to protect her, an old habit. “Jesus! Warn me next time, you almost gave me a heart attack.”

But Agatha was already off onto the pavement. “Look!” she said, pointing. “Ice cream.”

Rio blinked, still catching her breath. “You nearly killed us for a popsicle stand?”

“Not just any stand,” Agatha argued, her eyes gleaming. “That’s handmade coconut helado, isn’t??? And they like dip it in chocolate. It’s like, unreal. I’ve seen these all over social media. Come onnn!”

Chuckling under her breath, Rio turned off the engine and followed her. “You’re lucky you’re hot.”

They each got a cone, Agatha’s was pistachio with a drizzle of honey, while Rio opted for mango chili sorbet, because of course she needed something with a kick. They sat together on the curbside, legs brushing occasionally, the late afternoon warmth wrapping around them like a blanket.

The world felt slow in the best way. Cars passed by lazily, a dog barked from a distant yard, and the air smelled like sugar and salt and sun.

After a few moments of quiet laughter and sticky fingers, they finally headed back to the motorcycle. Rio slid back into the seat, licking the last of her cone.

As they pulled into the driveway back at the house, they noticed movement, people carrying bags and coolers, voices raised in excitement. The karaoke cabin crew was already preparing to leave.

“Guess we made it just in time,” Rio said, glancing at Agatha.

Agatha wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and smiled, still a bit sticky with melted honey and sun-kissed affection. “Yeah. But I kinda wish we stayed out just a little longer.”

Victoria told Rio something with a sly smile while Agatha headed toward the bedroom. Rio caught a glimpse of Agatha—clearly exhausted, already slipping into a robe and stretching like she was ready for a long, hot shower.

“She’s tired,” Rio said, turning back to the group. “We’ll just stay in tonight and rest.”

Alice let out a teasing whistle. “Ooh, rest, huh?”

Rio flipped her off playfully, smirking. “Get out.”

She followed Agatha into the room, already feeling the shift in energy—the kind that promised a peaceful night but maybe not a quiet one… 

Chapter Text

Rio followed Agatha into the bedroom, eyes immediately landing on the woman already iher robe, clearly craving a long, hot shower. Agatha’s hair was tousled from the helmet, her skin kissed with sun and travel. Rio let out a quiet sigh as she stepped inside, beginning to shrug off her leather jacket. She stretched her back, the long day of riding finally catching up with her body.

Agatha noticed. “You okay?” she asked, pausing mid-step.

Rio gave a soft nod, rotating her shoulder. “Yeah… just stiff and all.”

Agatha gave her a small smile, stepping closer. “Hush. Come to bed.”

Rio raised a brow at her in amusement. “You sure?”

Agatha chuckled, eyes soft but playful. “C’mon. You drove all day, showed me your whole town like a tour guide, and you won the paint challenge. Let me at least say thank you.”

That made Rio grin. She walked over and hung her jacket on the rack, then sat at the edge of the bed, rolling her neck out. Agatha moved without a word, grabbing a bottle of lotion from her bag. She came up behind Rio and gently tugged at her shirt.

“Can I?” she asked.

Rio glanced over her shoulder, a smirk tugging at her lips. “You’re being awfully polite all of a sudden.”

Agatha rolled her eyes, unbothered. “Don’t flatter yourself.” Still, there was a flicker of heat in her gaze as she pulled Rio’s shirt off. She offered a pillow for her to cover her front before sliding the strap of her bra down and unclasping it.

The moment her palms met Rio’s bare back, everything slowed. The lotion was cool, but her hands were warm kneading, pressing, gliding down tense muscles. She worked carefully, thumbs digging into Rio’s shoulders, easing her way down her spine with deliberate pressure.

Rio exhaled a low, shaky breath, her chest rising and falling like waves crashing ashore. Agatha's fingers traced slow, deliberate circles just below her shoulder blades, sending a tremble down her spine. 

The contact was gentle yet possessive, grounding Rio in the moment while unraveling her all at once. Her breath hitched, caught somewhere between need and surrender. 

Then, a soft, involuntary moan slipped from her lips, quiet but telling, like the sound of something precious finally being found.

Agatha paused for a heartbeat… 

Then leaned in, lips brushing against the crook of Rio’s neck. The kisses were featherlight at first, then deeper, hungrier. Rio tilted her head to the side, giving her more access, her moans growing louder with each lingering kiss.

Agatha turned her around slowly, her hands firm yet gentle on Rio’s waist, their eyes locked in a magnetic pull that said everything neither of them could. 

The air between them thickened, heavy with anticipation, until Rio couldn't take it any longer, she surged forward with a hunger that shocked even herself. Her hands found Agatha’s shoulders, pushing her down onto the bed, their bodies falling together in a heated blur. 

Their mouths collided, not with tenderness but with desperation , lips parting, teeth scraping, tasting each other like it had been years instead of hours. Fingers tangled in each other's hair and gripped at clothing, tugging, pulling, clutching like the world outside didn’t matter only the fire growing between them, only the heat they couldn’t hold back any longer.

They moaned into the kiss, bodies grinding close, heat building like fire caught in silk.

Agatha reached down and guided Rio’s hand between her thighs, her breath hitching as she whispered, “There…”

Rio’s fingers found her already wet, pulsing with want, and Agatha bit her lip to hold back a cry. The air between them was thick with tension and need, raw and burning.

Rio's fingers trembled as they grazed over the silk of Agatha’s skin, and for a moment, the line between acting and truth blurred completely.

With a growl under her breath, Rio twisted back and pushed Agatha down onto the bed, straddling her with a confident fire in her eyes. Their mouths met again, harder this time, urgent and messy, with tongues dancing in a rhythm that was both practiced and uncharted. Their moans tangled together, rising and falling like waves crashing on the shore.

Clothes clung to sweat-dappled skin, half-pulled, half-forgotten. Agatha’s hands roamed over Rio’s already naked front, palms gliding over the softness of her breasts, fingertips teasing along the curve of her waist as if rediscovering her in real time. But her touch didn’t stop there; her hands slipped downward with a growing hunger, fingers working at the button of Rio’s pants with just enough impatience to make Rio groan into her mouth.

Rio didn’t waste time either. She reached for the belt of Agatha’s silk robe and tugged it loose in one swift motion, letting the soft fabric fall open to reveal the heated flush of skin beneath. Her eyes darkened at the sight- hungry and she let the robe slide off Agatha’s shoulders completely, baring her to the cool air of the room and the fevered press of Rio’s gaze.

They broke the kiss just long enough to strip each other fully, pants pushed down, robe discarded and then there was nothing between them anymore. Just bare skin and the kind of desire that made everything else irrelevant.

Rio’s fingers moved with a mix of hesitance and hunger, testing how far she could push, how much Agatha would let her take. But Agatha didn’t just let her- she welcomed her, hips rolling forward in aching desperation. Her moans grew louder, throatier, echoing off the walls, and Rio’s name left her lips like a prayer.

Rio’s lips trailed down Agatha’s neck, slow at first, then frantic, like she couldn’t decide whether to worship or consume her. 

When she reached Agatha’s chest, she didn’t hesitate. Her mouth closed around one nipple, warm and wet, tongue circling before she gave a sharp, deliberate suck. At the same time, her hand found the other breast, kneading it roughly, thumb brushing over the hardened nipples. 

Agatha gasped, her back arching, fingers digging into Rio’s skin as she dragged her nails down her back in response, sharp enough to leave marks, deep enough to make Rio moan against her. And still, Rio didn’t stop, she switched sides, biting gently, then soothing the sting with her tongue, her other hand still groping, teasing, gripping like she couldn't get enough of her.

“Don’t stop,” Agatha whispered breathlessly, her nails dragging along Rio’s back, leaving faint trails of red. “Just like that…”

Rio’s touch became bolder, more certain, like memorizing every inch of Agatha.

She leaned in, biting softly at Agatha’s jawline, then trailing kisses down her neck, tasting her flushed skin.

Agatha reached up, grabbing Rio by the back of the neck, and pulled her down into another kiss; deep, filthy, hungry. Tongues collided. 

Their breaths stuttered. Their hips moved in sync, grinding, searching for friction. The tension between them snapped like an overstretched thread.

Then Rio pulled her hand back for a moment, teasing and cruel.

Agatha whimpered at the loss. “Please,” she said, voice ragged, eyes shining. “Don’t make me beg…”

Rio smirked softly, lips brushing against Agatha’s ear. “You sound so good when you do.”

Agatha groaned at the edge in her tone. Then, without warning, Rio slid down her body, mouth trailing kisses over her stomach, fingers hooked around the waistband of her underwear. Agatha shivered, her breath caught, every nerve alight.

“Rio…” she warned.

Then she disappeared between Agatha’s thighs, her breath ghosting over flushed skin. The anticipation alone made Agatha's stomach clench, and the second Rio's tongue finally made contact. Agatha's back arched off the bed in a sharp gasp.

Rio didn’t rush but the hunger in her touch was unmistakable. Her tongue moved in slow, deliberate strokes along Agatha’s clit, dragging with just enough pressure to make her shudder. She pressed soft, reverent kisses along the slick folds, tasting her like she was something sacred. Then, without warning, Rio’s ring and middle fingers slipped inside her slowly at first, curling gently, drawing a startled moan from Agatha that melted into a whimper. Her thighs trembled, the combination of Rio’s tongue and finger working her open in sync, each motion stoking the fire already threatening to consume her.

Agatha’s hands clawed blindly at the sheets until they found Rio’s hair, tangling in it with a desperate grip as her hips bucked. Rio moaned into her, the vibration sending jolts of pleasure straight through Agatha’s core. The deeper Rio’s fingers went, the firmer her tongue pressed, flicking and circling with purpose now matched rhythm, matched intensity.

“God, Rio…” Agatha gasped, voice wrecked and trembling as her legs tried to close, to ground herself but Rio was relentless. She locked her arms around Agatha’s thighs, keeping her wide and open, her mouth and fingers unyielding. The pressure was too much, too perfect each stroke sending her spiraling closer, harder, deeper into the edge.

Every sound Agatha made was for Rio and she drank it all in like devotion.
Her hand flew back to Rio’s scalp, tugging hard, but not to stop her… God, never that.

“Fuck, Ri- don’t stop, don’t you dare-” she choked, hips rolling with abandon, chasing the rush, the heat, the explosion already burning at the edges of her soul.

Rio hummed in response, hands gripping Agatha’s thighs harder now, holding her open, keeping her pinned as her pace quickened, tongue working with precision, devotion, like she had waited a lifetime for this. Her movements were slick, practiced, passionate; every flick of a memory, every suck a confession.

Agatha was breaking. Her legs quivered, stomach tightening, and her breaths broke into shattered little whimpers. She cursed, she begged, she chanted Rio’s name like a litany as her orgasm barreled toward her like a freight train.

“Right there, oh my god- yes -” she cried, voice hoarse, body trembling uncontrollably.

And when she came, it hit hard, a wave after wave of intensity crashing over her, her thighs clenching around Rio, fingers digging into her scalp. Her cries echoed through the room as her body seized with pleasure.

But Rio didn’t stop. She kept going through it, through Agatha’s shaking legs, through her sobbed-out moans, through the collapse. She kissed her through every aftershock, slowing only when Agatha slumped back against the bed, utterly undone.

Still resting atop her, Rio shifted her weight, one leg slipping between Agatha’s thighs again and Agatha gasped as the movement sparked a delicious ache through her. Her body, still trembling from release, stirred like embers being fed oxygen. Her eyes fluttered open just in time to catch that mischievous flicker in Rio’s gaze, dark, wanting, insatiable.

Rio dipped down again, her mouth brushing Agatha’s earlobe, voice dropping to a whisper that made Agatha shiver all over.

“That’s the sound I wanna hear when I make you come again… and again?”

Agatha swallowed, lips parting, but she couldn’t answer. Couldn’t think. Not with Rio’s fingers sliding slowly down her side, then lower; over her hip, between her thighs.

Still sensitive. Still drenched.

Rio’s fingers found her with infuriating precision; pressing, circling, slipping in with a slow, deliberate rhythm that made Agatha’s back arch again instantly. Her moan spilled out raw, wrecked, needier than before.

“Fuck, Rio…”

Rio kissed her neck, dragging her lips down to her collarbone.

Agatha clutched at the sheets, her other hand finding Rio’s wrist, not to stop her but to feel her. To feel every movement as she worked her fingers deeper, faster, curling just right until Agatha’s body was writhing beneath her once more.

Her moans came in broken syllables, her eyes half-lidded and glassy. “I- I can’t go again- ” she breathed out.

But Rio only smirked, licking her lips. “Yes you can.”

And just like that, Agatha was falling again—her orgasm building sharper, quicker, like Rio had mapped out every inch of her and knew exactly what buttons to press. And she did.

Rio kissed her through it again, tongue slipping into her mouth as Agatha moaned into the kiss, body shaking as the climax took her. It was harder this time. More intense. Her nails scraped down Rio’s back, her cries muffled against her lips as she came undone for the second time.

Only when Agatha finally stilled, heart thundering, body limp, did Rio finally relent, her fingers slowing, slipping out with care. She kissed her one last time, slow and lingering.

They collapsed together.

Later, Rio lay beside her, dazed and flushed, one arm flopped over Agatha’s stomach while the other lazily cupped her breast. Her head rested on Agatha’s shoulder, eyes half-lidded, a sleepy smile tugging at her lips.

Agatha looked down at her with a crooked grin, brushing damp hair from Rio’s cheek. “Worn out already, biker girl?”

Rio hummed in response, eyes closing fully as if she had no energy left to even speak. Agatha leaned in and pressed one more kiss on her lips, soft, slow, and tender.

And just like that, Rio was out cold.

Agatha let out a small chuckle. She glanced at the clock beside the bed, 6:12 p.m.

Seriously? Already?

But it made sense. They were up at 6 a.m., rode around for hours, museum-hopped, and had that wild motorcycle adventure Rio insisted on. It was thoughtful. Romantic, even, in that wild Rio kind of way. Agatha pressed one more kiss to Rio’s forehead before slipping out of bed.

She took a long, steamy shower, letting the water wash away the traces of sweat and pleasure still clinging to her skin. By the time she stepped out, Rio was still sprawled on the sheets, unmoved. Agatha chuckled to herself, dressed casually, then headed out toward the main cabin.

The music hit her the second she walked in, thumping reggaetón bass, mixed with bursts of laughter and the sound of beer bottles clinking. The Vidal family was already in full party mode.

“Agatha!” Alice grinned and bounced over, holding two shot glasses, one in each hand.

“For me?” Agatha raised a brow.

“You’re damn right.” Alice handed them both over.

Agatha took them, and downed them back-to-back like a damn pro. “Whew.”

Lilia approached, a drink in hand. “Where’s Rio?”

“Dead asleep,” Agatha replied with a smirk. “Girl’s been running since sunrise.”

Everyone nodded in agreement. No one questioned it, they were all out from morning till late afternoon, and Rio practically drove through mountains and coastal highways.

Agatha loosened up faster than she expected. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was Alice shouting the lyrics of some Spanish song she didn’t recognize, except for one word: puta .

Agatha cackled.

Alice caught her laugh and shouted back, “You know that one, huh?”

“That one’s universal, baby.”

They clinked glasses and swayed to the beat. Agatha glanced around, scanning the crowd for a flash of red hair and a leather jacket, just in case Natasha decided to haunt her evening.

No sign of her.

Good.

More drinks passed hands. More songs played. Soon, Alice started singing Zombie by The Cranberries, and Agatha, liquid courage and all, joined in. The rest of the family followed, howling along to the chorus with beer-bottle microphones and off-key harmonies.

By 8 p.m., Agatha was on top of the bar, one foot on a tequila crate, the other tapping to the beat as she belted Don’t Stop Believin’ with her whole chest. Lilia and Victoria were cheering at the bottom, arms waving like proud aunties at a karaoke contest..

Back at the mansion, Rio stirred awake, naked beneath tangled sheets, her skin still carrying the heat and memory from earlier. She blinked slowly, eyes scanning the room, reaching for something or someone but found only emptiness. The cold side of the bed confirmed it: Agatha was gone.

A quiet sigh escaped her lips as she pushed herself up, sore in the best kind of way. The scent of her still lingered, floral and smoky, and it both comforted and gnawed at her. She wrapped the sheet around her, stepped into the bathroom, and turned the knob of the shower. Hot water hit her skin, grounding her. She leaned her forehead against the tile, letting the spray drown out the thoughts spinning in her head.

By the time she stepped out and got dressed, dusk had fallen deep. 8:38 p.m.

Her gut told her where Agatha was. So she headed out toward the cabin.

But the moment she stepped onto the porch, her heart stuttered.

There stood her father, arms crossed, posture stiff, guilt swimming in his eyes. He looked like he’d been waiting a while.

Rio didn’t even spare a word. Just walked past him.

“Hey,” he said softly.

She turned, face blank, arms folded, brows raised as if to say You really want to do this now?

“About yesterday…” His voice cracked. “I’m really sorry, hija.”

A bitter laugh puffed out of Rio’s nose. She licked the inside of her cheek, her expression sharpening. “What about the day before that, huh? Or five fucking years ago?” Her voice didn’t shake, but it hit like a blade. “When you called me a disgrace? When you looked me in the eyes and told me I was ruining this family?”

He looked down at the ground, shoulders shrinking.

“Every time I tried to talk to you about my dream, you looked at me like I was speaking another language. But you knew, didn’t you?... You just knew there was no way I’d ever make it, so you put all your bets on me coming back and taking over your little empire.” She took a shaky breath, not from weakness, but from the surge of years-long fury bubbling up. “Well guess what? Fuck that. This is the last time I will come home, not while you’re still on this island anyway.”

She turned on her heel and walked away, jaw clenched, fists balled. The cabin wasn’t far, barely a three-minute walk but it felt like another lifetime. She could already hear the faint echo of music and laughter drifting on the ocean breeze. It was Diego's voice she recognized first, belting out a soulful, slightly off-key rendition of With or Without You .

Inside, everyone was in a circle, clapping, swaying, laughing.

Rio’s eyes scanned the crowd until she saw her.

Agatha.

Wedged between Lilia and Alice, drink in hand, head thrown back in laughter.

And then the beat dropped—Dua Lipa’s Pretty Please .

Agatha sprang up, snatching the mic from Diego with a wicked grin. The second her voice hit the notes, Rio's anger melted like butter over a flame. Her heart flipped as she watched Agatha sway her hips, the way her hands ran over her own body, the rhythm of her steps, the deliberate tease of her voice.

Alice spotted Rio and ran over to punch her arm. “There you are,” she laughed.

But Rio couldn’t take her eyes off the stage.

When Agatha knelt, thrusting on the mic stand, rolling her hips and body like liquid temptation, eyes locked on her, Rio's lips parted slightly.

“Damn,” she whispered. “I wish I was that mic stand.”

Alice didn’t even flinch. “Same.”

Rio gave her a playful glare like she might hit her, but they both laughed.

When the song ended, Agatha descended the stage, striding straight toward Rio with a singular focus, ignoring every other body in the room.

She grabbed Rio by the waist and kissed her.

Hard. Hungry.

Cheers erupted around them, but Rio heard nothing but the pulse of Agatha’s lips against hers.

In the corner of her eye, she saw movement—her father, stepping inside the cabin.

She broke the kiss, her mood soured.

Without a word, she grabbed Agatha’s hand and pulled her toward the exit. She didn’t even need to explain. Agatha simply followed, sensing the shift. Before leaving, Rio snatched the full Cointreau bottle from Alice’s hand. “Borrowing this.”

Agatha draped her arm over Rio’s shoulders as they made their way down the sandy path, headed toward the sea. The moon lit their path, casting silver over the waves. Once on the shore, Agatha sank into the sand with a sigh.

Rio didn’t speak. She just raised the bottle and drank deep, reckless swigs like it was water.

Agatha watched, concerned. “Hey— ”

Rio yanked it away before Agatha could take it and finished the rest in less than twenty swallows. She tossed the bottle, its orange tint gleaming under moonlight, then slowly turned toward her.

Breathless. Teary-eyed.

“Rio…” Agatha whispered, crawling closer.

Rio didn’t answer. Her eyes glittered with something fragile and burning.

She reached out, her left hand brushing Agatha’s cheek, thumb trembling slightly… then her lips crashed into hers.

It was a kiss that didn’t ask, it took . It was apology, confession, escape, and craving all wrapped in one movement. Rio kissed her like she was starving. Like she had one last night to live and she wanted to spend every second of it on her lips .

Agatha fell backward into the sand, pulling Rio with her, letting their bodies tangle. Legs intertwined. Rio’s fingers found the hem of Agatha’s top, dragging it up as her mouth left a trail of wet, needy kisses down her neck.

“You sure you’re okay?” Agatha asked between gasps.

Rio didn’t answer. She just moaned softly into her skin and whispered, “Just shut up and touch me.”

And Agatha did.

Under the moonlight, with the waves crashing nearby and the fire between them reigniting in a blaze.

Tonight, nothing else mattered.

Not her father.

Not the past.

Not the pain.

Just her.

Agatha.