Chapter Text
Rhys refused to tell where he was taking her, but if she was being honest, Feyre didn’t really care.
With frightening clarity, she realized she didn’t care one bit where this stranger she had only known for a few days was taking her in an unknown city, as long as she got to be with him. That’s how far she was already gone.
She couldn’t fall in love with him, she shouldn’t. After all, he was nothing more than a vacation flirt and tomorrow, she would be halfway across the world, going back to her life in Prythian; she’d probably never see Rhys again. And yet, her heart beat harder every time he looked at her or smirked at her or touched her or simply breathed in her presence.
How did that happen so fast?
Rhys walked briskly, tugging her along a suspicious, rundown street that she wouldn’t want to walk alone. He seemed psyched, almost bursting with excitement over his plans, like a little boy that wanted to show her the secret fort he built out of pillows and sheets. The sight alone made her smile.
They stopped briefly for coffee and a cornetto, something like a croissant, in a surprisingly cool bar on the way, and then Rhys ushered her out again, his smile bright like the sun and his gorgeous eyes sparkling.
His eyes.
They were killing her. Especially when he did that thing where he stared into hers, his gaze intense and consuming. He had looked this way this morning and it had been the perfect moment to kiss, but then he hadn’t followed through. He had also looked at her this way, when he had given her that almost kiss the other day. The non-kiss that kept haunting her.
Feyre was desperate to get her lips on his. And maybe her hands. Screw that, she wanted to devour him whole.
She was earnestly considering pulling him down the next little alley in their path and pushing him up against the next wall to finally take what she wanted, when they came to a sudden halt. “We’re here,” Rhys announced.
Feyre eyed the open gate and the gravel path that led to some villa behind it curiously. “And what exactly am I seeing here?”
“A gate. The entry to a villa, to be exact,” Rhys replied dutifully. Feyre rolled her eyes at him and he chuckled. “To be exact, you’re seeing the entrance to Villa Farnesina.”
Feyre inhaled sharply. “No!”
Rhys merely grinned at her triumphantly and pulled her up the gravel path towards the towering mansion. Feyre followed him, dumbstruck, her heart fluttering in her chest like the wings of a small bird. He’d brought her to an art museum. The art museum. Feyre was so excited, she was afraid, she’d be sick.
“Rhys!” she whispered weakly when they had reached the entrance. She didn’t know how to thank him.
He turned to her again and gently placed a hand at the small of her back, shoving her inside. “You wanted to come here, didn’t you? You only didn’t dare say it.”
Feyre didn’t trust her voice, so she merely nodded, blinking rapidly to keep her happy tears at bay. She had been dying to come here actually. But Lucien and Elain hadn't been interested and with the even bigger group, Feyre hadn’t dared be that selfish. How had he figured it out?
His grin deepening, Rhys ushered her inside. He presented an online reservation at the front desk, causing her to wonder when exactly he had made the decision to bring her here. Feyre’s chest squeezed tight and she was overcome by a rush of happy embarrassment. He thought so much about her and he was so attentive at all times. Was that an European thing or just a Rhys thing? No guy had ever treated her like this.
Looking down to her while they waited for the receptionist to hand them their tickets, he smiled and then his eyes gained that strange intensity again before he dropped a little kiss to the top of her head, his hand still at the small of her back. A casual, simple, yet loving gesture that had her heart burst and spill over with tender feelings.
There was no way, she could espace falling for him. She already had.
Feyre was still in a daze hours later, when they finally emerged from the museum.
She had wandered room after room, pressing her fingers to her trembling lips or her throat in awe-struck disbelief at the wonders she was seeing. She had nearly cried at the Loggia of Cupid and Psyche, beholding Raphael’s spectacular frescos. She had also been tempted to just lie on the ground and stare at them forever, and would have, if it hadn’t been for the guided tour that’d barrelled through the room at some point.
So mesmerized had she been, she’d almost forgotten about Rhys being with her. But he had endured her fangirling over long dead Renaissance painters with an indulgent smile and sparkling eyes, seemingly content to watch her while she watched her favorite thing in the world.
“Thank you,” she had breathed, when they had gone out, Rhys tugging her along to the next destination in mind. “Really, thank you! That was the best thing ever!”
Rhys had just laughed. “We’re not done yet, cara.”
He had bought her a slice of pizza, which they ate as they walked along the Tiber, and then led her over the next bridge into the heart of the city, taking her hand again, so she wouldn’t get lost in the crowd - or maybe just because he wanted to.
In front of a stationary shop they passed, he bade her to wait outside, claiming he needed to get something real quick. This was where Feyre was standing now, staring off dazedly while remembering the beauty Raphael had painted onto that villa’s ceilings.
“ Ciao bella !”
Feyre snapped out of her daydream and turned her attention to the group of three guy roughly her age, who were all leering, sleazy smiles, puffing up their chests in front of her. She gave them a cold once over and then looked away.
“ Sei solo ?” One of them exchanged a quick glance with his friends, the other two nodding and grinning suggestively. “ Se vuoi, possiamo mostrarti la cittá!”
Feyre knew enough basic Italian to understand the invitation. She also spoke enough ‘scumbag’ know that they weren’t interested in giving her a tour. At least not the kind Rhys was giving her.
“I’m not interested,” she clipped and turned away again.
“Ah! English!”
The one who had first chatted her up, took a few steps closer. The way he walked, shoulders shifting exaggeratedly and his legs far apart as if he was weighed down by the sheer size of his balls had Feyre give a little disgusted snort.
“Wanna have some fun in the city, bella?”
Feyre refused to be intimidated by him, but she subconsciously took a half step back. Her back collided with something hard, but warm. Craning her neck around, she exhaled in relief - Rhys had just stepped out of the shop. Gently wrapping an arm around her shoulder, he glared at the three guys making a jerking motion with his chin.
“ Lei è mia. Vaffanculo !”
Lei è mia . She’s mine . Feyre wasn’t a fan of territorial male bullshit, but her cheeks still warmed at the words. The guys clicked their tongue, their grins fading, but they scurried away.
Rhys worriedly peered into Feyre’s face, not letting go of her shoulder. “You alright, cara? Sorry, I’ve I had known -”
Feyre silenced him by hugging him around the middle and squeezing him, her cheek against his shoulder. He smelled ridiculously good, like citrus and jasmine. Why hadn’t she noticed before? And his body felt hard and lean, perfect for her to hug.
“I’m good. They didn’t do anything. Just chatted me up.”
“Sorry!” Rhys gave her a remorseful smile but Feyre shook her head and squeezed him once more, just because she could.
“I’m used to it, don’t worry! You can’t walk over a college campus in Prythian without getting catcalled all the time.”
“I honestly can’t blame the guys. Who wouldn’t try chat you up, pretty as you are?” he teased.
“I distinctly remember you did chat me up!” Feyre said, masking her happy embarrassment over the compliment with a bubbling laugh.
Rhys nodded to himself. “Best decision ever!”
“Geeez, laying it on thick, aren’t we,” Feyre laughed and pulled away, curiously eyeing the bag he was holding. “What is that?”
“Something for later!” he hedged and took her hand again.
They strolled through the maze of little alleys and streets, enjoying the buzz around them and the warm Roman spring. Rhys took her down streets that little tourists bothered with, much to Feyre’s relief. As a native, she guessed he’d had to devise ways to get around the city, avoiding the constant stream of guided tours and backpackers.
They came out on a plaza Feyre didn’t recognize. An elephant statue towered by one of the many Egyptian obelisks was standing in front of a building, that was unfortunately hidden beneath a scaffold and restauration hangings. Looking to her left, she saw the familiar left brick round of the Pantheon.
“Are you taking me to the Pantheon? I’ve already seen that one.”
“I know, and no. We’re going in there.” Rhys pointed to the building that was scaffolded up. “Santa Maria sopra Minerva.”
Feyre angled her head questiongly. She’d never heard about that one. Rhys gave her a mysterious smile and ushered her forward to the door on the right, that seemed to be the entrance. “It’s a church, so we can’t be loud in there. Oh, and wait.” He pulled the light jacket he was wearing off his shoulders and wrapped it around Feyre’s naked shoulders. Really, while she was dressed for summer with her capri pants and sleeveless top, he was dressed in long pants, a shirt and jacket. “No tempting the clergy,” he winked.
Giggling, Feyre followed him into the dim interior of the church, her gaze, as always, immediately going to the ceiling. They had entered from the flanking aisle, which had a rather low ceiling compared to all the spectacular churches she had seen so far. But when she took a step closer to the main aisle, Feyre gasped in delight: a bright blue night sky was blooming on the churches cross vault, spanning high over them. It was breathtaking.
“This is a gothic church!” she whispered in awe, mindful of the few worshippers that occupied the benches. After all the splendor and of the many baroque churches these last days, the comparably simple decor was a welcome sight.
“Yes,” Rhys spoke low in her ear. “The only significant gothic church in Rome. All others have been reshaped by later ages. But that’s not what I wanted to show you. Come!”
Feyre tore her gaze from the beautiful starry ceiling and followed Rhys down the other flanking aisle towards the front of the church. He halted in front of a stunning statue of a very naked man holding a cross. It looked old and the style was immaculate. This was no usual statue, it was too beautiful for it.
“This,” Rhys whispered, “is Michelangelo's Risen Jesus.”
Feyre inhaled sharply. A Michelangelo in this church? Where were the masses of tourist snapping pictures? “You kidding!”
Rhys chuckled. “No. It’s quite famous. It caused quite some stir, you know? Even during Michelangelo’s times. They had to add the loincloth, because people where getting a bit to excited about this Messias.”
Feyre eyes the gorgeous, marbled male before her. “I can see why!” she said with a grin.
Rhys grinned back. “The painter Sebastiano di Piombo allegedly claimed that the statue’s knee’s alone were worth more than every other building in Rome at that time.”
Feyre’s gaze dropped to the part in question and she regarded the statue expertly. “He’s not wrong, you know.”
Rhys snort echoed loudly in the almost empty church, accompanied by the rustling of his shopping bag. “I was hoping you like it.” And then he pulled a sketchpad and a box of graphite pencils and coal pencils each. “I didn’t know which you usually sketch with, so I got both,” he said with a shy smile.
Feyre stared at him in utter disbelief. Rhys still held out the pad and pencils to her and shifted a bit nervously on his feet. “I noticed the way your fingers start twitching when you look at a nice fresco or something. It looks like they’re dying to recreate what you see. So I thought, maybe you want to sketch sexy Jesus?”
Her fingers were shaking so hard when she tentatively reached for the supplies, the pencils were rattling in their box. She didn’t have words. Feyre hadn’t thought it could get any better than the museum, but he kept proving her wrong. How closely he must’ve been watching to figure out her deepest desire for this trip: to just sit in front of the true masterpieces of this world and lose herself in her own art.
Tears were threatening to burst from her eyes when she hugged the sketchpad and the box to her chest. Hastily dropping her face so he wouldn’t see, Feyre blinked rapidly and tried to take deep, calming breaths.
“Feyre, are you alright?” Worry spiked his voice and he forgot to talk quietly, causing a nearby worshipper to shush him.
Feyre rapidly shook her head and then stepped forward, hiding her face in his chest, her forehead firmly pressed his body. “Thank you,” she breathed. “Thank you so much. You have no idea what that means to me!”
And then the tears she had tried to hold back slipped from her eyes despite her best efforts. Rhys didn’t comment but just tenderly folded her into his arms, holding her while she silently cried because she was simply too damn happy.