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Chapter Text

Feyre was shivering, rubbing her cold arms and stared longingly at the stream of sunlight mere 10 meters from her, where the row of columns around the Piazza the San Pietro ended. She has been standing in this line for almost 30 minutes now, freezing in the surprisingly cold shadows of an otherwise hot and sunny April day. She cursed lowly under her breath, regretting to having left her jacket at home. But after she had sweated the last few days during their city tours, she hadn’t wanted to drag it around with her again. Only shivering in the shadows now did she also remember, that the inside of San Pietro, the papal basilica, would probably be also really chilly. Feyre shuddered a bit more in frightful anticipation. She'd freeze her ass off. At least, she was wearing long pants.

Sneakily, she took a step back and leaned against the warm male body behind her, trying to steal some warmth from her best friend Lucien. He flinched slightly, but then remained still. His heat seeped into her back, contrasting with the chill on her arms.

“Hey Lucien, would you mind hugging me for a bit?” she asked, rubbing her arms again, “Only for a minute or so. I'm really cold.”

Lucien hesitated a moment, probably anxious about how it would look like to Elain, if her sister and her newly-minted boyfriend of 2 days hugged it out in front of her, but then he dutifully wrapped her arms around her, carefully avoiding her chest. Feyre sighed and snuggled deeper into his arms, clutching at his warm biceps. It was surprisingly hard and well muscled.

“Say Luce, have you been working out?” she asked with a slight frown, admiring the toned arm banded over her chest. Lucien behind her laughed silently, his chest rumbling against her back.

“Uhm, Feyre?” Elain's voice drifted over to her, her tone perplexed.

Shoot , Feyre thought. Of course Elain minds.

But when Feyre looked over to her sister to assure her, that this was all highly platonic, she froze. Elain was standing slightly behind her, currently being wrapped in Lucien's arms like she was in - who was holding her?

Shocked, Feyre ripped the stranger’s arms off her and turned, only to feel like she was hit by a bus: standing before her was the most beautiful men she'd ever seen. And she had just snuggled with him.

“Oh my God I'm so sorry, I mistook you for my friend,” she blurted out, blushing furiously. How embarrassing! Shame was burning her cheeks.

The beautiful stranger chuckled, his impressive dark blue eyes sparkling and dancing with amusement. “It's quite alright, cara. I was a bit cold too.”

His voice was a dark, sensuous purr, added by the fact, that he was rolling the R ’s heavily. It sounded like sin.

“I'm really sorry,” she mumbled, blushing again, but this time, because of his voice.

“It’s ok,” he assured her with a smirk.

God, that smirk! It should be forbidden. He should be forbidden.

Feyre nodded, still horribly embarrassed, and then scurried closer to Elain, clutching at her sister's arm for dear life.

Lucien gave her a sharp grin. “Making new friends, Fey?”

“Shut up Luce! I thought he was you!” she hissed under her breath, hoping the beautiful stranger didn't hear. He probably did, considering he was not even a meter away, still smirking.

Elain and Lucien laughed and then finally the line moved forward a couple of meters and they finally stepped out of the shadows.

Feyre raised her face to the sun, relishing the rays that chased away the chill from her bones, and sighed deeply.

Behind her, she could hear a chuckle. She turned to glare at the stranger. He had no right to laugh at her. Ok, maybe for snuggling up to him, but not for anything else.

“Enjoying the sun, cara?” he asked.

But his tone wasn't mocking and he gave her a full, dazzling smile. He was flirting with her, Feyre realized.

“Yes, I like the sun,” she said mechanically and could’ve slapped herself. Great way to keep a conversation going. But the stranger continued smiling and looking at her, not at all offended.

“We don't have this much sun from where I'm from. Not at this time of the year,” she hastily elaborated.

“Oh!” As she had hoped, he asked “Where are you from?”

“Prythian,” she readily supplied.

He gave a surprised little laugh. “I’m from Prythian too,” he said with a big toothy smile that contrasted nicely against his tan skin. Feyre swore she could hear her soul giving an enraptured sigh.

“Really? But your accent…”

“I was born and lived in Prythian until grade school. Then I moved to Italy with my mother. She's Italian,” he clarified. “Seems like my Italian rubbed of on my English, eh?”

Yes, thank God it did! Feyre looked away shyly.

“I'm Rhysand, by the way. My friends call me Rhys.” He pointed to a group of four people behind him who very obviously tried to appear as if they weren't shamelessly eavesdropping.

“I'm Feyre,” she said. “Sorry for abusing you as my personal heater, Rhysand. Although, you were very comfy. Nice arms!”

Rhysand laughed loudly, enough for Elain and Lucien to curiously eye them.

“Please call me Rhys. And you're welcome. Nice to meet you, Feyre cara.”

“Nice to meet you Rhys.”

She gave him a big smile and she could've sworn the color on his tan cheeks deepened a fraction.

They continued talking as they stood in line for another 20 minutes, conversation easily flowing between them. At some point, Rhys introduced his friends to her, and Feyre introduced her sister and Lucien.

“My other sister Nesta was supposed to come with us, but she cancelled last minute because of work, so I invited my friend Lucien,” Feyre explained in a hushed tone to Rhys, “and then, the first day in Rome, were standing in front of the Venus Temple in the Forum Romanum and Lucien gets all romantic all of a sudden and declares his love for Elain. And now I'm third-wheeling on their romantic vacation.”

Rhys threw his head back and gave a full bellied laugh. Feyre joined him.

They stepped forward into the shadows of the second column row on the other side of the Piazza and Feyre immediately shivered. “Allow me?” Rhys asked, holding out his arms for her.

Feyre blushed, but brazingly stepped into his arms, pressing her back against his chest. They were quiet for a bit, shy at their proximity, but enjoying the other’s touch nonetheless.

“So you've been to the Forum, and St. Peter today. What else have you seen?” Rhys asked softly into her ear. His breath tickled the side of her face and Feyre was sure, the blush on her cheeks must be permanent by now.

“Oh, the usual. Pantheon, Colosseum, Fontana di Trevi. It was nice, but…”

“A bit crowded, isn't it?” Rhys chuckled.

Feyre gave a relieved sigh he understood. “Yes. There's so many tourists. Like here!” She motioned at the people around them. “I mean, we've been in this line for almost an hour! I really want to have a look at the inside of St. Peter's, but I'm really asking myself, if one look at that Bernini mausoleum is really worth the wait.”

Much to her chagrin, Rhys released her, because they had reached a sunny spot again and blinked at her in surprise.

“The mausoleum for Pope Alexander VII by Bernini?” Feyre asked, grinning. “The one with the skeleton creeping up from underneath holding a hourglass?”

Rhys shook his head. “I don't know it. I'm impressed, cara. Most people just care about Michelangelo's dome.”

Feyre gave him a smug grin. “I'm an arts history student.”

Rhys’ eyes twinkled in delight. “Tu sei squisita!” he breathed.

“What?”

“Nothing. I'm just surprised. You don't seem like the typical tourists.” He gave her a soft smile. “What else have you planned to see after this?”

Feyre shrugged. “I'm honestly not so sure. I'd love to visit some museums and art exhibitions, but Lucien and Elain are not really interested. After today, we’ll have visited all the main sightseeing spots, so I don't really know. I'll probably hit Google as soon as we come home tonight.”

Rhysand nodded and then gently pushed Feyre in line for one of the metal detectors they had to pass before they could enter the basilica.

“How many more days are you staying?”

“Four. Why?”

“We'll,” he said, fumbling with his belt buckle.

For a moment Feyre thought - hoped - he was undressing, but he merely took off his belt to place it into one of the plastic containers for the X-ray machine. Ashamed with her own dirty thoughts, she looked away.

“How would you feel joining us for our Rome tour?” Rhysand offered. “Mor and Amren are here for 3 more days. I'm pretty sure, some of the stuff we planned is not on your list.”

Before Feyre could answer, Rhys was snarled at in Italian by the police officer, who gesticulated wildly for him to step through metal detector. Feyre hurriedly placed her tote bag on the X-ray to follow. Rhys was waiting on the other side, hands in his pocket. Gosh, he looked delicious in his black shirt and pants. Feyre tentatively stepped closer.

“Thanks for the offer, but I have to ask my sister and Lucien, whether they'd be okay with it.” She tucked some hair behind her ear and looked down shyly. “But I'd love for you to show me around.”

To late she realized, her answer had totally sounded like his offer had been a personal tour for herself. Idiot, idiot, idiot.

Rhys stepped closer and dropped his head to her ear. “And I'd love to give you a tour, cara. But only under one condition!”

Feyre leaned slightly away. Her heart couldn't take this proximity. Did this sexy Italian dude even know what he was doing to her? Turning to look at her, she found his face disturbingly close to hers, his head at the perfect angle to press her lips to his.

“What's the condition?” Her mouth was dry. “ You show me that Bernini mausoleum right now? Better, you give us a tour of St. Peter and it's sculptures?”

Feyre exhaled a shaky breath and gave a little insecure laugh, holding out her hand for him to shake. “Deal!”

A beautiful smile bloomed on his face and then he took her hand. But instead of shaking it, he kept holding it, and tugged her towards their group of awaiting friends, never letting go of her hand.

With her heart starting to beat wildly in her chest, Feyre suspected, this vacation held more than she had bargained for.

Chapter Text

He had been intrigued the minute they stepped behind her little group in line for St. Peter. He really didn't care to wait in line for hours only to spent a fourth visit to the overly decorated papal basilica, but Amren had yet to see it and Mor wanted to confess her many sins. Not that there weren't a hundred different churches in Rome she could've chosen from, but the Morrigan declared that an absolution in the Vatican was something entirely different.

So he and his friends Cassian and Azriel had dutifully bowed their heads and heeded the ladies wishes. But they had arrived way too late in the day and the waiting line for the metal detector had gone all the way round the Piazza San Pietro. Begrudgingly, they had searched for the end of the queue, ignoring the many street sellers that held ‘Skip the Line’ pamphlets in their face, because that didn't actually do shit for entering the basilica, and resigned to their fate of waiting in line.

And then Rhys had noticed her, standing not even half a step before him, scrutinizing everything around her with sharp attentiveness, only to be occasionally distracted by a cute redhead and a girl who looked similar enough to her for Rhys to deduct they were sisters.

For a long while, all he saw was her long, beautiful hair, that was the color of the richest caramel, and her insanely cute, round butt. She had been wearing some nice high-rise capri pants that snugly wrapped her behind and showed off her ass(ets) very well, especially, because her T-shirt was tucked into the pants. Rhys decided that the church definitely needed to update their dress code, because naked shoulders or knees had nothing on that girl’s behind in those pants. He pitied all celibate men whose eyes would fall onto that perfect round piece of temptation in the hours to come.

For minutes, Rhys hadn’t been able to tear his gaze from her butt. But then she raised her eyes to the roof of the row of columns next to them and Rhys got to admire her profile. It was startlingly beautiful.

But the most beautiful were her piercing grey-blue eyes that were fixed on something above them and the smattering of freckles he could make out around her nose. Such sweet, adorable little dots contrasting with her fierce eyes and the frown she was sporting. Rhys felt like he was staring at a lioness about to kill, only to find out her paws were surprisingly soft and cute.

“Amico, stai sbavando,” Cassian had whispered into Rhys ear, grinning broadly.

Rhys had averted his eyes and tried to distract himself from her, but his eyes kept glancing back towards the pretty girl in front of him. He’d been transfixed, mesmerized. And just as he had been wondering whether or not the redhead might be her boyfriend, she'd suddenly leaned back against his chest, pressing her back flush against him in a deliberate motion.

“Hey Lucien, would you mind hugging me for a bit?” she’d asked. “Only for a minute or so. I'm really cold.”

Rhys hadn't known what to do. She had clearly mistaken him for her (boy)friend, but she had appeared to be really cold, rubbing her arms and shivering. So he had given in to her wishes and his own desires and hugged her to him, trying not to touch her indecently. It had been heaven. She had been small enough that, if he’d wanted, he could've rested his chin on her head while he held her. And she had been incredibly soft and good smelling.

When she had noticed her mistake, she had blushed so fiercely, Rhys had decided he needed to make her blush again, just so he could see once more how the color stained not only her cheeks but her whole face, making her eyes sparkle. And then she'd smiled at him when she told him her name, and Rhys had been gone. It had been right that very moment, when her brilliant smile lit up her face, that Cupid's arrow pierced his heart.

The little time they had left in the line, Rhys had been despairing over ways to ensure he'd see her again. This measly hour waiting in line together couldn't be all he had with her, especially when he found out that she was not only pretty, but also cultivated, educated - and single.

Luckily, he had come up with the last-minute tour offer and had been delighted to find how readily she had accepted his offer. As did her sister and her boyfriend.

As bargained, Feyre had given them a thorough explanation of the Bernini mausoleum, as well as several other sculptures. The way her eyes had sparkled with excitement and her hands had flitted through the air, telling entire stories of their own, had been enrapturing. They all had hung on her lips, except for Amren maybe, who regarded the church’s splendor like a window shopper picking up inspiration for her living room design rather than an admirer of history and art.

And then Rhys, Azriel and Cassian had taken over, showing the group their favorite spots in and around Rome, trying to adapt to everyone's tastes. Elain liked flowers and gardens, Lucien seemed interested in Roman history. Amren was happy/didn't care about most stuff as long as she got to buy herself some pretty baubles or bags in one of the many shops and Mor was happy with anything, her only requirement was that she was fed and watered with good food and wine on a regular basis.

And lovely Feyre was a just a terribly good sport, going along with everything, happy to hold back her own wishes as long as everyone else was happy. But Rhys saw how her eyes sparkled the same way it had in St. Peter, when she found some nice mural or fresco or mosaic, her lips parting in wonder at the occasional painting or statue they ran across.

They had gone to Tivoli, taking a stroll in the Villa D’Este, which beautiful garden and many fountains had Elain run around in excitement and Lucien run after her like the lovestruck fool that he was.

However, he soon had forgotten his love for Elain when they later visited the Villa Adriana, a spectacular Roman excavation site of Hadrian’s imperial palace.

Today, Lucien had almost wet himself when the boys took the group to Ostia Antica, where a whole Roman town that had been excavated. They all were deeply impressed at the dimension of the ruins and Rhys noticed one or two enraptured sighs leaving Feyre, when they stumbled over some especially well-preserved mosaic or fresco.

“You like the tour so far?” Rhys asked, bending over her shoulder and speaking softly into her ear while Feyre looked out over the sprawling brick ruins from the top of a building that still had a second level.

He didn't necessarily have needed to come this close asking, but Rhys loved seeing how flustered she got when he came this close. A light flush always crept into her cheeks, but she never pulled away anymore, although it was obvious, she was rather self-conscious when he was around. And Rhys made sure he was around all the time. He just couldn't stay away. On the train or bus, he made sure to squeeze into the seat next to her, when walking, he walked with Feyre, sometimes close enough that their hands brushed. At dinner or lunch, they always ended up seated together.

He suspected his friends staying away and giving him ample opportunity to approach Feyre, but Feyre also very obviously sought him out. Rhys could feel her bright eyes on him when attention was not on the sights around her for once. Whenever they got separated for a bit and he turned around to look for her, her eyes were already on him. And when they locked gazes, she always smiled and Rhys couldn't help smiling too and walking over to her. He was hooked and she was pulling him in.

Now turning into his arms that were braced left and right of her on the railing, she smiled up to him.

“I love it. Thank you so much for inviting us.”

“Nothing to thank me for. It was honestly all just an evil scheme to get to spend more time with you, cara,” he joked. It was true though. He’d wanted to spend time with her.

She blushed as usual, but this time, Feyre didn't avert her eyes, but met his gaze with startling intensity. Something shifted between them and her lips parted slightly as she inhaled deeply. He desperately wanted to put his mouth on hers to steal back the very breath she just took, but he didn't dare to. Instead, Rhys’ slid his arms closer to her, gripping the railing harder. Feyre blinked once, twice, and then she brought up her hands, running them from his elbows up his arms, until she was clutching his biceps. For a moment Rhys was afraid she would push him away, but instead she just held onto him, staring at him longingly.

There was no mistaking the way she looked at him - she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

Slowly, he leaned in. Rhys could her hear breath catch in her throat when he lightly brushed his lips over hers in a whisper of a kiss. He himself didn’t dare breath, too afraid to ruin the featherlight touch with the weight of his exhale. He drew back slightly to gauge her reaction.

Her eyes were closed. She hadn't moved. “Do that again, please,” Feyre whispered hoarsely.

Heady with bliss, Rhys leaned forward, fully attempting to kiss her properly this time, but a loud holler from Mor interrupted them.

“Hey lovebirds! Come down there and have a look at this!”

Both Rhys and Feyre flinched and hastily sprang apart, their eyes wide with shock as they took each other in. Erupting into embarrassed laughter, Rhys raked both hands through his hair because he didn’t know where else to put them other than where he actually wanted them to be - which was on Feyre.

“Shall we go down?” Rhys asked. He held one hand out for her, hoping she would take it.

Feyre gave him a really cute, shy smile and took it, but then she stepped closer and brazenly smacked a kiss to his cheek. Before he even registered what had happened, she took off, pulling him after her.

She was still holding his hand, when they sat on the train back to Rome.

Feyre blinked in surprise, when she stepped out the front door. “Where are the others?”

Rhys grinned nervously over to her, his hand buried in the pockets of his pants to hide how shaky they were. He hoped, she wouldn’t kill him for this. But he had to try. At least once.

“Az and Cass need to work today,” he lied blatantly to her face.

Since Mor and Amren were leaving for Prythian about right now and they had celebrated their goodbye in style just yesterday evening, he knew Feyre hadn’t expected to find the girls with him today. But she certainly hadn’t expected it to be just Rhys standing in front of the building her Airbnb flat was in.

Feyre narrowed her lovely steel eyes at him, but her lips curled into an almost smile. “Do they now? And I take, Elain and Lucien’s sudden insistence on me going out on my own and them being totally fine with it is totally coincidental?”

Rhys took both of her hands and stepped closer, smirking. “Are you accusing me of having encouraged your entourage to let me have you solely to myself for your last day in Rome?”

Oh, “I don’t know, did you?” she asked with faux innocence, tilting her head in a coy angle.

He nodded. “Of course I did. I’m a master of evil schemes, did you forget?”

A bright smile bloomed on her face and Feyre started laughing. Rhys smiled down at her fondly, his heart beating wildly in his chest. She was so beautiful, especially when she laughed like this.

“So?” he asked.

“So what?”

“Will you let me have you solely to myself for your last day in Rome?”

Feyre blushed a bit, her eyes darting away quickly. She must be thinking about something dirty. Rhys smile turned into a downright smirk. He wouldn’t mind having her in that way either, but that was actually not what he hoped to accomplish when he’d sneakily planned today and asked her friends for their cooperation.

“Depends on what you want to do with me,” she mumbled and then shot him a quick glance from under her lashes, her blush deepening.

Accidenti a questa donna! Rhys hadn’t wanted to take it there - not yet anyways - but he couldn’t resist. Tugging her a bit closer by her hands and bending down, he purred low into her ear. “I planned to show you some nice things you might enjoy, as in places and buildings. Though I’m totally not opposed to showing you some other things you might enjoy greatly.”

Cleary embarrassed, Feyre glared at him and shoved him away. “Prick!” she hissed, her cheeks flaming. Strangely, seeing her pissed at him turned him on even more.

“A prick I may be,” he conceded laughing. “But you haven’t answered my question. Will you spend today with me, cara?”

Feyre raised the back of her hand to one cheek, probably attempting to cool it down. “Just the two of us?” she asked, her voice soft, if not a bit hopeful.

Encouraged, Rhys dared to step closer again. He plucked the hand from her cheek, interlacing their fingers in a lovers’ hold, and replaced the press of her hand with the press of his lips. Feyre gasped.

“Just you and me,” he promised, staring down in the lovely blue-grey pools that were her eyes.

“I’d love that,” she breathed.

And then her eyes flitted down to his lips and he knew she wanted him to kiss her. But he fought down the urge to press her up against the door and crush his lips to hers. Not now. Not before their day hadn’t even started yet. He would do this properly. He was, after all, a gentleman. And he honestly didn’t know, if he could do anything but kiss her, once she had let him taste her lips. He only had this one day left with her - he needed it to be perfect.

So, with a heavy heart, Rhys drew back a bit and instead pressed an apologetic kiss to her brow, lingering a bit longer than for it to be casual.

Soon, he silently promised. Soon!

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.

Chapter Text

Rhys was panicking.

He really hadn’t thought she would be moved to tears by something as simple as a sketchpad and some pencils. Now, she wouldn’t stop crying, but all he could think of doing was holding her and waiting it out. Maybe, if he kissed her, she would stop? But that’s not how he had planned to kiss her. And they were in a church. He couldn’t start making out with Feyre in a church. Not that he was very religious or anything, but there was something like general respect and consideration one should have towards sacred places.

In an attempt to soothe her, he smoothed a hand over her hair in a languid stroke. When she didn’t react, he repeated the gesture. Feyre relaxed for a fraction and took a deep shuddering breath. Then she snuggled even closer. Rhys went immediately rigid, but he continued caressing her head. He might’ve hugged her a bit closer too, after he had overcome the shock of feeling her so closely pressed against his body.

Eventually, her sobbing ceased and she stealthily wiped away her tears with the sleeves of his jacket, before raising her head and looking at him.

Feyre’s eyes were unnaturally bright and a bit reddened, as were her cheeks. She was probably ashamed he’d seen her cry. And her mouth looked so, so soft after crying, he desperately wanted to know how soft exactly. With tears still glistening in her lashes, her mascara slightly smudged, Rhys doubted she had ever looked more beautiful.

It hit him them. He was in love with her. Like undeniably, completely and utterly in love.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, brushing another tear from her eye and then frowning at the black make-up that smudged her fingers. “Shoot, I must look like a mess.”

“No, you don’t,” he lied, caressing her head again. His hand came to rest at her cheek, cupping her face. “Everything ok?”

Blushing, she dropped her gaze, but she didn’t pull away. “I’m sorry! I was just a bit overwhelmed. I’ve never gotten such a thoughtful present.

Rhys was baffled. “Really?”

She nodded and looked at him from under her lashes. She was so damn adorable!

“Guys in Prythian must suck then,” he declared in a hushed voice, remembering again they were in church, especially because they were receiving dirty looks for cuddling right next to sexy Jesus by a nearby worshipper. “Lucky for me. It means, your bar for dates is pretty low and there is a chance I didn’t fuck up completely just now.”

“Is this a date?” Feyre’s eyes went wide.

Idiota , Rhys chided himself. “Well,” he confessed sheepishly, “I’d like to think so?”

A slow smile spread over Feyre’s face. “I’d like to think so, too.”

They bashfully smiled at each other and then Rhys released her. They sat down on the next church bank, so Feyre could fix her appearance and then start sketching. When she repeatedly shot him nervous glances, asking whether he was really okay with her drawing and not talking to him, he assured her over and over, he was happy to watch her sketch.

He wasn’t even lying. She was good ! Her pencil moved over the paper without hesitation, and it only took a few quick, determined strokes and a frighteningly accurate copy of the statue in front of them started to appear on her sketchpad. Rhys marvelled at the ease with which she produced a first rough sketch and then started adding details, all while barely even looking at the statue. She only took a few glances each time before her pen touched the paper again. After mere minutes, he was staring at completed sketch good enough to be sold in the streets.  

But of course she wasn’t satisfied with just that. Frowning down at the pad, she turned the page and began anew, this time more detailed. Over the course of an hour, Feyre filled page after page with more or less detailed sketches of the same statue, sometimes only focusing of certain parts like the hands, the face - or the infamous knees.

Only after she seemed satisfied with those did she exchange the graphite pencils for coal and began a whole new set of sketches again, this time with even greater detail. Rhys was honestly blown away.

“You’re sure you not bored?” Feyre asked, eyeing the waistcloth on the statue sharply and then adding a few shadows to the arrangement of the folds on her sketch. An elderly couple of tourists walked by and threw admiring glances at the sketchpad in her lap. Feyre didn’t even noticed them, too absorbed in her work.

“I can hardly be bored watching live art,” Rhys protested with a chuckle.

“I wouldn’t exactly call it art,” she mumbled and shifted a bit uncomfortably, but she appeared flattered. Did nobody ever made her compliments?

Rhys wanted to ask that, when his phone started vibrating in his pocket. He had totally forgotten to put it on silent. He winced and dug it out, muting it without intending to pick up. After all, he was on a date. But when he saw the caller ID, he hesitated.

“I’m sorry cara, but I think I have to take this. Are you fine by yourself for a minute?”

Feyre shot him an incredulous look and gave a bemused snort. “I have been more or less ignoring you for the last hour or so. Of course I’m fine by myself. Go take your call!”

Rhys smiled and just because he couldn’t resist, pressed a kiss to her cheek. Feyre blushed hard and waved him goodbye, but he saw how she hungrily eyed his lips for a moment. As much as he wanted to kiss her, he also greatly enjoyed teasing her like this. It would make that moment when he finally kissed her so much sweeter.

But the little high he had gotten out of her dwindled fast, as he made his way to the exit. By the time he stepped outside the church, the call had ended, but he had no doubt, the caller would try a second time. Or a third. He always did. True to his suspicion, this phone lit up with another call.

“What do you want?” Rhys snarled into the receiver. He didn’t particularly care he was being rude.

For a few heartbeats, all he heard was silence. “Hello to you too, son. How are you?”

“I asked, what you wanted.”

“Well, first of all I want to know how you are, Rhysand. I haven’t heard from you in a long while, and since you appear to ignore my calls, I’m worried, because I don’t have any information about what is going on my only child’s life.”

Rhys grinded his teeth. “I’m fine, thanks for asking. What else do you want.”

His father gave a deep sigh. “I heard Morrigan is visiting you in Rome?”

Of course he would go there. He would use any opportunity to get information on him or get Rhys to talk to him, no matter Rhys had told him often enough to stay out of his life. He didn’t want to have anything to do with his father. He knew, it wasn’t his solely his father’s fault his parents had split up, but he could’ve tried harder. Could’ve tried getting over himself, show a bit more warmth and consideration to his wife, who’d struggled with living in a country and culture wholly different to her. But Rhys guessed, in that way, they were similar. He too couldn’t get over himself when his father was concerned.

“She left today. But you know that, don’t you? Now what do you want? I’m kind of busy right now,” he ground out.

His father sighed again. He would probably press Morrigan for info the moment she stepped off the plane. “I wanted to ask, if you have gotten my email?”

“I have.”

“And?”

“I’m not interested. Is that all?”

“Rhysand. This is as much your heritage as your mother’s house in Rome. I need you!”

His father’s voice sounded pleading. Rhys was surprised. So far, he had never resorted to pleading. He must really be desperate. And if he was being honest, Rhys was inclined to take up his father’s offer, but he had some reasons to decline. Two, to be exact.

“What about Cassian and Azriel?” Rhys asked tersely. “If I take up your offer, I’d need to leave them behind.”

“Your mother’s charity cases are none of my concern.” This fast, he was back to being the asshole Rhys remembered from his childhood.

“They are my brothers ,” he hissed. “I’m not leaving them without a word or explanation or the option to follow me. Better rework your offer, or better, extend it to them too, or stop bothering me!”

His father was silent for a long time. And then they began negotiating.

Rhys hurried down the aisle as fast, but silently as he could. His damn father had kept him on the phone for almost 30 minutes; precious 30 minutes he would’ve preferred to spend in different company - namely the lovely brunette, who raised her head and began smiling when she saw him coming. His mood was instantly lifted.

Smirking, he scooted into the bench next to her. “Missed me, cara?” he asked softly.

“Not at all!” she declared with a big grin. “Me and sexy Jesus spend some quality time together. He’s a bit quiet, but his looks make up for it.”

Gosh, he was so in love with her. Trying to stifle his laughter, he peered at the sketchpad, but Feyre closed it before he could look at what she had been working on last. He cocked one eyebrow at her quizzically.

“As much as I like sexy Jesus, I think he and I are done for today,” she declared. “You see, it seems like I have a date with another guy.”

Her coy smile gave him butterflies. “So popular! Does he happen to be as good looking as Jesus here?” Rhys purred.

Feyre nodded earnestly. “Better!”

“Oh? Does that mean, you want to spend some quality time with him as well?” he asked bemused. He just couldn’t not go there.

But Feyre simply laughed softly. “Certainly. I’d like to draw him, too.”

This fast, Rhys turned solemn. “Really? “You’d draw me?”

“Yes. Would you let me?”

“Like right now?”

“Uhm, if you don’t mind?

“I’d be honored,” he breathed.

Feyre smiled and opened the sketchpad again, eyeing him with an expert’s gaze. Somehow, it made him incredibly nervous.

“How should I draw you. Do you want a portrait or do you want a full body drawing?”

“Whatever you want. I’ll be happy with anything.” Something white in his periphery distracted him: marble Jesus was glowing faintly in the afternoon sun that filtered through the stained windows. Eyeing the gorgeous specimen Feyre had ditched in favor of drawing him, Rhys offered a silent apology and a thanks. Turning back to Feyre with a smirk, he added, “Nude would be best.”

“Can you maybe stop staring at it?” Feyre glanced uncomfortably at him from the corner of her eyes.

As determined and sure she’d seemed while painting, she was so adorably shy once she was finished and people regarded the finished product with praise.

Which Rhys had done. And still was. Ever since she had finished the portrait that bore a frightening likeness to him he hadn't stopped staring at it in wonder, even when they had packed up and started strolling through the city again.

“Never!” Rhys declared and gave her a huge grin. It was a broad, unrestrained smile, one of those that she seemed to manage to coax out of him at any times. He couldn't remember the last time he had grinned to much in his adult life.

“You must sure love looking at yourself then. I'm impressed you don't ogle yourself in every store window we pass.”

Rhys threw a hand around her shoulder, pulling her closer, and pressed a kiss into her hair, trembling with silent laughter. Questa donna! Lei è una delizia!

Feyre seemed mollified by the little kiss and smiled up to him shyly. “Where are we going now?”

“Well, the plan is to bring you home and -” Her face fell and took on a crestfallen look. Rhys stopped dead. “This date is not over, cara, don't worry. I thought you might want to go home and change for dinner?”

“Oh!” Feyre blinked rapidly and quickly turned her face away, so he didn't see her relieved expression.

Fuck dinner, fuck the plan! Rhys was tempted to just kiss her, throw her over his shoulder, take her to his house and then have her for dinner. He hastily took his hand off her and shoved it in his pocket, the other clutching his portrait so hard, the paper creased slightly. With every passing second, it became harder to fight this pull he felt towards her. He deserved a fucking badge or something for holding out this long.

“So you’re taking me out for dinner?” she asked, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Yeah. But if you don't want -”

“No! No. I'd love to.” She smiled up to him, her face soft.

Rhys smiled back and took her hand. They continued walking until they reached her building.

“So I'll pick you up around 7pm. Is that enough time for you to get ready?”

Feyre shot him a wry look. “Rhysand, it's 4pm. I could get ready 3 times over! Only because you need 3 hours, doesn't mean I need them too.”

He placed a hand over his heart as if he’d been shot, giving a mock wince. “Rhysand. Really?”

She laughed and she looked so perfect and beautiful in that very moment, he couldn't resist. Rhys bend down and kissed her right on the corner of her mouth. Feyre gave a startled little gasp, but he had already pulled away before she had properly registered what he'd been doing.

“See you later, cara Feyre. 7pm!” he reminded her, his voice suddenly very raspy.

And then he turned and engaged in an orderly retreat. The last thing he saw was how Feyre raised a hand to her mouth, lightly touching the place he had kissed.

Chapter Text

Twirling the two front strands of her hair that usually framed her face and pinning them at the back of her head, Feyre regarded herself critically in the mirror.

She hoped, she looked okay for dinner. As she had planned this vacation with much sightseeing and walking in mind, she hadn't really thought about bringing nice clothes. But one could trust Elain to bring inappropriate attire to every outdoorsy activity. Her sister would probably wear a dress and wedges to hike a mountain!

Smoothing out the skirt of the cute floral print dress she was wearing and turning around, she checked out how the dresses wide skirt swished when she moved. It was a pretty 50s style dress, with a V-shaped neckline that she hoped would make Rhys really nervous. With some satisfaction she noticed, she'd gotten a tan during their week in Rome. She was still ghastly pale, but now her skin held a shimmering golden tint that set off nicely against the white of the dress. She looked nowhere near as tan as Rhys, but it was the most tan she'd been in a long while.

What she liked most about the dress was the floral print around the cinched waist, that looked like a belt of purplish and berry-toned cherry blossoms, fading out towards the hem and the bustier. She had even found a matching lipstick to go with the dress.

Steeling herself with a deep breath, Feyre took up her giant purse, making sure the present she intended to give Rhys was safely tucked inside, and made her way to the living room, where Lucien and Elain were cuddling on the couch. When they saw her coming out, Lucien gave a low whistle. “Looking damn fine, Archeron!” he said with a snarky grin. “Got plans tonight?”

Feyre flipped him off and both Lucien and Elain laughed, watching her slip on the wedges Elain had graciously loaned her for tonight.

“I don't know when I'll be back tonight, but I'll send you a message before I open that door,” Feyre said, her nose scrunched up in mild disgust. When she had come home earlier, she had been greeted with the sight of her best friend's ass only clad in boxer briefs, about to have them taken off by her sister. “I admit, you have a cute butt Lucy, but I really don't need to see it again.”

Elain burst into giggles and Lucien raised one auburn eyebrow. “Jealous?”

“You wish,” Feyre scoffed. “Mine’s better!”

“Have fun, Feyre!” Elain beamed, coming over to her and hugging her. Into her ear she whispered, “Did you pack underwear and condoms?”

“Elain!” Feyre screeched, but Elain merely winked and giggled.

With a last glare to her sister and her friend, she made her way downstairs. She was nervous and Elain's suggestion hadn't helped calm her nerves. She still had some 10 minutes or so until the promised time and Feyre hoped that some fresh air might help her relax before Rhys’ presence would put her on edge again for the whole night. That goodbye kiss earlier sure had her unravelling for the better part of an hour after she’d come home.

Pushing the door open, she stepped outside - only to find Rhys already waiting for her. Nervous anxiety and joy were battling in her chest for dominance. And then he smiled at her, his eyes bright, and everything melted away until only the urge to go to him was left. In a daze, she hurried over and sunk into his arms he held out for her.

“Hello, Feyre cara!”

“Hey.”

He leaned in. Would he finally -?

“Sembri assolutamente delizioso,” he whispered low into her ear.

Feyre pulled back and frowned. “What is absolutely delicious?”

He smirked, a predatory glint in his eyes. “You are!”

“Prick!” Feyre looked away and self-consciously smoothed down her skirt again. If he continued like this, she wouldn't survive the evening.

Rhys chuckled and let go off her, but only to take her hand in his, spiriting her away into the magical streets of Rome by night.

“So what are your plans for when you return home?” Rhys asked.

The soft, dim lighting in the little Osteria he'd chosen made his eyes appear almost black. Together with his usual smirk it gave him a hungry look that was deeply unsettling. Feyre reached for her wine and took a long sip. The alcohol helped somewhat dull the edge of her tension, but Feyre still felt as if she was racing down a highway going way over the limit.

Tonight, everything made her nervous about Rhys. Not that she hadn't been nervous around him so far, but the fact that, after this dinner, she'd probably never see him again, heightened the already strong attraction she felt towards him. Every word that spilled over his sculpted lips, the way his tongue curled around the r in her name, the quick glances he sneaked at her lips, hair and cleavage and that he probably thought she didn't see - it all had her squirming and blushing and wanting.

By now she had figured out, why he hadn't kissed her yet: He was a hopeless romantic.

He had picked a hidden away, quiet restaurant with little tables, the walls charmingly lined with wine bottles. He ordered them a bottle of wine of her choosing, helped her translate the menu, insisting she ordered what she liked, because he would pay for it, and now threw her gentle smiles and smouldering looks over the table, inquiring about her life in Prythian. He'd probably take her for a stroll through the city afterwards, show her some prettily illuminated building or temple, void of people, of course, and then bring her home to kiss her breathless on her doorstep.

The perfect dinner date. Yes, she had figured out his plan and it was a damn fine plan.

“I'll graduate in a few months. Well, more like I have graduated already, I just haven't received my official diploma yet. This trip was actually a graduation present from my father. I'm still deciding what to do after, but after this week, I feel like I want to stay in school. I don't know nearly enough yet. Sexy Jesus, for example. He blew my mind!”

Rhys chuckled. “Lucky bastard! There I go, sweating over this tour all week, trying to impress you, and all he had to do was stand around in a loincloth.”

Feyre laughed and took his hand over the table. “Don't worry, I'm plenty impressed. Again, thank you so much for this.”

Rhys smile turned soft and he brushed his thumb over the back of her hand.

“Which schools are you looking into?”

“Pretty much everything. Mor invited me to come visit her in Velaris, because apparently they have a pretty good grad school, so I might do that. And then I'll look into some others, too.”

“Velaris is beautiful!”

“You’ve been there?”

“I was born there and lived in the city until grade school,” Rhys admitted with a nostalgic little smile. “If you like Rome, you'll love Velaris.”

A little spark of hope kindled deep in her heart. If he used to live there, and Mor lived there still, he might come visit once in a while?

Feyre immediately banished that though from her mind. After all, it was not like she had decided to go to school there yet. She wouldn't base the decision about her future education on the off chance to meet her vacation flirt again. And really, a long-distance relationship with a guy in Rome-

Oh my God what is wrong with you!

Feyre dropped her gaze from Rhys’ and quickly pulled her hand away. Luckily, the waiter came up to their table right this very moment carrying their dishes, so her pulling away wasn’t that awkward. Why was she even thinking about stuff like a relationship with him?

You're a horny idiot and he's been teasing you all week, that's why!

That must be it. Well, that and the fact that he was by far the most lovable, charming, attentive and wonderful person she'd ever been on a date with. In addition, he was so damn good-looking and attractive, sexy Jesus didn't even come close. And she'd most definitely fallen in love with him.

Blushing over her own thoughts, Feyre cut her ravioli. But the moment she tasted them, she forgot everything, even her name. “Fuck that's delicious,” she sighed and then hastily slapped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry!”

Rhys’ eyes danced with amusement. “What a dirty mouth you have there, cara! I take it's good?”

“I've never eaten anything this good!” she replied enthusiastically. “This is nothing compared to the ravioli I know!”

He smiled broadly, happy she liked it, and forked up some of his pasta, holding it out to her. “Wanna try mine?”

His pasta was just as delicious, if not even more so. Feyre sighed contently.

“I won't ever be able to eat pasta again from now, do you know that? You have ruined me!”

Rhys smirk was positively naughty. He opened his mouth to say something probably highly inappropriate by the look on his face. Feyre raised her finger threateningly. “Don't you dare!”

“Reading my mind, cara?”

“I doubt I'd be able to sit here calmly, if I were able to read your mind,” she mumbled into her wine glass.

Rhys chuckled darkly. “Contrary to what you believe, my mind is mostly rated T. No heavy, steamy thoughts that involve pasta sauce, tables and licking -

“By sexy Jesus’ loincloth, will you stop?” Feyre groaned in desperation, cheeks flaming.

“- even the last speck of delicious pasta off the plate. Cara, what were you thinking I'd say? Or should I say hoping?” He regarded her like a cat would its prey.

Feyre shot him a glare. “Prick!”

She was rewarded with a broad grin. “ Sempre. Ma ti piace!”

That, she couldn't deny.

The second course was just as good and Feyre felt ready to burst when she finally set down her fork. What of course didn't mean she couldn't have dessert, which she shared with Rhys over coffee and a frighteningly huge glass of Limoncello the grumpy, old owner served them without asking.

True to her expectation, Rhys took her for a little stroll after. But he didn't take her around the city; instead, he led her towards the Tiber. They slowly walked towards the Vatican City, where her flat was at. It was still some way off, but with every step they took closer, Feyre's heart grew more heavy.

She didn't want the evening to end. She didn't want this vacation to end. Most of all, she simply didn't want her time with Rhys to end. But every click of her heels in the pavement was the tick of a clock, announcing their time together was running out.

She pulled Rhys jacket closer around her shoulders. The night had been chilly and Feyre had shivered in her sleeveless dress, so Rhys had again lend her his jacket, draping it around her shoulders. One hand had stayed there, gently holding her close.

On the other bank across the river, a spectacularly illuminated building came up, it's image mirrored in the dark waters: Castel San Angelo.

They stopped to appropriately admire it and for Feyre to snap a few quick pictures with her phone. She send one of the pictures to Elain with a quick warning that she'd soon be home. She really didn't want to run into her sister and her best friend having sex. She didn't even want to be close when they had sex. There were things she was willing to share with those she cared about and other things, she definitely didn't care to share or know about.

Still feeling slightly cold, Feyre shivered, pulling the jacket a bit tighter around her shoulders. Suddenly, a warm weight pressed into her back and a nicely toned arm banded over her chest, carefully avoiding her breasts. The other went over her stomach, settling at her hip. Rhys had pulled her against him like that first time they’d met.

Feyre went pliant and molded her back against his chest as best as she could, letting herself be engulfed in his warmth and scent. “This is like when we met, isn't it?” she said softly. She could already feel her throat constricting; she was about to cry.

“Ah, but the first time, I didn't dare do this,” he said. Before she could ask what he meant, he'd already rested his chin on the top of her head with a happy little sigh. “See? We fit perfectly. Tu sei squisita! ”

They indeed fit perfectly. And it wasn't only their height. It was their humor and interests too. She wanted - needed - more time with him to properly get to know him. This week, this one day alone with him, wasn’t enough. Even if she’d get her kiss by the end of the night. He’d crept into her head and heart, infesting her mind with thoughts of him, planting seeds of love that were already budding. They weren’t even separated yet and she was already miserable.

To take her mind from her sorrow, she asked,” You said that the first time we met. What does it mean?”

“Hm?”

“ Tu sei - shishy something. Are you saying, I’m fat?” Her Italian wasn’t good enough to know that word he’d used twice for her now.

“Oh!” Rhys said, shuffling uncomfortable behind her. “No, I didn’t call you fat. Although you are squishy.” He squeezed her hip for emphasis. “You’re very soft. I like it.”

His hand on her hip and his words cause heat bloomed low in her belly, but she noticed how he had avoided answering her question. Smooth bastard! But she wouldn’t give up that easily.

Turning in his embrace, Feyre looked up at him. She had to tilt her head back quite a bit. They were so close, her chest brushed up against his. “Then what did you say?”

Rhys’ eyes flickered over her face for a second and then he turned his head slightly away, looking at the illuminated building across the river instead of her. Feyre couldn’t be certain under his tan and the darkness, but he looked slightly embarrassed, like he might’ve blushed just now.

“Hey!” She placed a finger on his chin and forced him to face her again. “Come on, spill it!”

“ Squisita ,” he breathed. She hadn’t imagined it, he was embarrassed, maybe even a bit ashamed. “It means exquisit. You’re exquisite, Feyre.”

She was so done with waiting.

Sliding her hand that was still on his face to the back of his neck, she pulled him down the same time she rose on her tiptoes and crushed her lips to his.

Chapter Text

Of course she couldn’t have waited until he kissed her. No, she was a woman who took what she wanted and he was beyond happy she wanted him.

Her lips were super soft and as much as he’d liked the dark berry lipstick she had worn earlier, especially in combination with her beautiful pale eyes, he was glad it had worn off. Rhys wouldn’t want it smearing all over his face. Though he didn’t mind her leaving some lipstick marks in other places.

Moaning into her mouth, he slid his hands into her unbound hair, holding her head as they kissed. She tasted divine. They pulled away briefly, exchanging a look to ensure the other was fine, and then greedily pressed their mouths back together. After all, they had to make up for almost a week of strong, mutual attraction and sexual tension.

Feyre’s hands came up behind his head, one hand plunging into his hair and fisting the short strands. He let his own hands slide down over her back, tugging her a bit closer so she had to dip backwards and arch her back to make up for the height difference. She gasped a little and then gave a breathy giggle. Shocked, Rhys realized that was all it took for him to harden. A kiss, a giggle, her body against his - he was truly fucked. How was he even supposed to stop now and bring her home now?

“Rhys?”

He hadn’t realized they’d stopped kissing and he was staring blankly at her face. He shook his head to clear his mind and then picked her up, hoisting her onto the half wall behind her for her to sit down on. Now it was him looking up to her, but it was much more comfortable for kissing.

Which they did. Again and again. First with only their lips, then their teeth, and then finally their tongues.

The moment he felt her tongue slide against his for the first time had his knees grow weak. Only his hands on her waist and her legs, that had somehow ended up wrapped around him, held him up. And then their kissing turned even more heated, frantic, urgent. His hands slid from her waist to her behind, squeezing and kneading his way down. He had imagined fondling her ass all week and even though he could only touch half of it, as she was sitting on the wall, he marvelled at the sensation.

He knew they should stop, he was supposed to bring her home and say his farewell, but he couldn’t. Ne needed more. More of her kisses, more of her laughs, more of her her adorable blushing. He needed more time. More Feyre.

And then something chimed and vibrated against his back. Surprised, they pulled apart.

“Oh, I’m sorry, my phone!” Feyre apologized a bit breathy and took her arms from his neck. Right, she had been writing her sister earlier and never put her phone away.

Rhys admired her while she checked her text, hands on her thighs as she stood between her parted legs. He tried to ignore how easy it would be for him to bunch up her dress around her waist, if only he led his hands slide up on her thighs. The phone cast a faint, bluish light on her face: she was flushed, her already full lips swollen even more, and her hair tousled by his hands. But then her eyes widened in shock at whatever message she read.

Rhys was immediately worried. “What is it?” Did something happen?” He sure wished, she would stay with him a bit longer, but he understood, if she needed to go.

Feyre opened her mouth and closed it again. She looked at him with panicky eyes, but then blushed massively and looked away, clearing her throat, only to let her gaze drop to her phone again. Rhys was getting confused, which worried him even more.

“What is it, cara? Do you need to go home?”

Feyre shook her head vigorously and refused to meet his eye. Instead, she turned the phone to him, so he could read the message she had received.

Elain: Don’t come home tonight please? We are just in the middle of something and won’t be done for a while <3

Rhys huffed a disbelieving laugh. Could he really be this lucky? And then he full out started laughing when the rest of the message sunk in. Her sister had thrown Feyre out of their flat to have sex with the redhead.

“Don’t laugh!” Feyre hissed embarrassed, smacking him on the chest. “What am I supposed to do now? It’s a studio apartment. Even if I sleep on the couch, I’ll hear them-”

Rhys cut her off with a deep, heated kiss. “Come home with me,” he whispered against her wonderful lips before kissing her again.

But Feyre started squirming and protesting in his arms. “Rhys, I can’t just… I mean…”

“Nothing needs to happen. I have a guest room. Or we can share my bed. I won’t do anything you don’t want. But if you’re really that opposed to it, I’m more than willing to spend the whole night wandering the city with you. Or to just continue kissing you here on his wall,” he shrugged. Rhys really didn’t care. The only thing he cared about was, that he now got to spend more time with her.

Feyre chewed on her bottom lip, staring at him with a tiny frown, deep in thought. Carefully, Rhys reached up and tugged her bottom lip free from her teeth, lest she chewed it bloody, and kissed lightly over her frown. It immediately smoothed and Feyre reached up to clutch his face, pulling him down to kiss her lips again.

“Where do you live?”

She pressed herself flush against him, her fingers tangling into his hair as they kissed emphatically.

But with much regret, Rhys ended the kiss and pulled away. Even after spending the whole night kissing her, he couldn’t get enough. But they had to stop. She had a plane to catch.

Feyre knew this as well, still she refused to let go. Deprived of his mouth, she pressed her face against his neck and threw her arms around him. Rhys couldn’t help it - he hugged her back.

“I don’t want to leave.” Her voice was thick with unshed tears.

“I don’t want you to leave either, cara. How about it: stay? You can move in with me, paint and sketch all day, and sell your works in the street,” he proposed.

“What will I do about my visa? My tourist visa will run out after 90 days,” she pointed out.

“Let’s get married. Are you catholic? We could say our vows in front of sexy Jesus!”

This finally made Feyre laugh and pull away. But when she looked up to him, her big, beautiful eyes were filled with sorrow.

They hadn’t slept with each other. Well, technically, they had spent the night in the same bed, but they hadn’t had sex.

After Feyre’s decision to take up his offer for shelter, they gone to Rhys’ house, making good use of every dark, hidden corner on the way to devour each other’s lips. It had taken quite some time for them to manage to get to his place, but he hadn’t minded. Not when it had meant getting to press Feyre up a wall, her legs wrapped around his waist and his hands finally on her delicious, round butt.

And after they finally made it to his place, they had just never stopped. They didn’t even bother to pretend that the guest room was an option. Rhys had picked her up and carried her straight to his bedroom, where he had lain her reverently on his bed and continued to kiss her and almost every part of her body for the rest of the night. Their underwear had stayed on, but that hadn’t meant he couldn't turn Feyre around on her stomach, undo the zipper of that pretty, little dress in the back, and kiss up and down her spine and caress her body as much as he wanted. Feyre had responded likewise and Rhys had quite a few new love bites to prove it.

But the later it got, the more did their kisses turn from urgent to loving, from frantic to sweet. Only the despair remained, but it was not the hungry despair of wanting and feeling more, but a creeping, growing despair of knowing that, no matter how much they gave and took, it would never be enough.

Because there was a deadline looming. Their kisses were filled with the desperate wish of ‘just one more’ before they wouldn’t be able to have them anymore.

By 8am, they hadn’t been able to escape the inevitable. They’d gotten up, exhausted after a night of swirling emotions and little to no sleep, and Rhys had put her on his scooter, driving her to her flat, which they had been standing in front of for 20 minutes now, unable to let go of each other.

Rhys ran a knuckle down her face, his heart growing heavy. How did this happen? How did he fall so deeply, so quickly in love with a stranger he had not even met a week ago? How was his heart already breaking, when she was still in his arms?

“How long is your flight?” he asked, just for the sake of saying something and hearing her voice.

“15 hours.” She sighed and closed her eyes, nuzzling against his hand with her cheek, until he cupped it. “We have a layover in Prythian. There was no direct flight to Springfield.”

Rhys gut twisted. Springfield. Even if he were to visit Mor in Velaris, Springfield was basically on the other end of the country. And it was a huge country. But maybe, depending on where she chose to go to school…

“Would you mind… I mean, can I write you sometime?” he asked.

Feyre opened her eyes, her face soft. “I’d love that,” she said quietly. He wanted to pull her in for another kiss, but Feyre put a hand on his chest. “Wait a second! I have something for you.”

She turned around and reached for her purse that she had discarded next to his scooter. He had been wondering all night why she needed that big of a bag. He had his answer when she pulled out her sketchpad.

Feyre held it out for him, smiling shyly. “I want you to have this.”

Dumbfounded, Rhys reached for it. “Are you sure. But all your sketches!”

“I want you to have something of mine. As a memory.” She bit her lip and blinked rapidly, her eyes filling up with tears.

A choked sob escaped him and he pulled her into his arms again, squeezing her as hard as he squeezed his eyes shut to keep himself from crying. She wanted him to have a memory of her, because she thought, they’d never see each other again.

No! He couldn't let that happen.

“I’ll come to Prythian,” he blurted out desperately. ”I mean, I’ll come visit! I don’t know when I’ll make it, but would you-”

What did he even want to say? Meet me? Wait for me? Be with me? He couldn’t ask that of her.

But Feyre pulled back and then kissed him. “Yes. Yes, of course!”

They would have continued forever, had not Feyre’s phone started ringing. “It’s probably Elain,” she said, but she didn’t check if she was right. Instead, he stared at him hard, as if she wanted to brand the image of his face into her memory. “I should go.”

“Yeah!” Rhys raked a hand through his hair. “Listen, I could come with you to the airpo-”

“No,” she interrupted him softly, flashing him a sad smile. “I don’t want to you to see me cry again.”

His chest collapsed, but be managed a weak smile for her sake. “Okay.” He pressed a last, lingering kiss to her lips. “ Arrivederci. Spero di vederti presto .”

“ Mi piacerebbe che. Scrivimi presto ,” she said in perfect Italian, catching him completely off guard. He had suspected she understood some Italian, but not, that she knew this much.

But before Rhys could comment on it, Feyre turned and walked away. He saw her shoulders trembling while she unlocked the front door and the glister of a tear on her cheek when she threw him one last look and then she closed the door.

She was gone and so was his heart that she had stolen.

Rhys honestly didn’t know how he made it home. His mind was anywhere but on the Roman traffic. It was a miracle he made it back home unscathed.

When he entered his empty apartment, where she had just been not even an hour ago, the realization that she was really gone came over him. His heart had been breaking for a while now, but know it cracked and splintered under the crushing force that knowledge.

Tears sprang into his eyes and his hands tightened to fists. Only when the fingers of his left hand curled around a hard, flat object did he remember the sketchpad he was holding. Feyre’s memento for him.

For a moment, Rhys hesitated to open it. But then he opened it anyways. What did it matter if looking at her sketches would hurt and remind him that she was gone. He was already miserable anyways.

He flipped through the pages, admiring her amazing skills once more, evoking the pictures of her sketching them out, until he reached the last sketch. It had him freeze.

Feyre had sketched the two of them together. The sketch was crude and hurried, she must have done it while he had been away on the phone with his father, because he hadn’t seen it before. Only he had the feeling, he had. A selfie, he realized. They had taken some selfies at some point, at least one with just the two of them. She must have used that as her template.

His knees gave out under him and Rhys sank onto his couch, staring at her sketch for what felt like hours. And then he made a decision.

Taking up his phone, he checked if his father had send him an email after yesterday's impromptu negotiations. He had and Rhys noticed with grim satisfaction, that he had met all of Rhys’ demands.

Then Rhys dialed the one number he hadn’t dialed on his own accord in years. When his father picked up the phone, Rhys didn’t bother with pleasantries. “I accept.”

Chapter Text

A ping sounded and the overhead signals flashed to life, informing the passengers they had to fasten their seatbelts for the descend. Feyre eagerly stared out of the window, gripping her phone harder. She had to put it to flight mode, so she had been out of contact with the world for some time now. Well, to be more specific, she had been out of contact with a certain person that she hoped she had received a message from.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, we are now beginning our descent into Velaris. We will arrive as scheduled at 11:55 am. The weather in Velaris-”

Feyre droned out the announcement and craned her neck to catch a look out of the window. Half a year ago, Rhys had told her if she liked Rome, she'd love Velaris. He had been so right.

Shortly after her return from Rome, she had looked into grad programs. Velaris had seemed promising and Mor had made good of her promise and invited Feyre to spent a few days at her place, so she could get a look and feel for the city and meet with an advisor at the school for more information about the arts history course. It had been fantastic. Of course, she had looked into some other schools and applied there as well, but she had lost her heart to the city as soon as she had stepped out of the airport and had laid eyes on the beautiful mountain range and the glittering jewel of a city at its feet.

And now she was on her way to move into her new apartment, and start orientation in a week. She couldn't wait to snap some pictures of her new place and share them with Rhys.

Ever since she had arrived back home, they had been writing. There wasn't a day when they didn't at least exchange one message or picture, some sweet and some a bit naughty. She had told him all about moving to Velaris and sharing her thought process on the decision with him, but whenever she asked him when he planned to come visit her in Prythian, he had been strangely evasive. Some trouble or business he had to take care of back in Italy that took up most of his time. It sounded rather suspicious. Deep down, Feyre was afraid his affection for her had faded off with the distance and he maybe didn’t want to come visit her after all.

Still, as long as they were writing and sometimes calling, everything was fine. It was when Feyre set down the phone that the bone-crushing grieve overtook her.

The first weeks after Rome, she had barely left her room, spending entire days in bed, just because she was so miserable. Lovesick . That's what she was. She had fallen in love with her vacation flirt half a world away and was miserable for it. Her sister Nesta hadn't needed to point it out for her, Feyre knew it herself: she was pathetic.

Grad school application had helped distract her somewhat. As did the short flirt she had entertained while visiting Adriata, her second choice for school. The academic advisor she had had an appointment with had been sick, but a student helper had taken over. Tarquin was an architectural student and big into city development. He knew a lot of things to tell about the city and had given her a city tour after answering her questions about the school.

And then he had invited her out to show her how students in Adriata spend their evenings, taking her on a boat party. It had been all great fun and they'd drunk chilled white wine, danced until their feet hurt and laughed up to the moon over the endless sea.

But then Feyre had looked up at the night sky and it had reminded her of a night sky painted on the ceiling in a certain church and her heart had squeezed tight with sorrow and the silly wish to be somewhere else entirely - or with a certain someone.

She had excused herself to wallow in her misery. Tarquin had found her after a while, standing next to the reiling in a dark corner, staring out into the night. He had more or less confessed to liking her to some capacity then. And Feyre had looked at him, really taken him in. He had been kind and gentle with her. He also hadn't hidden his interest in her for the whole day, but he hadn't been pushy about it. A charming, intelligent, handsome man.

She only really noticed then. Stunning aquamarine eyes the color of the Caribbean sea and pale hair that stood in shocking contrast with his dark, chocolate skin. It would be easy to love him.

But the blue of his eyes was the wrong shade of blue, his skin a couple of shades darker than - his. Even there, under the summer sky in Adriata on a cruise with a handsome man obviously interested in her, all she could think of was Rhys.

Right then and there, she hated Rhys a little. How dare he hold her heart and mind prisoner like this?

I don't know when I'll make it, but would you -

This sentence. The mere possibility of the something it held was leashing Feyre to Rhys, only because she wished so desperately that this something really existed between them. What had he wanted to say that time?

Wait for me? Be mine?

She was. To the point where she had rejected a kind, attractive man like Tarquin, whom she could've spend a fantastic night with or maybe even more. All based on the ridiculously small sliver of hope that she somehow would get to be with Rhys eventually.

She had drunk dialed him that night after she'd returned to her hotel room and they'd fought. Or more like, he had been worried about her state, because she had been drunk off her ass, crying into the phone, and then jealous. Not so much about her being potentially interested in Tarquin, but the fact that the other man was was something Rhys couldn't be - there with her.

“When. When will you come? Will you ever come?” Feyre had sobbed.

“Cara, I promise you, I'll see you soon,” he’d try to assure her. It hadn’t helped.

“For how long? A week? And then you'll go away and I'll be miserable again.”

Rhys hadn't responded to this.

“When I looked up to the stars today, I wished so hard that you were here Rhys,” she’d confessed, tears streaming down her face. “But you are not. And I don't know if you'll ever be. Maybe, we should just… stop this? Because I can't take it anymore.”

“Please don't, Feyre.” He had sounded devastated.“ Give me… won't you wait for me just a little bit longer?”

And there it had been. Wait for me. He had asked her outright. Feyre had been so shocked, she had stopped crying.

“You want me to wait for you?”

“ Si . Sono innamorato di te. Voglio stare con te,” came his soft admission.

She hadn't known how to respond. Knowing he was in love with her didn't change anything. They were still apart and would probably always be. But as much as she wanted to and as much as it broke her, she couldn't bear to end things with him; not now that she knew he was feeling the same as her.

So she had merely said, “To the people who look at the stars and wish, Rhys.”

He had been silent for a moment, before responding. “To the stars who listen—and the dreams that are answered.”

She called him again the next day, after she had sobered up, ashamed over the late night call and mortified by the things she’d said. He told her to never be ashamed about telling him how she felt and simply told her again that he was in love with her and coming to see her soon.

When the acceptance papers for both Velaris and Adriata came, she didn’t hesitate - she chose Velaris. She let him know it was, at least in part, also because of him.

Now, with her flight in descend, her stomach was in knots. She hadn’t received as many messages these last days from Rhys. Feyre had been busy packing and organizing her move to another city, but Rhys seemed to be equally busy with whatever kept him busy in Rome. There had been no snaps from him, expect for one very tired looking selfie in bed, wishing her a nice day as he went to sleep.

When the plane touched the tarmac, she was ready to jump right off it, eager to disembark and turn on her phone to check for messages. But she was also excited to met Mor again, who had promised to pick her up and drive her to her new place.

But when she finally switched of the flight mode on her phone, she was utterly disappointed to see that she had no new messages. Well, maybe Rhys just thought, she was already busy enough with the move?

Waiting for her luggage took forever, especially, because she had so much of it. When she had finally collected all of her 3 suitcases and stacked them onto a trolley, she hurried for the exit, giddy with excitement.

Beyond these glass walls was a new life waiting for her. And Mor.

It sounded more glamorous than it was actually, because the first few seconds of her new life consisted in trying to navigate her heavy trolley through the throng of people, trying not to run them over while simultaneously looking out for the bubbly blonde she was already best friends with. But she didn’t find no Mor.

Parking her trolley a bit out of the way, Feyre pulled out her phone to send her a quick message. Her heart sped up when she saw she had a message from Rhys instead.

Rhys: Did you land already?

So he hadn’t forgotten her. With a small smile, she typed her reply.

Feyre: Yes, I’m already outside of the security gates. Mor is running late, so I’m waiting.

Rhys : Where are you waiting? I hope, the creeps leave you alone? I remember someone telling me, she can’t even walk 3 steps in Prythian without being catcalled.

Feyre’s smile grew wider.

Feyre: I’m waiting next to the info point. I have been catcalled at least 3 times since I disembarked. My trolley is just that sexy!

Rhys: More like you pushing that trolley, sticking out that cute butt.

Feyre: It’s not like I do that with the intention to lure in men. That trolley is heavy! I need to put in some work.

Feyre: Seems like I need you here to protect my butt from catcalling Prythians.

She bit her lip, immediately regretting the text. It had been a cheap shot. But lately, she couldn’t help dropping comments like these. She was growing impatient with his continued but vague promise of soon .

It had been half a year since she had been able to touch him, kiss him, smell his intoxicating scent. She almost could smell it now, a faint breeze of citrus and jasmine. That’s how much she missed him; she even imagined she could smell his cologne in the Velaris airport.

Exasperated with herself, she shook her head and wanted to type out an apology, but Rhys was faster.

Rhys: Don’t worry cara. I’ve got your ass covered. Sooner, than you expect!

Feyre laughed but then froze in shock, because, suddenly, a hand was on her ass, groping her. Unbelievable!

Enraged, she turned around to slap the bastard - only to freeze again.

Dark blue eyes, eyes the color of the night sky, regarded her fondly and mischievously, an equally mischievous smirk twisting a set of sculpted lips into a crooked smile. Lips she had longed to kiss every second during the last 6 months.

“Rhys!” she whispered weakly, her strength seeping out of her at an alarming rate.

She felt her legs grow weak, but he was already there, catching her in tight embrace, his face buried in her neck, breathing her in.

“Hello, Feyre cara!”

“Rhys,” she repeated once more, still not believing he was really there.

And then she threw her arms around him and started bawling in the middle of the airport. Not that she cared about that. They clung to each other like drowning people on a lifeline, overwhelmed by their reunion. Her cheeks were hot with tears and she felt a similar wetness trickling down her collarbone. He’s crying, too , she realized. Indeed, when he released her from his embrace after what had only felt like an minute, but had probably been more, his eyes were lined with silver.

“Feyre,” he breathed and kissed her. “My Feyre.”

Feyre hiccuped and her tears started anew when he pressed his lips to hers, but she responded with equal fervor. Cauldron , how she had missed him! Someone wolf-whistle as they kissed, but they couldn’t be deterred. They only broke apart after a while, their breathing labored, Feyre still sobbing and sniffling.

“You came,” she whimpered and the waterworks started again immediately. Gosh, she was so annoyed with herself.

Rhys tenderly brushed away her tears with his thumb, kissing some others away. Feyre readily presented her ugly, crying face to his hands and lips. She didn’t care if they were putting on a show for all the airport to see. All that mattered was him. He was here!

“ Ti ho promesso che lo farei,” he replied with a soft smile. “And I keep my promises!”

Another sob, another kiss. Feyre’s hands tightened on his shirt, fisting the fabric around his chest. “How long?”

Rhys pretended not to understand, angling his head. “How long what?”

“How long will you stay?” Feyre didn’t know why she asked. She dreaded knowing their deadline this time. But she also couldn’t help it. She needed to know what time they’d been granted.

Rhys gaze pierced her with its intensity. “For however long you’re willing to have me.”

Feyre blinked. “I don’t understand!”

Rhys’ face turned sheepish. “I couldn’t tell you before, because I didn’t know when I would make it, but I moved back here. To Velaris.”

Startled, Feyre let go of him and took a half-step away from Rhys. “What?”

“Let’s say, my father made me an unexpected offer. I moved back here last week.”

Feyre didn’t dare to breath. “And you will stay?”

“Yes. At least a couple of years. He wants me to take over his company and I accepted to work under his guidance - for now. I still haven’t made my final decision.”

He would stay in Velaris. For a couple of years. Where she was. Feyre felt a strange lightness spreading inside of her. She wasn’t sure whether she was standing or floating. But then a thought shot through her mind.

“When did you decide this?” This couldn’t have been an impromptu decision. People didn’t simply move to another country on a mere whim.

He shot her a guilty look, shoving his hands into his pockets. “The day you left,” Rhys admitted.

6 months. This fast, the lightness she had just felt faded and she felt, like she had been dropped from a great height and crashed into the ground at full force. He had been planning to move back to Prythian for 6 months and he hadn’t told her.

Anger burned hotly inside of her, threatening to consume her. Feyre raised her hand to slap him, but thought otherwise. She let her hand sink down to her side, clenching it into a fist instead, breathing deeply through her nose. Wordlessly, Ferye turned around and started pushing her trolley towards the exit.

“Feyre!” Rhys shouted after her, but she ignored him. Since Rhys was here, she assumed, Mor wasn’t coming, so she probably had to take a taxi to her new place. She already grumbled over the money she’d have to pay for that.

“Feyre wait, please listen -”

“NO!” she cried, whirling around. Several heads turned in their vicinity. Feyre honestly didn’t give a fuck, if she was causing a scene. She was beyond angry. She was livid!

“6 months Rhysand! For 6 months I was suffering because of you and every day you could have told me, you’re about to move back here. Instead, you leave me hanging, making vague promises about coming to visit me eventually. Do you have any idea how I felt all this time? How miserable I was? How heartbroken?”

“These 6 months weren’t easy for me either. I was missing you like crazy, Feyre!”

“But you knew! You knew you’d see me again, when I didn’t,” she screamed, tears springing into her eyes again; this time, because she was so angry.

“I didn’t,” he said softly, his heart in his eyes. “I had no idea whether you would still want to be with me when I eventually made it back here. Yes we were writing and flirting, but I was always afraid I was nothing more than a vacation flirt to you, Feyre. Only when you called me that night in Adriata did I dare hope you might feel something more for me.”

“Are you an idiot? Of course I feel more for you!” Feyre impatiently wiped away her tears. “I wouldn’t even have applied for Adriata or the other schools, if you had told me you are planning to come back!”

“I could never do that to you, Feyre. I never wanted you to choose your school because of me. You should go to whatever school you wanted to go. What if you didn’t like the school and only chose it, because I’m here? But then things don't work out between us? I didn’t want to tie you down like this. I can’t. Even if I want nothing more than to be with you.”

Feyre was still angry, but not as much anymore. She understood he hadn’t just acted entirely selfish, but also kept quiet on her behalf. “If I had chosen Adriata or to stay in Springfield, would you come to see me?”

Rhys smiled weakly, daring to take a step closer. “I would have followed you to the end of the world.”

Feyre shook her head and he halted. “You get to follow me, but I don’t get to follow you? How is that fair?”

Rhys blew out a breath, raking a hand through his hair in frustration.

“It’s not like I wasn’t already considering moving back to Prythian in the first place.” When Feyre shot him a surprised look, he smiled faintly. “My father has been pestering me to come work for him for ages and I was seriously considering his offer for about a year before we even met. But I had some reasons to stay behind in Rome. One of them is my house, which I inherited from my mother. The other reason was, that I didn’t want to leave Cassian and Azriel behind without the option for them to follow. So I convinced my father to offer them positions within the company as well.”

“So they’ve come to Prythian with you?”  

“Azriel did. Cassian chose to remain behind for now and take care of the house. It’s as much his childhood home as it is mine.”

Feyre tried to process the information she had gotten. “So you decided to take up your father’s offer and move back to Prythian the day I left, because…?

“Amongst other things, because my father made an offer that was hard to refuse the day before you left.”

“The call in the church!” Feyre remembered. “That was your father!”

Rhys nodded. “Yes. We negotiated the terms that day. I accepted his offer right after you had left.”

Feyre chewed on her bottom lip. “What are the other things?” Rhys raised an eyebrow at her. “You said, amongst other things. What else?”

Now raking both hands through his hair, Rhys began swearing and speaking in rapid Italian.

“ Per l'amor di sexy Gesù e il suo perizoma, donna! Cosa vuoi che ti dica, cara? Che mi sei mancato? Che mi ha spezzato il cuore per lasciarti andare? Perché lo ha fatto! Ero innamorato di te nel momento in cui ti ho incontrato. Ti amo! E io ero fuori di testa nel momento in cui te ne sei andato. E avevo paura che tu non sentissi la stessa cosa. Sono ancora!”

“Rhys, my Italian is not that good,” Feyre interrupted his rant with a frown. “I can’t understand a thing you’re saying!”

Well, she understood some. The part about him being heartbroken over her leaving for example. Or the fact, that he had just said, that he loved her. But she wanted him to repeat it in English, just to make sure she hadn’t misunderstood.

He turned to her, his chest heaving like he’d just run a marathon. “I love you! I’ve been in love with you the moment we met!” he cried out. “And I’m afraid you don’t feel the same, but I came anyways, because I can’t stand to be away from you, even if this might just be a fling for you.”

Feyre stared at him mutely. And then, she took a step closer. And another. And another one, until she was standing in front of him.

“You love me?” she asked calmly.

His eyes were wide, his face wary. “Yes.”

“Good!”

Feyre reached up and pulled him down for a kiss. Rhys stiffened at first, but then relaxed, his hands settling on her hips.

“Ti amo, idiota!” she said softly after leaning away. “How could you think, I didn’t love you?”

Rhys breath hitched and he pressed his lips back to hers, more urgently this time. Feyre sunk into the kiss, growing pliant and molding her body to his. Someone grumbled something about Italians and passionate folk in passing and Feyre giggled into the kiss the same time Rhys gave a little chuckle.

“Are you done yet?”

Surprised, Feyre pulled her lips from Rhys’ and turned her head towards the voice that had spoken. Mor stood next to Feyre’s discarded trolley, hands on her hips, looking exasperated.

“Mor, what are you doing here?” she asked befuddled.

Mor rolled her eyes. “Picking you up, what else?”

“But I thought -” Feyre’s gaze drifted to Rhys, who still held her close by her hips.

“I don’t have a driver's license for Prythian yet, so Mor drove me. Or more like, I tagged along,” Rhys admitted with a smirk.

“Anyways. I know you haven’t seen each other in forever, but that was ridiculous! Worse than any soap opera. Really, get a room!” Mor complained while she hugged Feyre hello, practically ripping her out of Rhys’ arms and pulling her into hers.

“Hello Mor, I missed you too,” Feyre laughed, albeit a bit embarrassed.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Talk and walk Fey, let’s get moving. I want to be done, so we can have lunch soon!”

Mor didn’t wait to see whether they followed, but started walking, pushing Feyre’s trolley towards the exit. Feyre exchanged a slightly bewildered look with Rhys. “What now?”

He chuckled and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Well, I have an offer for you. We drive to your place, order some pizza to mollify Mor. I know a place that's half decent. Nothing compared to Roman pizza, but I'll suffer it for your sake. Then we'll get rid of her once she has stuffed herself. And then I plan to make up for the last 6 months I had to go without you, cara.”

“Deal!”