✨yes, Chef ✨

Harry has extended his stay, which makes the rest of your time in Monte-Carlo wonderful. 

Your days are filled with his amazing company, and you take full advantage of all the amenities offered by the luxury resort.

At night you’re taking walks along the promenade where Harry buys you gelato and feeds you bites between kisses.

For the first time in years, his calendar bends to someone else’s whim—yours.

He watches you from across the table at the sprawling garden where you’re having brunch, the scent of blooming flowers and fresh pastries drifting on the breeze.

You laugh at something he said, head tilted back, sunlight catching the necklace resting against your collarbone.

“You and this whole staring thing. If you weren’t so attractive, it’d be kind of creepy,” you tease, popping a blackberry into your mouth. Your bare foot brushes his ankle under the table, innocent… and not.

He reaches across to wipe some of the powdered sugar from the french toast at the corner of your mouth, letting his thumb linger. “I keep thinking I’ll wake up back in my office, realizing this was all a daydream.”

Your eyes trace over his sincere expression. “Then let’s stay in the daydream a little longer, Harry.”

He’s never wanted anything more.

That evening at the renowned Casino de Monte-Carlo, you stand beside him at the roulette table in a silky slip of a dress, your shoulder brushing his arm every time you lean in to place a bet.

He teaches you the rhythm of baccarat, his hand covering yours on the cards, voice low against your ear.

“Feeling lucky?”

“Always.” Your smile is wicked, making him want to pull you into a shadowed alcove and kiss you breathless. So he does just that. 

You haven’t slept together, and somehow that makes every touch and shared glance feel so thrilling.

The wait is its own kind of foreplay.

He’s falling for you and it’s only been what, a couple of days? It’s ridiculous, he reminds himself of that any time he’s alone and you’re not there to distract him from being logical. 

You both have lives to get back to once this is all said and done, so all he can do is push whatever he’s feeling to the side and continue to enjoy the time he does have with you.

You do the same, keeping the real you tucked away along with the ever-growing sentiments he elicits.

This is an escape meant to be free any stress or drama. Nothing but beautiful views, amazing food, and this charming, generous man who looks at you like you painted the stars.

One lazy afternoon, Harry finds you by the resort pool again, film camera in hand as you snap photos of the landscape and architecture that surrounds you.

“Hello gorgeous,” he greets, leaning down to place a kiss at the crown of your head, dropping into the lounger beside yours.

His linen shirt is unbuttoned just enough to show a tempting glimpse of his broad, tanned chest. “I bought something. For us.”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “For us? Okay, you’ve got my attention. What is it?”

He chuckles, that rich, warm sound you’re quickly becoming addicted to. “A yacht.” He says it so casually, like purchasing a luxury vessel on a whim is nothing. Your jaw drops.

“Harry… you can’t be serious.”

“Dead serious.” His brown eyes sparkle with mischief and affection. “What do you say? Come out with me this afternoon so you can see it. We can sail along the coast, swim, have lunch on deck…”

The idea is ridiculous. Extravagant. Perfect.

You bite your lip. He’s truly pulling out all the stops, which you don’t mind at all, but you hope that he knows he doesn’t have to flaunt his money like this just to impress you. 

Maybe you should express that to him later, when you’re not buzzing with excitement to actually be out on the water today, and very curious to see what the hell he just bought.

 “I’d love that.”

He loves the way your eyes light up when The Daydreamer comes into view at the marina—a beautiful pearl color with sleek navy lining, polished teak decks, the name painted in elegant golden script.

You practically bounce on your toes as you board, fingers trailing along the railings in awe.

“Harry… this is yours? For real? You just… bought it?” you stop short once you make it to the deck, jaw dropping in pure delight at the view it offers.

This thing must have cost him a fucking fortune.

“For us. For right now.” Seeing you like this makes every penny spent worth it.

“I can’t believe it. She’s absolutely beautiful.”

“I’m glad you like it,” he steps closer, hands settling lightly on your waist from behind as you both face the open sea.

“I’d be a fool not to.”

You’re so soft and warm pressed up against him, the breeze sending your perfume straight into his brain like the sweetest aphrodisiac. 

The sexual tension is slowly killing him. He could take you right here, nice and deep, your cries of pleasure swallowed by the sound of waves crashing into each other.

Instead he savors the lead up, not making any moves until you’re comfortable enough to take that next step. If it’s even something you want to do. 

Regardless, he’s content with having you any way in which you’ll let him.

After giving you a tour of the yacht and introducing you to the small crew that’s on board, you set sail.

The sea sparkles under the afternoon sun as you both change into swimwear. He’s taken aback every time he sees you, but when you’re in your pretty little bikinis—Harry has to blink away the lustful visions he has of fucking you while the fabric barely clings to your body.

This time is no different.

“My eyes are up here.”

“I’m not necessarily trying to look at your eyes right now.”

You can’t help but playfully roll your eyes, a flirty smile on your lips as you take his hand in yours and pull him up the stairs and onto the deck where the crew is finishing up anchoring where you’ll be swimming for the afternoon.

Harry watches you dive gracefully off the side, your laughter ringing out as you surface.

He follows, the cool water a shock against heated skin. When you swim to him, wrapping your arms around his neck, legs brushing his underwater, he feels something settle deep in his chest.

This is what he’s been missing. What he was fruitlessly looking for with Lucy. 

Back on deck after being in the beautiful ocean for a few hours, you towel off and slip into a light cover-up, the fabric clinging slightly to your still-damp skin.

Harry looks effortlessly handsome in his swim trunks and unbuttoned shirt, his curly hair tousled by the sea breeze.

The staff has set a beautiful table on the shaded aft deck: chilled prosecco, platters of fresh seafood and bowls of ripe summer fruits.

He feeds you a slice of orange, its juice dripping down his fingers. You catch his wrist gently and lick it clean, eyes trained on him.

“You’re playing a dangerous game here.”

You smile, slow and knowing. “I know.”

As the sun dips lower, painting the horizon in golds and pinks, he feels the words rising—stay with me longer, let me follow you to the next city.

Harry pours more wine into your glass. “So, tell me more about the rest of your trip,” he leans back, looking at you with that warm, attentive gaze that makes your stomach flutter. “Where are you headed after Monaco? What’s the grand plan?”

You take a sip of the crisp beverage, savoring the way it fizzes on your tongue.

“It’s pretty loose,” you admit with a soft laugh, spearing a prawn with your fork. “I’m thinking Portugal next—Lagos, specifically. Those dramatic cliffs and hidden beaches are too beautiful to not experience. Then Ibiza to see if clubbing there is as fun as everyone claims it is.”

His brows raise at that. Harry can already picture you drunk and in a beautiful dress, dancing the night away under colorful strobe lights.

“Sicily for its rich history, and Mykonos to end on something… dreamy. There’s no strict itinerary. Just… chasing the sun, collecting experiences along the way… figuring out what I really want.”

Harry listens intently, a small smile playing on his lips as he watches how charmingly expressive you are.

It stirs something protective and eager in his chest. These past days with you have been a revelation—a lightness he hasn’t felt in years.

He doesn’t want this to end when the weekend does.

“That sounds incredible,” he drains the last of his prosecco as the words from earlier dance on the tip of his tongue again. 

Harry takes your hand in his, thumb brushing over your knuckles.

“I like you. A lot. More than I probably should after such a short time.” He chuckles softly, a touch self-deprecating, but his brown eyes hold yours steadily. “I’d love nothing more than to fund the summer trip of your dreams. Flights, hotels, excursions—whatever you need. Regardless if I join you or not. It doesn’t matter to me. No complicated nonsense. I just… I want to make sure you get every bit of joy you’re chasing.”

Your heart skips at his words, warmth blooming across your chest that has nothing to do with the setting sun.

He’s offering the world so casually, like it’s the most natural thing.

Part of you—the careful, guarded part still tangled in a failed marriage back in Texas—knows the risk that comes from this.

But the other part? The one that’s been starved for spontaneity, for real connection, for him… that part wants so much more. 

No expectations except for a good time. You are capable of enjoying the fantasy and slipping away when summer ends.

“Harry… that’s incredibly generous. More than I could ever ask for.” You squeeze his hand. “I don’t want you to think that you need to do all of this to keep me interested.”

“I like spending my money on you.”

Is it materialistic of you for the butterflies in your stomach to go into a frenzy?

This kind of chance—with a man like Harry, on yachts and private adventures—won’t come again.

“These last few days have been so perfect. I can’t imagine chasing the rest of this summer alone now. Not when you make it so much better.”

Relief and joy flood through him as you agree to his proposal.

He stands, pulling you up with him into a slow, deep kiss right there on the deck, the taste of orange citrus and wine lingering between your lips.

His arms wrap around you, holding you close.

“Then it’s settled,” he murmurs against your lips. “We’re doing this. Portugal, Spain, Italy, Greece—all of it. Together.”

The private jet touches down in Faro the following afternoon.

Harry’s hand rests warmly on your thigh the entire flight, his thumb tracing lazy circles that send little sparks dancing across your skin.

You’ve never traveled like this—the private jet is somehow just as ridiculously luxurious as the yacht.

A beautiful antique car waits on the tarmac when you arrive. The driver loads your bags while Harry helps you into the back seat, stealing a quick kiss once the door closes.

Your head rests on his shoulder as you ride to your destination, the scent of his cologne mixing with the salty breeze slipping through the cracked window.

The car winds down a lone coastal road, the rugged cliffs giving way to a hidden stretch of paradise. 

When you finally reach the private beach he’s secured for the stay, your breath catches.

It’s a secluded cove of soft golden sand curving gently into the sea, framed by dramatic ochre cliffs draped in wildflowers and fragrant pines. Waves lap lazily at the shore, the water so clear you can see the pebbles beneath.

A few discreet workers have set up shaded loungers and a cabana with expensive white linens. It feels like your own private slice of heaven—far from the bustling main beaches. 

The Daydreamer waits at the edge of the cove like an old friend, anchored in the gentle shallows, her white hull gleaming against the vivid blue.

You’ll be staying aboard her instead of in a hotel—sailing straight from Lagos to Ibiza at the end of the week. 

The private beach was worth every last minute arrangement. Harry made the plans the moment you agreed to let him join you, wanting to give you the kind of escape you deserved.

“Wow.”

“It really is a sight. Come on, let’s get you settled so we can lay out.”

You let him guide you, eyes unable to stay focused on anything as the beautiful scenery almost makes you emotional.

You can’t believe this is really happening.

Over the next few days, Harry enjoys watching you explore Lagos. The city’s narrow cobblestone streets and whitewashed buildings splashed with colorful azulejo tiles feel like the perfect backdrop for what is going on between you.

You wander hand-in-hand through bustling markets, stopping for fresh pastéis de nata and strong espresso, laughing as seagulls swoop overhead in an attempt to pick a bite of your snacks.

One afternoon, as you stroll a lively street lined with different businesses, Harry notices your lack of a smartphone.

“You know, I’ve been meaning to ask… you only use a little flip phone and those cameras. No laptop, no big phone. How do you manage?”

You smile, fidgeting with the strap of your camera. The warm air lifts your hair as you look up at him, his brown eyes curious.

“It’s my no-screen rule for the trip,” you explain. “I left everything else behind. Just this burner for emergencies and my cameras to document everything. I wanted to really be here, you know? Not staring at a screen the whole time.”

Harry’s expression softens with genuine admiration. “I respect that. Truly. I wish I could unplug like you. But I’m too involved in work for that.”

His words hit a little too close to home, reminding you of Joel—always working, always reachable, the job swallowing up evenings and weekends until there was nothing left for the two of you.

The comparison stings, but you brush it away quickly, refusing to let old shadows touch your golden afternoon.

“Maybe you’ll learn a thing or two from me,” you joke, tugging Harry toward a charming little gift shop with colorful displays spilling onto the street.

“Come on. I want to check this out,” you add brightly, pulling him inside. The shop smells of aged paper and spices. Shelves overflow with postcards, magnets, handmade jewelry, and local trinkets.

He follows you happily, charmed by your enthusiasm. Inside the shop, you pick up a delicate ceramic tile and turn it over in your hands. 

“I’m collecting stamps and little things like this from everywhere I visit,” you hold on to the tile, searching the shelves. “For a scrapbook I’m making. Something tangible to remember this summer by.”

“That sounds like a wonderful idea,” he steps behind you, chin resting lightly on your shoulder. His arms wrap around your waist as he helps you look.

“I’ll keep an eye out. Whatever you want for your craft. I want you to have the perfect collection.”

You turn in his arms, eyes sparkling as you kiss him softly, right there between shelves of eccentric magnets and postcards. The shopkeeper smiles knowingly in the background.

“Thank you, Harry,” you whisper against his mouth. “For all of this. For seeing what this trip means to me.”

He doesn’t reply with words, instead he kisses you again, slower, deeper, the kind of kiss that promises more once you’re back on the yacht’s private deck under the stars. 

As you leave the shop with a small bag of treasures and Harry’s arm draped around your shoulders, you let yourself sink fully into the blissfulness of the moment. 

Harry didn’t mean to fall asleep after your early dinner.

After getting the preparations ready for your sail to Spain in the morning and dismissing the crew for the night, he dozed off on one of the wide cushioned loungers on the deck, the sun slowly descending and painting the sky with a magnificent sunset.

You decided not to wake him. Instead, a wicked little plan bloomed in your mind as you slipped below deck for a quick shower.

You changed into the sage green lingerie set you bought in Monaco just for this moment—delicate lace hugs your curves and the color compliments your sun-kissed skin. 

After much deliberation—you decided you didn’t care what came out of taking this affair the whole way. 

You haven’t had sex in… you don’t even know how long it’s been. You’re starving for that intimate affection, and it’s no secret that Harry wants you just as badly.

You’ll deal with the repercussions later. For now, you’re about to get some.

A silk robe slides over your skimpy outfit, and you dim the deck lights to set the mood. Enough sunset still lingers to bathe everything in a romantic haze before full nightfall.

You tiptoe over to where he is, careful not to wake him yet. He looks so peaceful like this: lashes resting against his cheeks, those soft curls tousled and inviting, his pouty lips framed by the neatly trimmed facial hair that makes him look impossibly handsome. 

Carefully, you sink to your knees in front of the lounger, angling your body so your face is level with his lap. His strong thighs flex as he shifts slightly in sleep, and you hold still until you’re sure he won’t stir. 

Your skin prickles with goosebumps despite the warm evening air, anticipation thrumming low in your belly.

Your hands glide slowly up and down his thighs, then gently massage the bulge beneath his shorts. He feels big and your core throbs with need the more you tease him.

Leaning in, your lips press soft kisses just above the waistband where his shirt has ridden up, tasting his warm skin and feeling the happy trail leading downward. You continue massaging, lips brushing tenderly until he hardens fully under your touch.

Harry lets out a soft grunt, hips bucking lazily. Unable to wait any longer, you carefully free his cock through the front of his shorts.

Your eyes widen at the sight—impressive length curving upward, flushed from your attention, thick enough to know he’s going to feel incredible inside you.

But first… you need a taste.

Your eyes flit up to see him still blissfully unaware of what you’re up to. You stick your tongue out to run it slowly up his warm, salty skin, moaning at the taste.

You continue, licking, kissing gently, placing open mouthed kisses all over his cock while he sleeps.

Harry’s dream bleeds into reality as pleasure surges through him. His eyes flutter open to the breathtaking sight of you on your knees, silk robe slipping off one shoulder, mouth wrapped around him.

“Sol…” he groans, voice hoarse with sleep and sudden lust. His head falls back against the cushion as you take him deeper, earnest and eager, gagging softly when his tip hits the back of your throat.

One hand trails down to cup the nape of your neck, not guiding, just holding reverently.  “Fuck, baby… what are you doing to me?”

You pull off with a soft pop, lips shiny, and stroke him firmly with one hand while the other tugs open your robe.

The lace set is revealed in the fading sunlight—your breasts barely contained in the bra, the matching panties damp from how aroused you are from sucking him off.

Harry curses under his breath, eyes darkening with desire. “Look at you… so fucking gorgeous. Especially like this, with my cock in your hand.”

You smirk, shrugging the robe fully off your shoulders before undoing the front clasp of your bra. Your full breasts spill free, bouncing softly as you deliberately shake them for him, still stroking his length with teasing pressure.

“Let’s get you out of these,” you whisper, fluttering your lashes at him.

He obliges, lifting his hips to help shove his shorts down far enough to fully reveal his manhood. 

Leaning forward, you let a generous string of spit fall onto his cock, lubing him before sliding his hot, hard length between your tits.

The sensation makes you both moan.

You press your breasts together tighter, sliding them up and down his shaft in long, indulgent strokes. His cock throbs between them, the flushed head peeking out with every downward glide, smearing precum across your cleavage.

You dip your head and lick the tip each time it emerges, sucking greedily on the head while your tits continue to work him. The way he grunts makes you clench around nothing. You don’t think you’ve ever been this turned on before.

Your nipples are tight and hypersensitive, slick smearing over your pussy lips as you rub your thighs together, watching his face contort in pleasure.

“You’re incredible,” Harry rasps, hips grinding up into the tight, warm channel of your breasts.

An enthralling smirk ghosts over your lips at his praise, which makes you move faster, the slick glide growing messier.

You take the head back into your mouth, sucking hard, determined to push him right to the edge but not fully over.

Harry tenses beneath you, his strong thighs flexing hard as his orgasm builds, a groan rumbling from deep in his chest. His fingers firmly cup your neck again, pulling your talented mouth off his throbbing cock with a wet pop.

Strings of saliva and precum stretch between your swollen lips and his flushed tip before breaking.

You look up at him with a saccharine pout. “I was having fun.”

“Trust me, baby,” he lets out a ragged breath. “Fun’s not over yet.”

You bite your lip and giggle excitedly as he sits up in one fluid motion, reaching for you. He pulls your half-naked body flush against his, your damp panties pressing directly over his dick.

You grind down instinctively, the hot, wet friction making you both moan.

The sea breeze kisses your bare breasts, the distant waves providing a sensual ambiance.

He captures your mouth in a deep, passionate kiss, tongue slipping inside to taste the sweet remnants of the fresh peaches you’d been eating mixed with the salty musk of his own cock.

It’s both filthy and intoxicating. His hands roam desperately over your curves, gripping the supple flesh of your ass and guiding your grinding hips, bucking up so his length drags against your clothed sex, the fabric barely a barrier so he can feel just a bit of flesh from your pussy.

“You ever been fucked on a boat before?”

You laugh breathlessly, the sound melting into a needy moan as he kisses down the column of your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point while his hands knead your ass rougher.

“No,” you gasp.

“You’re about to be.”

Before you can catch your breath, Harry maneuvers you with surprising strength and grace. He turns you around, positioning you perfectly against the sleek railing of the yacht.

You grip the warm, polished metal tightly, back arched, facing the breathtaking disappearing sunset over the cove.

The golden and pink light spills across the water, the cliffs glowing softly in the distance. 

His fingers hook into your ruined panties and he slides them down your legs, leaving you completely bare for him.

“Harry…” you whine as he presses hot, open-mouthed kisses and gentle bites along your shoulder.

His cock, still wet from your mouth and tits, slides teasingly up and down your dripping slit. The fat head rubs tight, maddening circles over your engorged clit, making your eyes roll back and your thighs tremble.

“You know, I wanted our first time to be a little more romantic,” he murmurs against your skin, almost condescendingly in the hottest way. He continues to drag his cock between your pussy lips again and again, coating himself in your arousal.

“Candles, flowers, a nice big bed with silk sheets so I could spread you out and taste you until you’re in tears, begging me to fuck you.”

Your thighs quiver violently, your cunt clenching around nothing as his words make you delirious with need.

“Please, Harry,” you beg now, pushing your hips back, swaying them enticingly. “I need you.”

He notches the head of his cock right at your entrance and pushes in with one smooth, powerful thrust. 

Your pussy swallows every inch, stretching deliciously around him until he bottoms out. You both let out long, shuddering moans of pure pleasure.

His large hands grip your waist, fingers digging into your soft skin as he leans forward, forehead resting against your shoulder blade.

He gives you deep, steady strokes that drag against every sensitive spot inside you. Your jaw drops in a silent scream, each movement making your breasts bounce with the rhythm. 

Harry fucks you like he’ll never get the chance to again. All of the pent up sexual tension releases with every impassioned thrust.

“Fuck… so tight, so damn perfect,” he groans, picking up pace, hips snapping against your ass. 

You gasp, fingers tightening on the railing, your creamy slick coating his shaft, evidence of how good he’s fucking you.

“That’s it, you take me so well.” His lips brush against your ear. “Been dreaming about this since the moment I saw you at the pool. Wanted to bend you over and fuck you senseless in that cabana.”

He moves a hand to cup one of your bouncing breasts, pinching your nipple tightly, overwhelming you in the best way.

“Harry… oh god, you feel so good,” you whimper, arching your back deeper.

His thickness fills you exactly as you dreamed. The yacht’s gentle rocking makes him hit that perfect spot inside you with every roll of his hips, sending sparks of ecstasy directly to your clit.

“Look at you. Anyone sailing by could see how much of a dirty little thing you are for me.” He rolls your nipple between his fingers. “So fucking good… you hear how wet you are?”

You do and it’s almost embarrassing. You’re trembling, core tightening as pleasure builds fast and hot.

“Fuck, yes… squeeze me just like that,” he growls, biting down on your shoulder. His other hand slides down your stomach to rub firm circles over your swollen clit.

“Come on, baby. Show me how badly you’ve wanted this.” His thrusts grow deeper, almost punishing, the head of his cock kissing your cervix with every snap of his hips.

The combination of his dirty words, the expert stroke of his fingers on your clit, and the relentless pounding sends you spiraling.

Your orgasm crashes over you hard as you cry out his name into the open sea. The pale moonlight that’s replaced the sunset paints your skin almost iridescently while waves of pleasure ripple through you, your pussy gushing around him.

Harry doesn’t stop, instead pulling back to get a better angle. He fucks you through it, relishing in how your walls flutter around him, chasing his own release.

“That’s my good girl… coming so pretty on my dick. Fuck, Sol—I’m close.”

You swirl your hips, the flesh of your ass rippling as you throw it back on him, finally able to find words other than just his name. “Come all over me, Harry.” Your voice is breathless and needy. “Please… I want to feel it.”

Your words paired with the view of your pussy gripping his cock has Harry peaking right then and there. He pulls out, stroking his cock while grabbing a handful of your tit again, finishing all over your folds and inner thighs.

Harry’s body blankets yours as he presses lazy kisses along your neck, both of you catching your breaths, a thin layer of sweat covering your bodies. 

“Holy shit… that was amazing,” you breathe, your arms trembling from the intensity as you cling to the railing. Your legs feel like liquid, thighs slick with your combined release, and your pussy still flutters around the memory of him.

Harry notices immediately. He turns you around and carefully guides you down onto the wide cushioned lounger, the soft fabric warm against your overheated skin.

The sea breeze drifts over your naked body, cooling the sweat glistening on your chest and the mess between your thighs.

“You’re amazing,” he murmurs, laying down beside you and pulling your spent body flush against his. You tuck yourself into his side, resting your head on his broad, rising-and-falling chest.

He wraps one strong arm around you, fingers tracing lazy patterns along the sensitive curve of your back.

“Sorry for spoiling your romantic bedding fantasy,” you tease playfully, propping your chin on his naked chest to look up at him. Your eyes are heavy with satisfaction, lips still swollen from earlier.

Harry chuckles softly, the sound vibrating warmly beneath your cheek. He shakes his head, running his fingers through his slightly damp curls. “We’ve got all summer to make that come true,” he promises.

You bite your lip, a fresh spark of desire flickering through your exhausted body. Now that you’ve felt how devastatingly good he is, you’re not sure you’ll be able to keep your hands off him for the rest of the trip.

The thought of riding him on sun-drenched decks and tasting him under starlit skies makes your clit tingle.

For the briefest second, Joel flickers across your mind, but he vanishes just as quickly when Harry’s warm hand strokes slowly down your spine. His touch is worshipful, sending pleasant shivers across your skin and pulling a soft, contented moan from your lips.

“Then we should rinse off and you can give me a preview in the shower.”

His brown eyes drop down to yours, seeing the bubbling lust there, and that’s enough to get the both of you moving.

[ ⤷ previous / ⤷ next chapter ]

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It was never going to be an ordinary day.

Harry knew that the moment the sweating executive across the table began rambling about everything except the answer to his very simple question.

“We invested ten million dollars into this project,” Harry says, his voice carrying the authority of a man who has built business empires out of nothing. “Where did it all go?”

The man stutters, fingers nervously adjusting his glasses.

It thins Harry’s patience, already razor-thin after two days of half-truths and expensive lunches that led nowhere.

His brother, Peter, smoothly steps in, guiding the conversation into friendlier territory until the cowardly businessman finally admits the investment was mismanaged—but promises they will generate the profit needed to repay them and move forward with the project.

“We’ll believe it when we see it. Our lawyers will be in touch.” Irritated by the endless bullshit, Harry rises from his seat without another word.

He strides out, leaving Peter behind to close the meeting with a touch more professionalism.

In the lobby, Harry scrolls through his phone, arranging his private flight back to Manhattan.

The entire trip has been a waste of time and resources. A reminder that most people only want to take advantage of his family’s money and name. 

They had suspected the money was being mishandled from the start. Harry had pushed to send the legal team and be done with it, but his brother had insisted on this face-to-face meeting just in case things weren’t what they seemed.

So much for that.

Peter appears a moment later, loosening his tie with a sigh. “I knew you were tense, but I didn’t think you’d let him see it.”

“He was wasting our time and I have a loaded schedule waiting for me stateside,” Harry mutters, falling into step beside him as they exit into the golden morning light.

The sun spills generously over the area, bathing the elegant streets in warmth and turning the sea beyond into a glittering expanse of sapphire. 

They slip on their expensive sunglasses as the valet brings around their luxury antique car.

“You know,” Peter adds casually “there’s a beautiful oceanfront resort not far from here. Private beach. Incredible views. You could stay a few more days.”

Harry lets out a short, dry chuckle. Is he serious? “And do what? Have a spa day? Get a massage?”

“Yes,” Peter grins. “Stop spreading yourself so thin and have some fun.”

Harry rolls his eyes, tongue pressing against his cheek.

Fun. The word tastes bitter.

The last time he let himself do just that, the woman he was seeing left him for her broke ex.

Ever since, he’s buried himself in his work, which isn’t necessarily too different from how involved he usually is.

However, with his mother’s retirement looming on the horizon, he intends to be more than ready to step into the role of Chief Executive Officer; which means he’s been picking up extra responsibilities within the company.

Security and control—those are things Harry Castillo understands, and he can’t let something as trivial as having fun distract him from the bigger picture of his career.

Their car glides to a smooth stop in front of them. The young valet hops out and Peter tips him generously before they both get in.

“All I’m saying is things are in good hands back home, so if that’s what you’re worried about, don’t be,” he continues as he buckles his seatbelt. “Ever since Lucy—”

Harry shoots him a sideways glance, but his brother ignores it entirely.

“Ever since you came back from Iceland, you’ve been so rigid. It’d be good for you to loosen up and get out of your head before the promotion takes over your life.”

Harry rolls the window down, letting the warm sea breeze rush in, scented with summer itself.

The beautiful streets of Monte-Carlo unfold around them: whitewashed buildings draped in vibrant bougainvillea, shops and restaurants pulling in the morning crowd.

Since the breakup (mutual as it was) he has grown more guarded, more rigid, as Peter so eloquently put it.

Overworking himself during the day has kept him distracted enough, but at night in his penthouse, with a glass of chardonnay in hand, Lucy’s absence has carved out a hollow space inside him.

For the first time in his life, he feels truly heartbroken. It serves as a stark reminder that romance is a risk he no longer cares to take.

It’s easier to approach relationships like long-term investments rather than an actual, intimate connection.

They stop at an intersection. Peter nudges him, pointing toward the scenic coastline.

“Look at that view,” he whistles, adjusting his sunglasses. “Who wouldn’t want to get lost in that?”

The water sparkles under the sun. People lounge on the sand, others swim in the shallow water, and a few yachts drift lazily in the distance.

The beauty of it appeals to him more than expected. He supposes his brother has a point—the last few months have been nothing but long days filled with grueling business meetings and lonely city nights.

Maybe a few days of doing nothing in paradise won’t actually kill him.

His decision crystallizes in that moment.

“For once,” Harry says, a small smile tugging at his lips as Peter laughs in triumph, “you might be right. It is very beautiful here.”

“There are worse places to be.”

Harry hums in agreement, pulling out his phone and canceling his flight back to New York. 

You’ve been mostly inland for the past month—wandering misty green hills in Ireland, chasing history through the UK, and slowly making your way down to the stunning French Riviera.

It has been the kind of trip that rewires your soul.

Now you’re in Monaco, kicking off the coastal chapter of your long awaited summer escape. 

The views here are almost too beautiful to be real. Water stretches endlessly toward the horizon and pastel buildings cascade down the hills like something out of a painting.

You can’t wait to lose yourself in it.

Right now, you’re laying out on a plush lounger beside the resort’s infinity pool, bikini hugging your sun-warmed skin.

Headphones in, your favorite summer track pulses softly in your ears as a light sheen of sweat kisses your collarbones and thighs.

You’ve been out here for hours, lazily sipping mimosas until the world has taken on that perfect, fuzzy glow.

God, you haven’t felt truly peaceful in… well, longer than you care to admit. 

Between the endless hours at your interior design firm, the partnership with your husband and his brother that blurred every line between work and home, and the slow unraveling of your four-year marriage… you’d forgotten what it meant to put yourself first.

This trip is your rebellion. Your indulgence. Your chance to be gloriously selfish for once.

With a contented sigh, you slip one earbud out and push your sunglasses up to rest on top of your head. 

The bright Mediterranean light makes you squint as you lazily scan the pool area. It’s perfectly balanced—not too crowded, not too empty. 

Most guests cluster near the bar on the far side, laughter and conversation drifting across the water.

That’s when your gaze catches on him.

A handsome stranger is already watching you. Tall, dark curly hair, confident posture even while leaning against the bar.

His eyes are kind and intense at the same time. You don’t know how to feel about it.

You offer him a polite smile.

He returns it, the corners of his mouth lifting in a way that sends a small spark of interest through you, before he turns back to the bartender.

The heat is starting to cling too heavily to your skin. You rise gracefully, stretching your arms overhead, letting the sun worship every inch of you for a moment.

You adjust the strings of your bathing suit, then pad around the edge of the pool and dive in with a smooth, clean entry.

The cool water is pure bliss. It swallows you whole, washing away the morning’s warmth as you glide beneath the surface.

When you break through, you push wet strands of hair from your face and smile to yourself, savoring the way the water caresses your skin.

You swim a few lazy laps, rediscovering the rhythm of your strokes. You haven’t swam properly in years.

Eventually, the craving for something sweeter pulls you toward the submerged swim-up bar.

You swim to the smooth ledge and settle onto one of the underwater stools, ordering once you get the bartender’s attention.

“Coconut mojito, please.”

The resort is everything Peter mentioned and more.

Harry checked in not much longer after that car ride with his brother, changing into swim trunks and a light button-down, heading down to the pool with no real plan except to sit in the sun and remind himself he’s still capable of relaxing.

He ordered a tequila sunrise at the bar, the sweet burn of it loosening the knot at the base of his neck.

That’s when he saw you, and he swore his heart stopped for just a split second. 

You were laying there completely oblivious, enjoying the early afternoon so at ease that Harry almost envied how serene you looked.

And the bathing suit you have on? He kept his gaze respectful, but the pull in his gut was immediate. 

Then you made eye contact, smiled at him, and that was enough to get the man’s resolve to crack just a little bit.

You’re absolutely gorgeous.

Harry didn’t approach you or anything like that, obviously, since he’s not here for complications. Just a few quiet days to breathe before diving back into the labyrinth of his family’s empire.

So he decided to lounge at the bar in the water, taking off his button down before getting in and making small talk with the man behind the tiled counter as he waited for his drink.

But now… here you are. Sliding onto the space right beside him, water droplets tracing shimmering paths down your shoulders.

He’s already three—no, four—tequila sunrises deep. Liquid courage has a way of making him disregard his stance on making a move.

“You can charge it to my room,” Harry intervenes smoothly when the bartender turns to prepare your drink.

You glance over, one eyebrow arching in pleasant surprise.

The light catches the small hoops in your ears and the layered necklaces resting against your collarbone. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

You flash him that same smile from earlier, the one that made his pulse jump.

Up close, you’re even more striking—curves accentuated by your bathing suit, skin glowing with a thin layer of sunscreen.

The bartender returns with your cocktail. You thank him softly, then lift your glass toward Harry in a cheerful toast.

He mirrors the motion. Your glasses clink under the bright blue sky.

“Mmm, delicious,” you murmur after the first sip.

Harry wonders if that's an invitation to indulge in small talk.

It is.

“Is that your go-to order?” he asks, turning slightly toward you, the cool water lapping gently at your waists.

“No,” you answer, leaning forward against the colorful bar top, your gold jewelry gleaming with every small movement. “I’m usually an espresso martini girl, but I’m trying to break out of my routines. What about you?”

You nod toward the vibrant orange drink in his hand. “What are you drinking?”

“Tequila sunrise,” he says with a small grin. “Not my usual either. But it felt right for this setting.”

You take another slow sip through the straw, the mint and lime bright on your tongue. “So what is your usual?”

“A rich bourbon on the rocks.” His eyes drift briefly to your lips as you hum in response, licking a stray drop from them.

The motion is innocent, but it sends heat curling through him.

“Here’s to trying new things,” you say, raising your glass again with a mischievous glint in your eye.

You clink once more, and this time Harry can’t look away.

With the way the afternoon sun paints everything in gold and rose and how the distant laughter of other guests provides ambient background noise—it all feels like the opening notes of something… delightful.

“Do you usually stare this hard,” you tease lightly, “or do I have something on my face?”

Harry feels the faintest blush creep up his neck—completely out of character for him. He’s usually quick with a charming retort or flirtatious compliment.

He blames the tequila… and you.

“Sorry,” he replies with a soft chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just find you to be a very gorgeous woman. Your partner is a lucky person.”

You tense for the briefest second, but you brush it off with an easy giggle. “And what makes you think I have a partner?”

“A beautiful woman like yourself? Surely someone has already made their move.”

Your eyes narrow as you study him, reading the confident lines of his face, the expensive watch glinting on his wrist, the kind warmth in his deep brown eyes.

The way you’re looking at him sobers Harry up just enough to realize he might be coming on too strong.

“Well,” you finally break the small silence, leaning in a little closer. 

The scent of chlorine, coconut sunscreen, and something sweetly flora hits his nose and it makes him feel a little lightheaded. 

“Someone is making their move… and I think he thinks he’s bombing it entirely.” You can’t help but tease. “He isn’t, though. But he could buy me another drink if he really wants to make a good first impression.”

Harry blinks, momentarily stunned. Then realization hits like sunlight breaking through clouds—you’re flirting back.

A slow, genuine smile spreads across his face as he straightens his posture and flags the bartender with newfound confidence.

“Another round,” he tells the man, not taking his eyes off you. “And keep them coming.”

The rest of the afternoon stretches lazily, conversation flowing as easily as the drinks.

For the first time in months, Harry feels the walls he’s built around himself beginning to melt under the warmth of your presence.

And you—lost in the freedom of this trip and the magnetic pull of this charming stranger—start to wonder just how far this unexpected spark might take you.

Eventually, Harry suggests moving to a shaded cabana nearby, and you happily agree.

The two of you settle into the oversized daybed draped with crisp white linens. The sheer curtains flutter lazily in the sea breeze.

As you get more comfortable, friendly touches linger just a second longer than necessary—his fingers brushing yours when passing a drink, your knee grazing his thigh as you shift closer.

The chemistry is hard to ignore.

You lean back against the cushions, legs tucked beneath you, and swirl the straw in your drink with a teasing smile.

“You know, I thought all billionaires were supposed to be pretentious and complete assholes. So far, I’m not getting that from you. Like, at all.”

Harry chuckles, moving closer, his brown eyes catching the sunlight as he rests one arm along the back of the daybed.

“That would be an accurate assumption. We are pretentious and assholes.” He says, truthfully. “I just happen to be aware of it and know when it’s best to let those unfortunate characteristics shine.”

He gives your figure a suave once over. “Sitting here with a beautiful woman doesn’t seem like the best time to be pretentious or an asshole, does it?

You take a slow sip from your mojito, deliberately holding his gaze. “Smooth talker. Do you practice answers like that in the mirror, or do they come naturally like the private jet?”

“Naturally. Especially when you look at me with that sparkle in your eye and in a bikini that should come with its own warning label.”

Heat rises to your cheeks, but you don’t look away.

Instead, you bite your lip, tilting your head with a flirtatious look.

“Warning label, huh? Please. Nothing mischievous about me. I’m just here to soak up the sun and forget real life exists for a while. You, on the other hand...”

You reach out and lightly tap the center of his chest, right where his shirt would button if it were fully fastened.

“Might not be an asshole but you do have that whole ‘I negotiate with fate itself’ energy about you. I bet you even schedule spontaneous moments in your calendar.”

His grin dimples, a playful challenge sparkling in his eyes as he leans in a fraction. “Guilty, but I’ll have you know that I canceled my flight back home on a whim. That’s practically rebellious for me.”

You raise your glass in a toast. “To rebellion... and learning how to be at ease.”

He clinks your drink gently against his, the ice chiming like a secret promise.

“This might just be the best detour of my summer yet.”

The breeze stirs the cabana curtains again, wrapping the two of you in the sweet tension of a budding romance.

Eventually, the sun begins its slow descent, painting the sky in rich strokes of tangerine and deep violet.

“What’s your name, by the way?” Harry asks, realizing only now you haven’t properly introduced yourself with how wrapped up you both have been in the easy conversations.

You giggle softly. “We really skipped right past that, didn’t we?”

“If my mother were here, she’d scold me for not introducing myself properly,” he extends a large, warm hand toward you. “I’m Harry.”

“Harry,” you repeat, letting the name roll off your tongue like you’re tasting it.

You slip your hand into his, noting how perfectly it fits, feeling the buzz from the sun and drinks and now his touch. 

“I’m…” You glance down at the small sun tattoo on your wrist before meeting his eyes again. “I’m Sol.”

“What a beautiful name.”

“I’ll make sure to thank my parents on your behalf.”

Harry’s laugh is genuine and rich, paired with an easy smile that softens the frown lines of his handsome face.

“Well, Sol, forgive me for being too forward… but I would love to take you out to dinner tonight.”

Whatever this is—he doesn’t want it to end when the sun sets. Contrary to how gloomy and pessimistic he’s been about romance as of late. 

Your eyebrows shoot up in delighted surprise. “Tonight? As in, tonight tonight?”

“Not sure what other tonight there is, but yes. Only if you’d like.”

You bite your lip, the white rum humming pleasantly through your veins as you weigh the invitation.

Harry is unlike anyone you’ve met in a long time. Charming without trying too hard, confident but not arrogant.

Talking to him feels dangerously easy.

Part of you whispers that you should keep this light, enjoy the afternoon and walk away with a perfect vacation memory to tell your girlfriends back home over brunch. 

After all, he’s returning to New York soon, and you’re only at the beginning of the second half of your summer escape and in the middle of a very messy separation. 

But those eyes… those deep, kind, captivating eyes are making it nearly impossible to say no.

With a pretty, tipsy smile, you nod. “I’d love that, Harry. How about we meet in the lobby at eight?”

He tries—and fails—to hide the spark of excitement in his expression. Glancing at the expensive watch on his wrist, he notes the current time.

“That sounds perfect.”

With that, you get up to gather your things. Harry helps, also grabbing his belongings, and both of you walk back into the building together.

“I’m looking forward to dinner. Thanks for this afternoon… It was very fun.” 

Fun. There’s that word again. If Peter were here right now, he’d be saying I told you so in varying boastful ways.

“As am I. Thank you for indulging me.” 

You flash him another dazzling smile, and with that, both of you part ways.

You meet in the lobby at eight o’clock on the dot, the soft glow of chandeliers twinkling over the marble floors of the open area.

You’ve chosen a flowy summer dress in soft coral that makes your body look delectable, a fresh bikini hidden beneath for whatever the night might bring.

Keeping your makeup as natural yet accentuating as possible, you’ve made sure to apply your favorite lip gloss and sprayed just enough perfume to be that more alluring. 

Harry is waiting for you near the grand entrance, looking effortlessly handsome: a crisp light button-down rolled at the sleeves, tailored shorts, and his usually slicked-back curls now loose and fluffy.

In his hands rests a thoughtfully arranged bouquet of pink summer roses, delicate lilies, and cheerful daisies—perfectly color-coordinated as if he put meticulous care into choosing every bloom.

The sight of him makes your stomach flutter. Goodness, he really is so hot.

“You look incredible,” Harry compliments once he sees you, his warm brown eyes lighting up with obvious appreciation of how effortlessly gorgeous you look as he offers you the flowers.

You accept the bouquet with a genuine smile, inhaling the sweet floral scent. “These are beautiful, Harry. Thank you.”

He offers his arm like a true gentleman, and the two of you stroll down toward the private beach path, the distant sound of waves growing louder with every step.

“Where exactly are we going?” You can’t help but ask, taking in how beautiful the coastline looks at this time of night.

“It’s a surprise.”

He’s rented a secluded cove just for the two of you. When you arrive, your breath hitches in your throat.

A beautifully arranged beachside picnic waits under a canopy of sheer white fabric that billows gently in the breeze.

There’s plush cushions and a low table overflowing with vibrant summer fruits—ripe peaches, berries, slices of mango—alongside an elegant spread of fresh seafood, crusty bread, cheeses, and chilled wine. 

Lanterns flicker softly, casting gentle shadows across the sand as the waves foam against the shore.

“This is… possibly one of the most romantic things anyone has ever done for me,” you admit without thinking, a little breathless as he helps you settle onto the cushions.

Holy shit.

Harry’s smile is modest but pleased. “Good. That was the goal.”

The dinner unfolds like a scene from a romance movie. You talk for hours as stars pierce the clear night sky.

He tells you about growing up in New York, his love for the energy of the city but his quiet craving for serene moments like this. He’s glad his brother talked him into extending the trip.

You laugh at his dry humor, tease him about being a secret romantic, and flirt shamelessly in return. Your husband doesn’t cross your mind once.

When he asks about your life, you keep things intentionally vague: a few charming stories from your travels, your passion for design and beautiful spaces, but nothing that might pop this perfect bubble you’ve found yourself in.

Two bottles of expensive, crisp white wine disappear between shared bites of food.

It loosens your limbs, drawing you closer to him on the cushions.

Harry’s hand rests on your bare knee. It makes you shiver despite the breeze that flows by being warm.

Your head rests against his shoulder as the night turns more intimate.

He turns to you, his face inches from yours, eyes dark with want.

“Have you ever wanted to do something so impulsive,” he murmurs, gaze falling down to your glossy lips then back up to your eyes. “that it makes you wonder if you’re really as brave as you thought you were?”

You let out a soft sigh, the question hitting closer to home than he could ever possibly know. “Yes.”

He studies your features for a moment, then asks: “Can I kiss you?”

Instead of answering with words, you lean in and press your lips to his.

It starts tender but quickly ignites, all that pent-up longing you’ve both been carrying in your respective lives pours out between you.

You climb onto his lap, straddling his thighs as your flowy summer dress rides up around your hips. Harry’s hands instinctively settle on your waist, gripping you with a quiet groan of approval as you settle against him.

Your fingers thread through his curly hair, tugging lightly as the kiss deepens passionately. Harry responds with equal fervor, one hand sliding up your back while the other grips your thigh, pulling you flush against him.

Your bodies move together instinctively. Tongues dance, teasing and tasting wine and summer on each other’s lips.

You rock subtly in his lap, feeling his swelling erection against your inner thigh. It makes the pulsing at your core intensify. You don’t remember the last time you’ve felt this desired.

His hands roam freely now; tracing the curve of your waist, skimming over warm skin beneath the thin fabric of your dress, thumbs brushing dangerously close to the edge of your tied bikini.

When you finally pull back, you repeat his earlier question back to him with a playful smirk. “Have you ever wanted to do something so impulsive…?”

You have him completely at the edge of his metaphorical seat, every nerve alive with anticipation.

His lips are swollen from your playful nips. “Yes.”

Without warning, you rise from the picnic setup with a wicked grin

You slip out of your dress, letting it pool at your feet and revealing the stunning silhouette of your body. 

His eyes widen in a mix of surprise and desire as you peel off your bikini top and toss it playfully at his chest, exposing your chest to him.

Harry’s mouth goes dry.

You kick away your bottoms and skip toward the moonlit ocean, your laughter ringing like music across the sand.

“C’mon! Don’t make me swim alone!”

He doesn’t hesitate long after that. Harry strips down and joins you in the warm, silky water. 

He can’t believe he’s doing this. Just this morning he was ready to sign off the idea of letting loose for good… and then you appeared and completely swept him off his feet.

Naked skin meets naked skin as the gentle waves lap around you both.

Harry presses his broad body against yours, hands sliding down the slick curve of your waist, gripping the soft swell of your hips, then gliding up to cup your breasts.

You moan softly, throwing your arms around his neck and angling yourself to kiss his lips.

A low groan vibrates from his chest and into your mouth as your hardened nipples brush against his skin with every sway.

One of his hands drifts lower, possessively squeezing the fullness of your ass, pulling you tighter so you can feel exactly how hard and ready he is for you.

And holy shit is he packing a very generous package. 

“As pleasurable as I imagine it would be, I can’t sleep with you tonight, Harry.”

He’s so dizzy with lust that it’s almost disorienting. “That’s fine. There are no expectations. However, I am only human…” He says in regard to the hard on he’s currently sporting.

“Trust me, I feel it too in my own way.” You bite your lip and pull away before things escalate.

You’re not sure you want to cross that line just yet—but he’s making it seem very, very enticing.

To keep things playful, you splash him with a cheeky wave of your hand then immediately try to wade away.

Harry is a lot quicker. His strong arm loops around your waist, pulling your slippery body back against his chest with an amused laugh.

While holding you firmly in place, he retaliates with a splash of his own, sending sparkling droplets cascading all over you.

You squeal with laughter as the two of you playfully wrestle in the waves, all tangled limbs and breathless giggles under the stars.

The walk back to the hotel feels like you’re floating.

Harry’s hand rests lightly at the small of your back as you stroll along the string-lit path. The night air is perfumed with sea salt and night-blooming jasmine.

You feel like you’re in a modern fairytale.

Every touch sends sparks up your arm, shared glances carrying the delicious weight of everything that just happened between you in such a short amount of time.

When you reach the lobby, you turn to face him, cheeks still warm.

“I had an amazing time tonight,” you tell him softly, meaning every word. “Truly. Thank you for everything.”

Harry steps closer, his brown curls more prominent now from the texture of the saltwater.

“Truth be told: I’m not ready for this night to end. I want to keep seeing you… if you’ll let me.” His voice drops, laced with quiet hope that you want to continue whatever the hell this is. “May I have your number? So we can stay in touch while you’re here?”

You hesitate for half a second—your real life flickering somewhere in the back of your mind—but the pull of this amazing man and the rejuvenated summer version of yourself tugs you from those thoughts.

You give him the number to your flip phone (the burner you bought specifically for this trip) and he programs it into his phone with a boyish grin that makes the butterflies in your stomach flutter like crazy. 

Then leans in and kisses you.

It’s sweet, feeling like the beginning of something far bigger than a fleeting summer fling… even if neither of you vocalizes it.

“Goodnight, Sol,” he murmurs against your lips.

“Goodnight, Harry.”

You slip away from him, the bouquet of flowers cradled gently in your arms. You step into the waiting elevator and press the button for your floor, your eyes never leaving his until the mirrored doors glide shut between you.

Once you’re inside your room, you close the door behind you and let out a soft sigh as you slide down against the wood, knees literally weak.

Today was pure magic. The kind of day you’ll replay in your head for years.

You’re still smiling when you push yourself up, gently laying the flowers down on the console table, and heading toward the shower to rinse the salt from your skin.

That’s when your phone buzzes on the nightstand.

Your heart does a hopeful little flip, hoping that Harry has caved already and decided to call you.

Couldn’t even wait until tomorrow… you think to yourself playfully, reaching for the small device. 

But the number on the tiny screen isn’t his.

It’s your husband.

The smile fades instantly. You stare at the phone for a long moment, everything inside you screaming not to answer.

But old habits (guilt, history, the tangled business partnership) win out.

You flip it open.

“Hello,” you answer, your voice flatter than it’s been all day.

“Finally,” his familiar Texas drawl fills the line, tight with worry. “Ain’t heard from ya since you left for Ireland a month ago.”

There’s a heavy silence that follows before he speaks up again. “You okay? Where are you right now?”

“I’m fine.” You pinch the bridge of your nose, the dreamy afterglow of your day with Harry dissipating with every word.

More silence.

“We need to talk about this. I know I’ve been distant but… we built somethin’ real together and I know we can fix it.”

Old resentment bubbles up. “It took me leaving the country for you to finally come to that realization? We’ve been roommates who share a business for the last two years. Not husband and wife.”

He lets out the kind of heavy sigh that used to make you soften and let your guard down.

“I know I’ve let you down. I’ve been putting the job first—hell, putting everythin’ first except us. But I’m here now, trying. Everyone’s been on my ass too, sayin’ I’m an idiot for letting you go on this trip alone. Just… tell me where you are. I’ll fly out. We’ll figure this out together.”

Together. You scoff and close your eyes, the weight of years of trying—and failing—pressing down on you. 

You’ve already grieved this marriage in silence for too long. Important dates he missed, dinners eaten alone, the way intimacy had slowly faded into plain coexistence.

You’re exhausted from carrying the hope for both of you.

“It’s too late for that,” you admit steadily, despite the ache that lingers. “I’m not coming home yet. I need this time for me.”

The line goes quiet for another moment.

“I miss you.”

“I missed you too, but I’m done missing someone who’s right next to me. Don’t call me again for a while, Joel.”

You end the call before he can respond, the finality of it settling heavy in your chest.

Setting the phone down, you finally undress and step into the shower, standing under the hot spray of the waterfall feature.

As eucalyptus scented steam fills the space, your mind drifts back to warm brown eyes, curly hair, and the way Harry looked at you like you were the most captivating thing he’s ever seen.

You allow yourself to sink fully into the possibility of what this summer—and this unexpected man—might blossom into.

A wistful, secret smile returns to your lips.

Want to be part of the taglist? Feel free to DM me or reply to this post to be added!

modern!duncan who met you half-way through your second to last semester at university after his calculus professor suggested he find a tutor before midterms.

you were on the dean's list and he was in the rugby team, and he just needed to get a decent grade on all of his classes (yes, even the nightmare-induced math ones) because his scholarship depended on it. who knew geology would have so much math in its course curriculum, anyways?

he arrived, ten minutes early to the first session with two peanut-free protein bars, a broken calculator, and a second-hand textbook packed somewhere inside a messy backpack, and thought nothing else but a headache would come out of looking at equations for two hours straight. he left, still not knowing a damn thing about derivatives and vector fields, but holding a crush he swore felt like cupid's own arrow had lodged itself straight into his heart.

modern!duncan who asked his friends to tutor him every week before his sessions with you so you would not think he was a lost cause. they never explained the concepts correctly though, and a couple of weeks into your study plan, you had to schedule two sessions per week because he was somehow more confused with integral solving than he was when you started. so... a win in his book, either way?

modern!duncan who spiraled himself into an actual bit of existential dread at the thought of the semester ending before he could tell you how he felt. what if he never saw you again? what if you moved on, forgot all about him, and fell in love with someone that was just as smart as you, and just as dedicated, and just as beautiful—gods, what if you fell in love with someone like valarr targaryen? he would not stand a chance, not against someone like the golden boy. oh, he would just never recover! not when you held the stars in your eyes and the sun in your smile, and when your voice sounded like the angelic choir he is sure welcomes well-doers in the seven heavens, and—

modern!duncan who never thought you could ever, actually, possibly like him back.

not even when he smiled every time he saw you and looked at you like you had just hung the moon upon the midnight sky. not even when he brought a to-go cup of coffee for you every time he arrived at the booth you'd reserved in the library, exactly the way you had once mentioned you liked it. not even when he laughed at your jokes, and listened to you without paying attention to anything else, and carried your bag over his shoulder the whole way through when he walked you home after your session.

he was just being polite, anyways. anyone would do that... right?

modern!duncan who didn't believe his ears when you asked him out on a date at the end of your very last session. you had mentioned it so casually, so calmly, like your heart was not about to beat its way out of your chest. like your world had not just spun on a different axis. like your fate had not just been written into the stars.

oh... was that just him?

still, he said yes right away and never once felt ashamed at the fact of you having been the one to take the first step. he let you choose the restaurant, picked you up while holding a small bouquet of wildflowers in shaking hands, and paid the bill in full after letting you have the last bite of dessert.

he walked you home and blushed a deep red when you kissed his cheek before walking inside your apartment complex and wishing him a good night. he asked you on a second date as soon as he made it back to his place.

and then almost cried himself to sleep when you told him to pick you up the next morning.

modern!duncan who, five years into your relationship, still blushes all the way up to the tip of his ears whenever you refer to him as your boyfriend. who still get butterflies every time he wakes up by your side and presses a soft, gentle kiss to your forehead while he tries his best to not disturb your sleep. who still feels the luckiest man whenever he's simply allowed to exist by your side.

modern!duncan who will come home to your shared apartment from work before you do, pet your cat, and get dinner started with the goal of it being ready by the time you arrive. it took him a while to learn how to cook: failed youtube tutorial after failed youtube tutorial until he eventually got somewhat decent results of your favorite dishes. he kept going, and even if his creations turned a little funky whenever he improvised (and grew really fond of simply following the recipe as it said on the page), still found satisfaction in making you happy with something he'd made.

he liked it so much, in fact, that he got himself an apron and invested in a nice set of stainless steel pans. you even got him a cooking board for christmas that he considered not using only for the sake of forever keeping it in pristine conditions. he uses it carefully, and lovingly, and really hopes it can last a lifetime.

modern!duncan who, in the same vein, packs your lunch every morning and always folds a little note somewhere inside your bag so you will "always remember how much he loves you". his writing is still as indecipherable as it was since you first met and he writes the corniest notes, but you still grin from ear to ear everytime you find a post-it that reads "you are the best part of my day :)" next to your home-made buffalo chicken wrap.

he always texts you to ask if you liked your lunch. and he always feels himself become love personified when you tell him you liked your note more.

modern!duncan who will get you flowers every single pay day without fail. who will take blurry photographs of things he sees on the way home that make him think of you, no matter how silly others may think they are: a cat that looks somewhat like yours, a trinket on a windowsill he thinks you would like, the poster of a play he'll take you to after checking both of your schedules for your next day off.

modern!duncan who refers to himself as a "cat dad" every time someone at work asks him if he has children at home. who will show them the photograph he keeps of the three of you in his wallet because, well, that is his family right there. who will blush and scratch the back of his neck when his co-workers ask him if he really let you name your cat sauron. let you... let you? what is this, the middle ages? he does not let you do things, mind you, but holds the honor of doing things with you. and, just so it's perfectly clear to dave from accounting, does think sauron is a perfectly appropriate name for a cat... duh.

modern!duncan who studies his gaming group's d&d campaigns before bed, with his glasses perched low over the tip of his nose, while you read off next to him. he will ask for your opinion and then get a little bashful at having interrupted your focus but you never mind, and he will then just recount the entire campaign to you after you've set your book down on your night table. he'll write down every single suggestion you make so he can include them in his campaigns or his character design, and always lets his group know exactly how you helped him. and yes, his charismatic paladin does have a tragically romantic backstory. and yes, it was your idea. and yes, he loves it.

modern!duncan who is only on social media to keep up with what you post. he follows a couple people on instagram that he personally knows, some gaming accounts to gain inspiration for his campaigns, and the official profiles of the sports teams he keeps up with. he only really interacts with you, though. you will post something only to be immediately flooded with duncan's reactions to it, which, yes, do include a couple comments that consist only of... emojis. he's just expressive, okay?

modern!duncan who will unknowingly participate in every single trend you want him to hop on because he can never say no to you. you'll scare him half to death calling him your "current boyfriend" only for him to kiss you silly after confessing it was only a joke for a tiktok video. you'll have him snapping an egg clean between his arm muscles, and he'll be so giddy and proud of himself while you just stare at him because god, duncan, have you even seen your own biceps before?

modern!duncan who loves practically being your plus-one whenever you have plans for the weekend. who will hold your hand in his when you navigate through the crowds and then on the small of your back for the rest of the night because he has to be touching you to feel at peace. who will have you sitting on his lap while you sip on whatever fruity cocktail he'd gotten you, only to carry your heels for you when it's time to go home because you're sleepy and your feet are tired.

modern!duncan who is really vocal during sex. who always echoes a string of "just like that, baby," while you're riding him to oblivion, with your head thrown back in pleasure and your pretty tits bouncing and rubbing against his face. who likes to take one of your nipples into his mouth as you move, sucking on the bud as he spills inside you: always way too early, and always ready to go again.

who trusts you implicitely, and is always ready to try new things. who lets you tease his ass when you blow him, with your finger caressing his rim as you run your tongue along the side of his shaft. who hisses as his entire body is overcome by goosebumps when you squirt a generous dollop of lube over his skin before beginning to play with his waiting hole. who then wears a pretty little buttplug while he's fucking you in missionary.

who really means it when he says he actually could die a happy man when his head is nestled between your gorgeous thighs. who eats your pussy for hours, mumbling and blabbing about how tasty it always is, about how wet you always are for him. who moans the loudest when he's sucking on your clit, with his big, thick fingers nestled inside your sopping hole as he makes you gush into his mouth.

modern!duncan who takes aftercare really seriously, but also deems it a practice that should never feel like it is out of the ordinary. who'll run you a bath every night without fail, hop inside with you, and hold you until the water gets cold. who will stare at you in awe as you get ready for bed, and then waste no time to hold you in his arms again once you're warm and comfortable under the covers.

modern!duncan who always looks for you first whenever he thinks something is funny. who holds your opinion as holy scripture. who is always unconsciously moving his chair ever so slightly so it's a little closer to yours.

modern!duncan who will sit in silence by your side and still know exactly what you are thinking, and exactly how you are feeling, because existing by your side has become as natural to him as drawing breath. as feeling hunger. as finding happiness in the little things and peace in the quiet moments.

and the thing is that he's just so, so in love with you, that he thanks his lucky stars every single night for having him being so close to flunking calc he had to get tutored by you all those years ago. and so he will one day get down on one knee and rely on that very same blessing in the hopes that he gets honored with spending his every waking hour making you the happiest he can.

and he saves up half of his check every month, writes his vows in his head every time he feels your skin against his, and knows that he will cross the bridge when the time is right. you're his person, and his future is yours to shape in your hand. his heart, big and bleeding and always held in his sleeve, has always been safe with you, anyways.

he really is a loverboy, but can you blame him?

You had been far from home for over two weeks: King Daeron had again requested Maekar’s attendance at a melee, this time hosted by Lord Baratheon in celebration of his grandson’s nameday. Storm’s End was not too far away; the journey to and from was in fact shorter than that to Dragonstone or King’s Landing, and Maekar traveled to both places with enough frequency to know of distance and the longing that came with it. But melees and tourneys, even if particularly uneventful as of late, brought back a different feeling altogether, and with each passing of the moon, the weight of it became harder and harder for Maekar to carry. 

Nonetheless, Maekar knew of duty. And you always loved him enough to learn how to shoulder the burden.

“Warm, honeyed milk for my wife,” Maekar grumbles, voice quiet and tense, as you step inside the dressing alcove in your shared chambers. “And the sweet biscuits she likes.”

The maids scatter as soon as he speaks. It’s the same every time, both the moodiness and the food request. He never asks for anything for himself: it is always your favorite drink and something sweet to go with it, and it is always done in automatic.

It had amused you at the beginning, and you had thought it to be something that would eventually change over time. He was very attentive when you were courting, and despite the moodiness, he was still a prince of the realm. But in the end, Maekar always ever put you first without giving himself a second thought, and that had not dwindled through the years.

“You should rest,” he adds, moving further inside the chamber as he unclips his cloak from around his neck. “We rode for too long. Sit, wife. Or lay down. You have been on your feet long enough.”

“And I am perfectly content with being on my feet for a moment still,” you reply with a small smile, not taking your eyes off him as he drapes his cloak over the edge of his scriptorium. “Although I would not mind your help in unlacing my dress.”

Maekar exhales, nodding softly, and treads your way as your words leave your mouth. He does not look back when the cloak slips to the floor.

The hearth burns quietly, a comforting presence that bathes the room in a soft, warm amber light, and the space smells faintly of cedar. Moonlight seeps in from the outside through a set of wall-height stained glass windows and wooden latticed screens, and reflects upon the stone in a broken kaleidoscope of colors.

The blonde reaches you, delicately resting his hands along the small of your back. He leans closer as soon as he touches you, his body finding a home next to yours almost as if on instinct. He breathes you in, taking in the softness of your gown and the warmth of your body, marveling at how the moonlight seems like stardust when reflecting over your hair and reveling in the way you draw breath. 

He does not close his eyes, does not dare to miss a second of the bliss he finds in merely existing in silence by your side. He feels it again, carved down deeply into his bones, the sensation he has had ever since the day you wed: that heart-numbing fullness, that soul-crushing beatitude. The blissfulness that comes from knowing you are but two halves of one whole. 

And he exhales. And he exists in the silence again.

His hands move quietly, nimble fingers working the ties in the lace as the hearth continues to burn. 

“I forgot to mention,” Maekar clears his throat, the sound brisk and sudden in the stillness. “I had no change to give this to you any sooner.”

You feel him shift behind you, resting his weight on one leg as he retrieves something from the small leather pouch he keeps tied to the hem of his breeches. He hands it to you over your shoulder, delicately, waiting only until your fingers have properly wrapped around the parcel to remove his hand. It moves back to its place among your back in a swift, careful motion, and he resumes his task.

You recognize the gift in a heartbeat.

“Candied apricots?” You smile, tilting your head. “I do not recall mentioning I wanted some. Did you send an envoy out to retreat them?”

Maekar hums, and leans closer. It is no extraordinary offering, nothing he could not request be brought to you as soon as the craving surfaced; and yet, the weight of the parcel in your hand sends a flutter down your chest.

“You are fond of them,” he says, simply, voice rough and raw and with its ever-present edge, but does it without missing a beat. “I will get you more.”

Your husband always speaks with a certainty that informs the world around you that there is nothing more important than what makes you happy. It is what he has always done: making the universe bend to your will, and always by his hand. It is the thought of a simple thing, a small parcel of dried summer fruit, purchased only because he knows you like it; and it becomes so much more.

His hands are still on your back when the last knot has been untied, and he lets them rest there as you rip the parcel open. You turn, and lean forward to press a soft, gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth as you whisper a quiet thank you. He does not smile, but his eyes still soften as he looks at you, burning with fervent devotion.

The moon continues its course above Summerhall, and the vastness of the chamber is perfumed with the scent of candied fruits. The warm feeling in Maekar’s chest threatens to swallow him whole when your lips brush against his, and he, as he always does, surrenders to the blissfulness of it.

from this prompt list. requests are open!