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summary: you arrive in paros for a peaceful wedding week and instead walk into a villa full of chaos, gossip, and friends who treat emotional damage like a group hobby. enzo, your very fake boyfriend, commits to the role with deeply suspicious enthusiasm—especially whenever you’re within a five-meter radius of anyone else.
author’s note: kicking things off with the most chaotic friend group in existence. I truly love all their interactions they're so funny and yes this may be an enzo fic but theo my beloved will always be the life of the party ( ♡ `▽´ ♡ )
♫ get him back! - olivia rodrigo. nav. chapters. more enzo.
Arrival Day
Villa Elysia — Paros, Greece
Paros smelled like sunscreen, ouzo lemonade, and terrible decisions.
The second you stepped out of the boat, hot Mediterranean air wrapped around your body like a damp hand. Your sundress stuck to the backs of your thighs immediately, which felt deeply disrespectful considering the amount of money you had spent on it and the fact that you had specifically chosen it because it was supposed to make you look effortlessly elegant.
Instead, you currently looked like someone who had fought the sun and lost.
The villa came into view a few minutes later, perched dramatically along the cliffside overlooking the sea like something ripped straight out of a luxury travel magazine. White stone walls gleamed beneath the sun while blue shutters framed enormous open windows facing the water. The entire place looked suspiciously like the sort of location where people either fell in love or made decisions they regretted for the next decade.
Given the people involved, probably both.
You adjusted the strap of your bag while following the narrow stone pathway toward the entrance. Somewhere nearby, music drifted through the open terrace doors alongside the unmistakable sound of Theo Nott shouting loudly enough to make himself everyone’s problem.
Mattheo’s voice drifted back from somewhere near the bar, too low to fully hear over Theo’s complaining, but Theo still reacted instinctively anyway, flipping him off without even turning around.
Mattheo, somehow, still laughed.
You weren’t sure what was more impressive. The fact that they could communicate almost entirely through insults, or the fact that it somehow worked.
“You look tense,” Enzo observed from beside you.
You glanced at him flatly. “I’m walking uphill in thirty degree weather while carrying luggage. Forgive me for lacking whimsy.”
“I can carry your bag.”
“I’d rather die.”
“See, that’s the sort of emotional openness I adore about you.”
Before you could respond, Enzo reached down and grabbed your hand.
You nearly stopped walking altogether.
The movement was so casual that it took your brain a moment to process it.
“What the fuck are you doing?” you hissed.
He looked genuinely confused by the question. “Holding your hand.”
“Why?”
Enzo released a long-suffering sigh, like you were the unreasonable one here. “Well couples generally do that, sweetheart. It’s called affection.”
You tried pulling away immediately.
Unfortunately, Lorenzo Berkshire had always possessed the deeply irritating combination of strong hands, arrogant confidence, and absolutely zero respect for personal boundaries.
Worse, your hand fit into his like it belonged there.
“You’re enjoying this far too much,” you informed him.
“Massively.”
His thumb brushed lazily across your knuckles while he guided you toward the villa entrance like this was the most natural thing in the world.
Annoyingly, your pulse betrayed you instantly.
Which was truly deeply inconvenient.
This was the man who had spent years making your life difficult purely because he found your reactions entertaining.
The man who smiled like he knew exactly how annoying he was and had no intention of changing.
The man who was currently pretending to be your boyfriend so your friends wouldn’t attempt to set you up with every eligible bachelor on the island.
And somehow he was acting far too convincing.
You hated that.
Because the worst part wasn’t that he was good at it.
It was that a small, traitorous part of you could almost believe him.
The terrace overlooked the sea in sweeping stretches of blue and gold while the rest of the group lounged around enormous cream-colored sofas with cocktails in hand. Pansy reclined dramatically across one of the outdoor chairs wearing enough diamonds to blind the entire island while Theo and Blaise argued over something completely incomprehensible near the bar.
Conversation stopped the second you and Enzo stepped onto the terrace holding hands.
The last time you had all been in the same place like this, none of you had known what you would become yet.
It had been easier then—back when the future was still a theoretical thing people joked about over late-night firewhisky and half-smoked joints. Back when Enzo thought he’d be playing Quidditch for the rest of his life.
Now he didn’t.
Retiring had been less dramatic than everyone expected. No scandal, no dramatic exit. Just a final season, a quiet announcement, and then him stepping into Berkshire Group like he’d always been headed there anyway. There were whispers, of course—there always were when someone like him stopped flying— but he never corrected them.
He didn’t need to.
Across from him, Hermione had stopped simply surviving politics and started mastering them. The Department of International Magical Co-operation had turned out to be exactly what she had been built for—languages, treaties, endless negotiations that required patience she once insisted she didn’t have.
Theo, meanwhile, had refused to explain anything about his work at all.
There were rumors. Ingredients that couldn’t be sourced through legal channels. Clients who never stayed in one place long enough to be traced. Something in the back streets of Knockturn Alley that people only referred to in lowered voices.
Theo never confirmed or denied any of it. He just smiled like he knew something the rest of the world didn’t.
Blaise had done what Blaise always did—turned taste into power.
His restaurants weren’t just restaurants anymore. They were institutions. Velvet-lit, reservation-only, spoken about in the same tone people used for ancestral vaults at Gringotts or private members’ clubs that didn’t officially exist on maps. If you knew, you knew. If you didn’t, you simply weren’t worthy.
Mattheo had gone in the opposite direction of all of them.
Charity work didn’t suit the version of him people remembered from school, and maybe that was the point. He worked with impoverished magical youth programs now—funding, outreach, rebuilding broken families and worse broken systems. It made him harder to place in conversations where people preferred labels. He didn’t seem to mind.
Draco and Harry finally put their longstanding rivalry to good use.
Auror partners, improbably efficient. The kind of duo that made criminals cower in fear. Draco still looked personally offended by most things in life, but underneath that carefully structured indifference, he was a force to be reckoned with. Harry still looked like he’d seen too much and refused to let it define him. Somehow, it worked.
Pansy, of course, hadn’t changed roles at all.
She had simply expanded hers.
London didn’t have an official social hierarchy. It just had Pansy Parkinson, and then everyone else clambering to get in her good graces. Invitations, influence, reputations that rose and fell depending on whether she mentioned your name in the right room.
And somehow, against all probability, all of you were here.
Together again.
At a wedding in Paros.
What could possibly go wrong?
Theo’s reaction lasted a fraction too long.
Not the shock—everyone had that—but the way his gaze flicked to Mattheo first, like checking for something before he spoke.
Mattheo didn’t look surprised at all.
He was already watching Theo instead of you.
Pansy blinked once. Then slowly lowered her drink.
“I might be more pissed than I thought,” she announced carefully. “Because surely Y/N and Lorenzo are not walking in holding hands right now.”
Theo’s jaw physically dropped.
“Sweet Salazar,” he breathed. “Berkshire, are you blackmailing her?”
Theo pointed directly at you. “There is absolutely no way she voluntarily agreed to date you.”
“See?” you told Enzo. “Even Theo thinks it’s inconceivable.”
Enzo looked down at you with an offended expression. “What exactly is so baffling about the fact that we’re dating?”
“Because,” Theo declared matter-of-factly, “you’re famously quite the little slut.”
A few people choked on their drinks.
Mattheo let out a short laugh at Theo’s comment, but it wasn’t aimed at Enzo. His eyes stayed on Theo the entire time, like he was waiting to see how far Theo would push it. Theo didn’t look back at him, but the corner of his mouth twitched anyway.
“I beg your pardon?” Enzo said slowly.
“I meant no offense,” Theo said, absolutely meaning offense. “I’m a certified slut myself, but I’ve embraced said sluttiness and profusely refuse to be shackled by monogamy.”
Enzo pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re a fucking idiot.”
You bit back a smile. “Theo has a point, actually.”
Theo looked immensely pleased. “Thank you.”
Enzo squeezed your hand slightly harder. “You’re both very cruel to me considering I’m currently in a loving committed relationship.”
You glared at him with pure loathing.
The asshole looked absolutely delighted.
“You are unbearable.”
“And yet you chose me, love.”
You opened your mouth.
Then closed it.
Because technically, unfortunately, he was right.
The group immediately descended into chaos after that.
Questions flew from every direction while Ginny physically dragged you toward the outdoor seating area beside Hermione with the sort of intensity usually reserved for murder investigations.
“How did this happen?” Ginny demanded.
“When did this happen?” Hermione added immediately after.
“Did hell freeze over?” Theo supplied in astonishment.
“Did you hit your head?” Blaise asked you from across the room.
You froze.
Completely froze.
Because in all fairness, fake dating had sounded considerably more convincing on a boat in the middle of the ocean than it did standing in front of your closest friends waiting for an explanation.
Unfortunately, everyone was staring at you expectantly now.
You turned toward Enzo slowly.
The bastard looked perfectly relaxed.
Enzo leaned back against the sofa with one arm stretched lazily behind you while the corner of his mouth lifted into a smirk. He looked disgustingly attractive in the late afternoon sun, which felt deeply unfair considering the circumstances.
“Honestly?” Enzo said.
Everyone immediately looked at him.
“I couldn’t keep my eyes off of her at the engagement party.”
Your head snapped toward him.
“She ignored me for most of the night,” he continued. “Actually, no. She insulted me for most of the night.”
“That part I believe,” Theo muttered.
You stared at him carefully, trying to figure out whether he was improvising or genuinely insane.
Probably both.
“I finally asked her out,” he said. “She told me no twice.”
“Three times,” you corrected automatically.
His eyes flickered toward yours immediately, bright with amusement.
“Right,” he said softly. “Three times.”
Ginny gasped dramatically. “Oh, she made you grovel.”
“She did,” Enzo agreed solemnly. “It was horrible. I suffered greatly.”
“You’re so dramatic.”
“I was emotionally wounded.”
“You survived.”
“Barely.”
Laughter erupted around the terrace.
Then he looked directly at you.
“But honestly,” he added, his voice lowering slightly, “I would’ve gotten on my knees and begged if that’s what it took for her to say yes.”
The way he said it made your stomach do something profoundly unhelpful.
Which was ridiculous.
Because Lorenzo Berkshire flirted with everyone. He just happened to be particularly committed to tormenting you specifically.
The terrace erupted instantly.
Pansy clutched Hermione’s arm with genuine delight while Theo looked personally aggrieved by the entire situation. Meanwhile you simply stared at Enzo because what the actual fuck.
He sounded convincing.
Not smooth in the way Enzo usually flirted either. Not teasing or performative or careless. There was something lower in his voice now. Something annoyingly believable.
Ginny sighed wistfully into her drink. “This is juicy. I feel like I’m back in school.”
“I miss Hogwarts gossip,” Pansy agreed.
Hermione looked horrified. “I don’t.”
“I do,” Theo said with a smirk. “Bring back public scandal!”
Pansy sat up straighter. “Remember when Lavender Brown slapped Zacharias Smith during breakfast?”
“Well deserved,” Ginny said.
“Remember when Theo tried dating two girls at once and accidentally invited both of them to Hogsmeade?”
Theo frowned thoughtfully.
“I genuinely forgot.”
“You’re genuinely stupid,” Draco informed him.
Pansy leaned back slightly. “Some things never change. You lot have always been sluts, especially Lorenzo.”
Blaise raised an eyebrow. “He’s managed to avoid every serious relationship until now.”
“Which is suspicious,” Ginny added immediately.
Pansy tilted her head. “Or strategic.”
Across the table, Harry glanced between you and Enzo. “You two actually look like you might kill each other or get married. There’s no in between.”
“Comforting,” you muttered.
Theo leaned forward. “So what, Berkshire finally decided to grow up?”
Enzo’s smile didn’t change. “I’ve always been mature.”
The group laughed immediately.
Mattheo snorted into his drink before glancing toward Enzo.
“Berkshire somehow dated half the castle without ever getting hexed. Still impressive, honestly.”
“Oh please,” Pansy scoffed. “Girls practically lined up for him.”
Enzo shrugged nonchalantly. “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.”
“I wasn’t aware you were a gentleman,” you quipped.
The group erupted into boisterous laughter.
Ginny pointed accusingly. “Lorenzo clearly has a type.”
“I do not.”
“You most certainly do,” Hermione argued,
Mattheo smirked. “Pretty eyes and poor judgment.”
Theo raised his glass. “Low self-preservation instincts.”
“It’s not my fault I’m irresistible.”
You took a slow sip of your drink before speaking. “Mhm. I remember the black book.”
Enzo went completely still.
Every head toward you instantly.
Pansy looked delighted already. “Oh my god.”
Enzo didn’t speak immediately.
Just looked at you for half a second too long—like he was deciding whether to deny it or flee altogether.
Theo sat forward. “I forgot about the black book.”
“What black book?” Hermione asked immediately.
You smiled sweetly. “Lorenzo kept a list.”
"Of all his dalliances and conquests," Theo supplied.
Enzo looked like he wanted the ocean to swallow him whole.
“Wasn’t it organized by grade level?” you continued thoughtfully. “Alphabetized too, if I remember correctly.”
Theo was laughing so hard he nearly dropped his drink.
“And color coded,” you added.
“Oh, this is too good,” Ginny whispered gleefully.
Enzo stared at you for a moment.
His eyes narrowed.
Then, before you could react, his arm slid around your waist and pulled you firmly against his side.
Your body reacted before your brain did—just for a fraction of a second. Like it remembered something you had worked very hard to forget.
“I’m a changed man.”
The movement startled you enough that your breath caught slightly.
“The past is the past,” Enzo said smoothly, smiling at the group while his fingers rested warm against your waist. “I only have eyes for you now, sweetheart.”
You genuinely considered wringing his stupid neck.
You slid your hand down Enzo’s leg under the table and squeezed hard enough to make him inhale sharply. His expression didn’t change, but his fingers tightened at your waist in retaliation.
Mutual destruction.
How very reassuring.
“Aren’t I a lucky woman?”
“Get a room, you two,” Pansy called.
You rolled your eyes and slipped out of Enzo’s hold before the warmth of his hand could settle too comfortably beneath your skin.
Theo grinned widely, which could only really mean trouble. “Wait—hold on. That reminds me.”
You closed your eyes briefly.
You already hated whatever was coming next.
Theo leaned back in his chair, pointing accusingly toward Enzo. “Berkshire used to be unhinged about you, you know.”
Enzo didn’t look up. “I’m sitting right here.”
“Yeah, and?” Theo said cheerfully. “You used to read every single article about her when she was in Paris.”
That finally got your attention.
Not because it surprised you.
But because for the first time that evening, Enzo looked genuinely uncomfortable.
The grip on his glass tightened slightly.
“That is categorically untrue,” he said flatly.
Pansy lifted a brow. “Is it?”
Ginny immediately sat forward, delighted. “Nott, please explain in excruciating detail.”
Theo looked far too pleased with himself. “Oh, he was religious about it. Every interview, every feature, every miniscule piece she did for those French magazines—he’d read them like scripture.”
Blaise nodded. “That is unfortunately accurate.”
Draco didn’t even look up from his drink. “Painfully accurate.”
Hermione blinked. “You tracked Y/N's career?”
“Theo is exaggerating," Enzo said through his teeth.
Mattheo, from across the table, finally smirked. “He absolutely isn’t.”
Enzo shot him a warning look.
But Theo only leaned forward further, like he was just getting warmed up. “He devoured anything and everything about you.”
“That’s insane,” you said before you could stop yourself.
The second it left your mouth, Enzo turned toward you.
Too quickly.
Too sharply.
“There’s nothing wrong with staying informed,” he said defensively.
Ginny burst out laughing. “Informed. Right.”
Pansy looked genuinely delighted now. “So while Y/N was living her glamorous Paris life, Lorenzo was basically devouring her press coverage like a lunatic?”
“I’m not a lunatic.”
Theo raised his glass. “Right. And I’m the Chosen One.”
A quiet laugh escaped you despite yourself.
You tilted your head slightly, watching him now instead of the others. “So you were reading about me.”
Not a question. Just a gentle confirmation, like you were testing how it sounded out loud.
Enzo didn’t answer right away.
Which, unfortunately for him, said everything.
You leaned back in your chair, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make it uncomfortable before adding lightly, “That’s… actually quite sweet.”
His eyes flicked to yours.
A warning in them now. Subtle, but there.
You ignored it.
“A little strange, maybe,” you continued thoughtfully, “but sweet.”
A few people made faint, amused sounds around the table.
Enzo exhaled slowly through his nose. “It’s not—”
“It’s fine,” you cut in easily, before he could defend himself too hard. Then, with a small tilt of your glass toward him: “We’re dating. You’re allowed to be a little obsessed with me.”
The table reacted instantly.
Theo choked. “Oh my—”
Pansy looked like she might combust from joy. “I love her.”
Ginny was grinning into her drink. “She’s not wrong, actually.”
Enzo, however, went very still.
A muscle in his jaw ticked once.
“Right,” he said slowly, like he was choosing each word carefully. “Of course.”
You smiled innocently at him over your glass.
“Good,” you said. “Because I saw you on a few magazine covers too.”
That made him look up fully now.
“Oh?”
“Mostly in passing,” you added. “You were always doing something vaguely expensive-looking in a suit. It got repetitive.”
Theo made a strangled sound into his drink.
Draco actually laughed out loud.
Blaise looked faintly impressed. “That’s fair.”
Enzo, however, didn’t react to any of them.
He was only looking at you now.
“You read about me,” he said quietly.
The teasing was gone now.
Completely.
You held his gaze, expression perfectly calm. “There’s nothing wrong with staying informed.”
A beat.
Theo leaned back, exhaling dramatically. “Right. This is officially worse than I thought.”
That broke it again—cleanly, messily, like it always did with them.
Ginny immediately clapped her hands. “Okay. No. I’m done. I need answers.”
Hermione was already standing. “Come on.”
She reached for your wrist before you could object.
“We’re continuing this interrogation inside.”
The kitchen sat just off the terrace, all white marble and open windows letting warm sea air drift through gauzy curtains.
You barely made it three steps inside before Ginny grabbed your wrist.
“Oh absolutely not,” she said immediately. “You’re explaining everything.”
Hermione followed behind her carrying her drink with far too much calm for someone clearly enjoying this.
“Start from the beginning.”
“There isn’t much to explain.”
Ginny stared at you blankly.
“Y/N.”
“What?”
“You disappeared for one engagement party and came back dating Lorenzo Berkshire. That requires several explanations and possibly a PowerPoint.”
You grabbed a bottle of water from the counter mostly to avoid looking at either of them. Outside on the terrace, Theo was still loudly reenacting Enzo nearly choking over the black book comment while everyone laughed.
“I just,” you started carefully, “ran into him.”
Ginny looked deeply unimpressed. “You don’t genuinely expect us to believe that.”
“Trust me, I wasn’t expecting it either.”
Hermione frowned. “I thought you hated him?”
“I never said I didn’t.”
“I knew it!” Ginny exclaimed. “All the arguing and fighting is just some fucked up form of foreplay, isn’t it?”
“The sex has to be insane.”
Your cheeks flushed the same shade as her hair. “Gin!”
“What?” Ginny said, completely unbothered. “The two of you have been at it since school.”
“Look,” you said with a sigh, “whatever is between me and Lorenzo is complicated, alright?”
“So you like him,” Hermione accused.
You unscrewed the water bottle slowly. “We’re just seeing where things go.”
Which technically was not a lie.
Probably.
Hermione leaned against the counter, studying you carefully. “And how does he feel?”
You nearly answered immediately with something sarcastic before your brain, unhelpfully, replayed the sound of his voice earlier.
That stupid low sincerity he slipped into sometimes without warning.
Deeply irritating behavior, honestly.
“He’s being dramatic because there’s an audience,” you said finally.
Ginny barked out a laugh. “Please. Berkshire doesn’t look at girls like that.”
You frowned slightly. “Like what?”
“Like they’re the only person in the room worth paying attention to.”
“That feels dramatic.”
Hermione took a sip of her drink. “It’s really not.”
You looked between the two of them skeptically.
Ginny crossed her arms. “Do you know how irritating this is for me personally? I spent an embarrassing amount of effort trying to set you up with Mattheo.”
That caught your attention despite yourself.
“Sorry to disappoint.”
“Tell that to Mattheo,” Ginny repeated. “He’s attractive, funny, emotionally functional, and significantly less of an arsehole than Berkshire. It would’ve been perfect.”
You glanced absentmindedly toward the terrace.
Mattheo sat stretched back lazily in one of the lounge chairs while Theo talked with his hands beside him. Enzo stood near the railing with Draco and Blaise, sunlight catching the sharp lines of his face as he laughed at something Blaise said.
Then, like he felt you looking at him, Enzo turned his head.
His eyes found yours immediately.
Predictably, he looked unbearably smug the second he caught you staring.
“And there it is,” Ginny sighed dramatically.
You looked away from him first. “What?”
“Y/N,” Hermione said gently, “that man has been obsessed with you since Hogwarts.”
You snorted softly. “You can’t possibly believe that.”
“Oh, I absolutely do,” Hermione replied.
“Why?”
Hermione blinked once like the answer was obvious. “Because I have eyes.”
She said it like it was the simplest thing in the world. Like there wasn’t anything confusing about the way Enzo looked at you.
“I don’t even know what that means.”
“Y/N,” Ginny interrupted, “he got detention sixth year because Cormac McLaggen asked if you were single.”
“He threatened him with a chair,” Hermione clarified.
Your eyebrows lifted despite yourself.
“You’re both clearly unwell.”
“It’s true,” Ginny confirmed. “Theo still brings it up when he wants to embarrass him.”
You looked back toward the terrace again before you could stop yourself.
Enzo was smiling at something Draco said, head tipped back slightly as late sunlight spilled across his skin. Relaxed. Easy. Beautiful in that infuriating effortless way he had always been beautiful.
Then he glanced toward the kitchen again.
Straight toward you.
Honestly, it was starting to feel less like a coincidence and more like a problem you absolutely had no intention of dealing with.
Hermione followed your line of sight before sighing softly. “Abort the Mattheo plan.”
Ginny groaned dramatically. “Oh come on.”
“No, seriously,” Hermione replied. “Look at him.”
You shouldn’t have looked.
Unfortunately, you did.
Enzo was still watching you.
Theo said something beside him that made everyone else laugh, but Enzo barely reacted because his attention remained fixed entirely on you.
The conversation around him kept going, but it might as well have been underwater.
He didn’t react to any of it.
Heat crawled slowly up your neck.
“You still think he isn’t absolutely head over heels for you?” Hermione informed you calmly.
You tore your eyes away from him. “You’re both insane.”
“Maybe,” Ginny allowed. “But if he breaks your heart, I’m legally allowed to kill him.”
“I’ll help,” Hermione offered.
You softened a little at that. Because this was why you loved them. Not because they hovered or pried or treated you delicately. Ginny certainly never had.
But because they cared.
Loudly. Aggressively, sometimes.
Still, they cared.
You laughed despite yourself, shaking your head as the three of you drifted back toward the terrace.
The second you stepped outside again, Enzo’s attention snapped toward you instantly.
Honestly, at this point it was becoming slightly ridiculous.
Hermione suddenly sat up straighter like she’d remembered something important. “Actually, that reminds me.”
You felt immediate dread.
“Since you two lovebirds are dating,” she continued brightly, “you can share a room.”
You turned toward her immediately. “Mione...”
“It’s perfect, actually,” she said, entirely too pleased with herself. “That frees up the last room for Ron and Susan.”
“We can absolutely sleep separately,” you argued.
Enzo looked personally offended by the suggestion.
Theo wolf-whistled loudly. “Berkshire sharing a room with the girl he’s been obsessed with since Hogwarts. This is better than television.”
“You people are exhausting,” you informed them.
“And yet deeply entertaining,” Blaise replied.
Hermione stood, grabbing your wrist before you could protest further. “Come on. I’ll show you both upstairs.”
The boys immediately started making obnoxious noises behind you while Ginny laughed herself breathless against Pansy’s shoulder.
You refused to look at Enzo.
You could still feel him grinning anyway.
“Lorenzo.”
Enzo snapped to attention like an obedient pet. “Coming, love.”
The group collectively lost their minds once again.
The bedroom was beautiful in the infuriating way all expensive villas were beautiful. White linen sheets covered a massive bed positioned directly across from open balcony doors overlooking the sea. Late sunlight spilled across the floor in warm golden streaks while sheer curtains moved lazily in the breeze.
You stopped in the doorway.
Something about it didn’t feel like a joke anymore. Not in the way the rest of the day had.
There was one bed.
You were beginning to suspect this entire trip was a punishment.
A beautiful, expensive, Mediterranean punishment.
Or worse.
A setup you didn’t fully understand yet.
And unfortunately, Lorenzo Berkshire was apparently part of the package.
“This has to be a joke.”
Enzo looked over your shoulder.
“It’s fate.”
“Oh, this is delicious,” Theo said from somewhere behind you.
“Leave,” you ordered.
“No.”
“Now.”
Theo grinned before Draco physically dragged him away from the doorway while everyone else laughed and filtered back downstairs. On the way out, Theo brushed past Mattheo slightly too close.
Mattheo didn’t move.
He just tilted his head a fraction, like he was listening to something only Theo had said without speaking.
The second the room finally emptied, silence settled between you and Enzo.
You crossed your arms slowly. “This is your fault.”
“My fault?” he repeated. “You’re the one who brought up the black book in front of everyone.”
“You deserved it.”
Lorenzo sighed in defeat.
“Probably.”
You hated that he admitted that so easily.
He set his suitcase near the dresser before glancing toward you again, amusement still lingering at the corners of his mouth.
“You’re adorable when you’re angry.”
“I’m going to push you off this balcony.”
“You’d miss me.”
“Be serious.”
“I am serious.”
That annoyed you more than it should have.
Because beneath the teasing and sarcasm, he was looking at you strangely again.
Too soft. Too attentive. Like he was studying your expression for answers you had no intention of giving him.
It made your chest feel uncomfortably tight.
You looked away first.
“I’m not sharing a bed with you.”
“Not even if I ask really nicely?”
You glared at him.
“Fine, I’ll take the couch.” Enzo sighed.
Then that stupid smirk of his appeared again.
“But my offer still stands. If you ever feel lonely in that big, comfy bed—”
“I’d sooner cuddle a cactus.”
“Well you have called me a prick on multiple occassions…”
“Lorenzo.”
He answered immediately.
“Yes, love?"
He said it too easily. Like the nickname rolled off of his tongue without even thinking twice.
God.
You were going to kill him by the end of the week.
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Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
“cause she's bittersweet, she knocks me off of my feet, and I can't help myself I don't want anyone else."
word count: 4,180.
summary: on your way to the wedding week in greece, you and enzo are unexpectedly reunited on a luxurious yacht, where long-suppressed history and unresolved tension resurface. as playful banter and sharp chemistry reignite between you, an impulsive idea shifts the dynamic of your already complicated relationship.
author’s note: we're kicking things off with a fancy ass yacht because why not? this chapter is pivotal because it kicks off a very unhinged plot that will be put to the test during a very romantic week in paradise. hope you enjoy x
♫ just the girl - the click five. nav. chapters. more enzo.
Arrival Day
The Aquila Yacht — Aegean Sea, Greece
The boat ride to Paros was supposed to be relaxing.
That was what Draco had said while shoving tickets into Enzo’s hand two nights earlier with all the emotional warmth of a government official issuing a parking fine.
“Try not to start any problems before the wedding week begins.”
Which was a fascinating request coming from Draco Malfoy considering the man spent most of his adolescence being a public nuisance at best.
At the time, Enzo assumed the warning was unnecessary.
Then he arrived at the private marina in Mykonos and saw you standing near the dock in a pale sundress and oversized sunglasses looking unfairly gorgeous at ten o’clock in the morning.
Suddenly, Draco’s concerns felt significantly more reasonable.
Enzo slowed for half a second.
Not enough for anyone else to notice. Years of networking events, interviews, sponsorship deals, and public appearances had taught him how to keep his expression under control. From the outside, he looked perfectly relaxed. Confident. Unbothered.
Internally, however, things were already going spectacularly wrong.
Two weeks had passed since he’d last seen you at Draco and Hermione’s engagement party, which should’ve been enough time for the shock to wear off. It should’ve been enough time for him to stop thinking about the way you’d looked across a crowded room and for whatever strange hold you’d always had over him to finally loosen its grip.
Instead, seeing you again felt like being hit directly in the chest.
You looked up from your phone the moment he approached, and your expression remained completely neutral as your gaze settled on him. For some reason, that felt worse than if you’d slapped him across the face.
Anger he could work with, because hatred at least required emotion.
Indifference, however, was an entirely different problem.
“Berkshire,” you greeted.
The familiar irritation in your voice settled somewhere dangerously close to relief, and Enzo hated how quickly he recognized it. A decade had passed, yet he still knew the difference between your genuine annoyance and the version you performed for everyone else.
“Sweetheart.”
Your eyes narrowed immediately.
There it was again. That tiny spark of irritation you never quite managed to hide around him, the same one that used to appear whenever he pushed your buttons just to see your reaction.
Merlin, he’d missed that.
“You’re late.”
Enzo glanced at his watch before looking back at you. “I’m three minutes early.”
“As I said,” you said flatly. “Late.”
A laugh escaped him before he could stop it. Some things, apparently, never changed, and for the first time since arriving, he found himself genuinely grateful for that.
The yacht itself was absurd.
Sleek, oversized, and aggressively ostentatious in a way only Draco Malfoy could justify without shame.
White leather seating curved across the upper deck. Champagne chilled in silver buckets beside trays of fruit nobody actually intended to eat. Somewhere below, soft music drifted through hidden speakers, blending into the sound of water against the hull.
Enzo barely noticed any of it.
Because you were sitting across from him.
Because sunlight kept catching in your hair.
Because apparently ten years hadn’t improved his self-control whatsoever.
Which was unfortunate.
Particularly because he’d spent the last decade becoming very good at pretending he had some.
Professionally speaking, life had worked out rather well.
After Hogwarts, he signed with Puddlemere immediately, spent three years becoming one of the league’s most marketable players, and then somehow found himself turning into the exact kind of businessman he used to mock.
He built a life around investments, brand partnerships, property developments, and an honestly ridiculous amount of money. His mother liked to remind him regularly that he’d become respectable, which Enzo personally viewed as a rather unfortunate character flaw.
The worst part was that he was actually good at it. The Berkshire Group had offices in London, Milan, and New York now, and his face appeared in magazines more often than he cared to admit. Half the wizarding world seemed convinced that he had his life perfectly together.
The joke, of course, was that none of them knew a thing.
Because despite the career, the money, and the women, there had always been one person he couldn’t quite forget.
Unfortunately, that person was currently sitting twenty feet away glaring at him over a pair of sunglasses.
“Are you going to stand there staring at me all morning or did you plan on actually sitting down?”
Enzo dropped into the seat across from you with a lazy grin.
“It wasn’t an invitation.”
“When has that ever stopped me?”
“You’re an absolute pain in the arse.”
“I missed you too, love.”
The boat eased away from the dock, the marina shrinking in the horizon as the sea opened up in slow blue stretches.
Enzo stretched his arms across the back of the seat while watching you pretend to read.
Pretend being the key word there.
You hadn’t turned a single page in nearly five minutes.
“You know,” he said conversationally, “most people would consider this romantic.”
You stared at him.
“Most people haven’t sustained severe brain damage from years of playing Quidditch.”
“Cruel.”
“Accurate.”
Enzo grinned despite himself.
The truly deranged part was that every insult out of your mouth only made him want to grin wider.
Ten years ago, you would’ve blushed after saying something like that.
Now you looked him dead in the eye like you genuinely hoped the sea swallowed him whole.
Fucking hell.
That really shouldn’t have made him so goddamn hard.
The breeze shifted across the deck, tugging loose strands of hair across your face. Without thinking, you tucked them behind your ear while reaching for your drink, and the simple movement hit Enzo with an uncomfortable rush of familiarity.
You used to do that while studying.
Whenever you got frustrated with an essay or lost in thought over a textbook, your fingers would automatically brush your hair back in the exact same way. It was such a small thing, the kind of detail nobody should reasonably remember after so long, yet Enzo remembered it instantly.
Bollocks.
He looked away first, pretending to focus on the sea stretching endlessly around him. Unfortunately, that strategy had never worked particularly well where you were concerned. Before long, his gaze gravitated toward you instinctively.
“You’re staring again,” you said without looking up from your book.
“I’m appreciating the scenery.”
“The sea’s behind you.”
A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“I wasn’t talking about the sea.”
Slowly, you lowered the book into your lap and fixed him with a look that suggested you were reconsidering the moral dilemma of casting an unforgivable curse.
“You’ve got a truly inspirational lack of shame, Berkshire.”
“I prefer persistence.”
“You’re exhausting.”
Enzo rested an arm across the back of his chair, completely unbothered by the insult.
“You used to like me.”
“That was before my frontal lobe developed,” you replied smoothly. “People grow.”
Christ.
The worst part was that he genuinely couldn't tell whether he wanted to laugh or drag you into the nearest empty cabin. Possibly both.
Enzo pressed a hand dramatically against his chest.
“You’re genuinely vicious now.”
“No,” you corrected calmly. “Now I just say it out loud.”
The smile on his face faltered slightly.
Most people would've missed the implication entirely, but Enzo didn't.
A decade ago, you used to soften your opinions around him. You used to bite back comments and let things slide, always worried about hurting someone's feelings. Now you looked him directly in the eye and said exactly what you thought.
Something sharp twisted low in his stomach before he shoved the feeling aside.
“What’s the point of attending a wedding if you’re not willing to have a little fun?”
You took another sip of champagne.
“I’m here to support my friends, not sleep with anything that has a pulse.”
“I’m perfectly capable of doing both.”
“Only because you’re physically incapable of keeping it in your pants.”
Enzo smiled slowly.
“You think about my pants a surprising amount for someone who allegedly hates me.”
Your expression remained perfectly composed.
“I’ve already seen what’s inside your pants and it's hardly worth revisiting.”
His cock twitched instantly.
Bloody hell.
There was honestly something deeply wrong with him.
Any normal man would've found your constant insults concerning. Enzo found them outrageously arousing. It was genuinely fucked up.
Even when you were younger, you had always been funny beneath the softness. Most people only saw the sweet girl who followed rules and minded her business, but Enzo remembered the muttered comments during class that used to catch him so off guard he'd nearly spit pumpkin juice in Professor Flitwick's face more than once.
Most people never noticed that side of you.
Enzo always did.
Which was exactly the problem.
Your phone buzzed against the side table between you, pulling him from his thoughts. You glanced down at the screen and immediately looked annoyed, which naturally made him interested.
Before you could stop him, Enzo leaned forward just enough to read the messages lighting up your screen.
GINNY:
Please shag someone this week. Mione and I are begging.
HERMIONE:
Mattheo asked about you earlier. I think you two would really get on.
GINNY:
Forget about getting on. You need to get on him. Riddle is hot, rich, and emotionally intelligent. The man is right up your alley, babe.
Enzo leaned back in his chair with a low whistle, the kind that suggested he was already far too entertained by something he absolutely shouldn't have been entertaining himself with.
“Emotionally intelligent,” he repeated. “Bit insulting to the rest of us, honestly.”
You reached for your phone at once, clicking your tongue in annoyance. “Were you raised in a barn?”
“A mansion, actually.”
“You nosy, insufferable prick,” you said with a glare. “You can’t read people’s private messages.”
A shiver ran down his spine at the scorching insults.
The fact that he still had the ability to rile you up after all this time genuinely thrilled him.
If he had a mind healer, this would most certainly be the first facet of his dazzling personality a professional would psychoanalyze.
“I absolutely can if you leave them directly in front of me,” he replied without missing a beat.
You stared at him for a long moment, debating several options that would almost certainly ruin the mood and possibly your criminal record, before exhaling and placing your phone back on the table with visible irritation.
“Your friends are right,” Enzo said smoothly, stretching his arm along the back of his chair like he had nowhere else to be and all the time in the world to annoy you. “You do need a good shag.”
“What I need,” you replied sweetly, “is for you to fall overboard.”
“See,” he murmured, as though genuinely considering it, “that one felt hostile.”
“It was meant to.”
His gaze drifted briefly to the water, sunlight flickering across the surface in slow, careless patterns, before he looked back at you again. His expression had shifted slightly, casual on the surface but sharper underneath it.
“Mattheo’s not a bad option though.”
He said it like it was nothing. Like it didn’t matter at all. Unfortunately, it mattered a very concerning amount.
Enzo leaned back further in his chair, settling into something deliberately relaxed. “Too bad he’s not your type.”
Your eyebrows lifted slightly above the rim of your sunglasses. “You don’t know my type.”
“I do, actually.”
You tilted your head, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make him work for it. “Go on then. Enlighten me.”
He tapped a finger lightly against his glass, pretending to think, though the look in his eyes suggested he had already decided long before he spoke.
“Emotionally unavailable,” he said lazily. “Bad at listening. Overconfident. Makes questionable decisions and somehow still expects to be forgiven.”
You held his gaze for a beat longer than necessary.
“That’s not my type.”
“It used to be.”
Your smile was sharp when it came. “How convenient that it also describes you.”
“If the shoe fits, love.”
“Careful,” you said lightly. “Before I throw the shoe directly at your arrogant head.”
“Keep going, sweetheart,” he teased, leaning in just slightly now, eyes bright with it. “I’m so close.”
You wrinkled your nose in disgust. “You’re revolting.”
“That’s not a denial.”
A sigh slipped out of you as you leaned back again, the kind of exhausted patience usually reserved for particularly persistent disasters. “Do you ever get tired of hearing your own voice?”
“No,” he said immediately. Then, softer but sharper in intent, “Do you ever get tired of pretending I don’t affect you?”
The question landed more cleanly than it should have, sharper than you were prepared for.
For just a moment, you hesitated.
Not long—barely enough to register to anyone else.
But Enzo noticed.
He always did.
He shifted forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees now, attention sharpening in a way that made the space between you feel suddenly smaller.
“You always do that,” he added.
“Do what?”
“That thing where you go quiet when I get close.”
Your eyes flicked up, sharper now. “You’re delusional.”
“Maybe,” he agreed easily, though his gaze didn’t move. “But you didn’t answer the question.”
“What question?”
His eyes dropped briefly to your mouth before returning to yours, slower this time, as if he were choosing not to acknowledge it.
“Why Mattheo?”
You blinked once. “What about him?”
“Do you like him?”
The words came too quickly, too cleanly, like he hadn’t meant to let them out that fast. He didn’t like that he’d asked, and he liked even less how much he wanted the answer to be no.
“Why does it matter?” you asked.
“It doesn’t,” he said at once.
Too easily.
He reached for his glass, turning it slowly between his fingers as if the conversation had already lost interest for him, though the tension in his posture said otherwise.
“Just doesn’t strike me as your usual standard,” he added lightly.
Your gaze sharpened instantly. “My usual standard?”
“Mmm,” he hummed. “You’ve never been particularly interested in obvious choices.”
There was a pause then, the kind that tried very hard to pass itself off as casual and failed miserably.
You studied him for a moment longer than necessary. “Are you trying to insult me or Mattheo?”
“Why would I insult you?”
“Because you’re bored.”
“Never.”
You gave him a look that suggested you didn’t believe a single word he had ever said in his life.
He exhaled lightly, as though you were the difficult one in this scenario. “I’m just saying. Riddle seems… simple.”
“Simple,” you repeated flatly.
“Predictable,” he corrected. “A safe option. The reformed bad boy turned charity sweetheart. Very approved by Hermione Granger energy.”
Despite yourself, your mouth twitched like it might have been the start of a smile.
“And you think I don’t like safe options?”
Enzo’s eyes flicked to you immediately, sharp and instinctive, before he forced them back into something more casual.
“I think you get bored easily,” he said.
You leaned back into your chair, watching him over the rim of your sunglasses. “You think a lot of things about me.”
“I have to,” he replied. “You don’t exactly volunteer information.”
“That’s because it’s none of your bloody business.”
A pause settled between you again, heavier this time, though neither of you acknowledged it for what it was.
Then Enzo exhaled, lighter again, as if he hadn’t just been watching you a second too closely.
“So. Mattheo?”
You let out a long sigh. “Why do you care?”
“I don’t,” he said immediately.
Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “I just don’t want you stuck talking to someone who can’t keep up.”
You looked at him for a long moment, expression unreadable, before shaking your head slightly.
“You’re not subtle, Berkshire.”
Enzo smiled. “I’m not trying to be.”
And somehow, annoyingly, he looked completely convinced of that.
“You’re annoying when you smirk like that,” you informed him.
“You’re beautiful when you’re mean to me.”
Your expression shifted, just slightly, the kind of flicker most people would miss entirely.
Enzo didn’t.
Of course he didn’t.
The problem with knowing someone at sixteen was that parts of them stayed carved into you permanently. Tiny things. Little reactions. Habits. Expressions.
He still knew exactly when you were uncomfortable.
Still knew when your sarcasm sharpened because you were deflecting.
Still knew the difference between your real smile and the practiced polite ones.
And apparently that knowledge was going to kill him someday.
“I heard about Daphne,” you said casually, like you were commenting on the weather rather than casually dragging his entire recent romantic history into the Mediterranean sunlight.
Enzo blinked once, slow and deliberate, the kind of pause that usually meant he was deciding whether to lie, deflect, or make a joke.
“What about her?”
You shrugged one shoulder, gaze fixed far too carefully on the horizon, where the sea met the sky in a line so clean it almost looked staged. “Nothing. Just heard you broke up.”
That earned you a longer look.
Enzo studied you properly now, not the lazy, half-interested attention he usually gave the world, but something sharper underneath it. Your voice had been steady, your posture controlled, your sunglasses angled just enough to hide your expression.
Calm. Deliberate. Entirely too casual.
He knew you well enough to know it was anything but.
“You sound curious,” he said lightly.
“You sound defensive,” you shot back without missing a beat.
A faint smile tugged at his mouth. “Why did you bring her up?”
“I can’t imagine it would be fun running into your ex-girlfriend at a wedding,” you replied, still not looking at him. “Small island. Limited escape routes. Emotional entanglements everywhere.”
Enzo let out a quiet hum, leaning back in his chair like the entire conversation was mildly entertaining rather than slightly disarming. “Hmm. I’m having loads of fun with you right now.”
“I’m not your ex.”
No.
You were something far worse.
You definitely weren’t Daphne.
And that was the problem.
Because Daphne had been clean lines and polished expectations. She had been the kind of relationship that made sense on paper, the kind his mother approved of immediately and his social circle nodded at without question. She was elegant dinners, planned appearances, and conversations that never accidentally spiraled into anything too real.
She also had expectations Enzo had never quite managed to meet, the kind that required a level of certainty he’d never been especially good at offering.
It had ended quietly, almost politely, with all the correct words said in all the wrong emotional places—which, in hindsight, was probably the most damning part of it.
“So,” you said after a beat, shifting the weight of the conversation before it could settle too heavily, “what exactly happened between you two?”
“I don’t want to talk about Daphne.”
That, of course, made you look at him differently.
One brow lifted slightly as you finally turned your head toward him. “So she did break your heart.”
Enzo gave a small, noncommittal shrug, eyes flicking briefly back to the water as though it held something more interesting than the conversation. “Something like that.”
“I didn’t even think you had a heart to begin with.”
That made him huff a laugh despite himself.
“I think you think about me more than you care to admit.”
You didn’t even blink. “I think you flatter yourself constantly.”
“That’s because I’m very flattering.”
You rolled your eyes and leaned further back into the lounge chair, letting the sun catch the edge of your sunglasses as the wind shifted around both of you. For a few seconds, the conversation eased into silence, the kind that wasn’t quite comfortable but wasn’t quite tense either.
It hovered somewhere in between, fragile and unclaimed.
Then suddenly, horribly, something clicked in Enzo’s head.
An idea.
The kind that arrived fully formed and immediately felt like a bad decision wearing a charming smile.
He stared at you for half a second too long.
You didn’t notice at first. Or maybe you did and simply chose to ignore it, which was worse.
“We should pretend to date,” he said at last.
For better or for worse, that got your attention.
You went completely still.
Slowly, deliberately, you lowered your sunglasses just enough for him to see your eyes properly. The expression behind them was unreadable in the way that usually meant he had either said something genius or something deeply, irreversibly stupid.
“…What?”
Enzo smiled lazily, despite the fact that his pulse had just decided to accelerate without permission.
“We pretend to date,” he repeated, like it was the most reasonable suggestion in the world. “You get Hermione and Ginny off your back, stop them from trying to marry you off to every man with a pulse on this island. I make Daphne jealous, neither of us look pathetically single, and we both get through the wedding week without being emotionally ambushed at every turn.”
He leaned back like that explained everything.
Which, annoyingly, it almost did.
You stared at him.
Not blinking. Not reacting. Just staring, like you were trying to determine whether he had suffered a head injury sometime between boarding the yacht and this exact moment.
“This is idiotic,” you said finally.
“Probably.”
“It’s manipulative.”
“Definitely.”
“It would never work.”
A beat.
Then Enzo nodded once, as though conceding a reasonable point. “You’re right. We should probably shag at least once if we want it to be believable.”
That earned him a look so sharp it could have cut glass.
Salazar, you were vicious.
He loved every second of it.
Your phone buzzed again before you could respond.
You didn’t even need to look at it to know what it was.
GINNY:
If you reject Mattheo without even trying, I’m calling in reinforcements and getting your mum involved.
A long exhale left you as you closed your eyes for half a second, the expression of someone who had just been personally victimized by friendship.
Enzo bit back a grin.
“You’re considering it,” he said, quieter now.
“I’m considering tossing myself off this yacht.”
“Close enough.”
You opened your eyes again and pointed a warning finger at him. “This isn’t real.”
“Obviously.”
“There will be boundaries.”
“How sexy,” he murmured.
“You’re not allowed to flirt with me for entertainment.”
Enzo blinked once, as if genuinely considering the accusation, then smiled slowly anyway. “That’s unfortunate, considering it’s already become my favorite hobby.”
You looked genuinely offended by his existence.
Which, frustratingly, only seemed to improve his mood.
You hesitated longer than you wanted to admit. Long enough that he could see the exact moment your resistance started to shift, even if you clearly hated that it was happening.
“Fine,” you said at last.
The word landed like a reluctant surrender. Like you were agreeing to something far more catastrophic than it actually was.
Better the devil you know than the devil you don't.
At least, that's what you told yourself.
Enzo had to actively fight the instinct to smile too widely.
He failed slightly.
Immediately, your eyes narrowed. “You look far too happy about this.”
“I’m naturally joyful.”
“You’re naturally irritating.”
“And yet,” he added lightly, “you still said yes.”
That earned him another look.
You stood before he could say anything else, gathering your book and your champagne glass with deliberate composure, like you needed distance to regain control of the situation.
“That’s because watching this inevitably blow up in your face sounds deeply entertaining.”
“Now, sweetheart,” Enzo drawled. “Is that any way to talk to your loving boyfriend?”
“Fuck off, Berkshire.”
You didn’t even look at him when you said it. You were already standing, already turning away, already walking toward the opposite side of the deck like the conversation had been filed under irrelevant and mildly irritating.
Sunlight spilled across your shoulders in soft gold as the sea breeze caught the hem of your dress, tugging it just enough to make it look like the ocean itself was trying to keep you there. Enzo hated the ocean for that. It had no respect for boundaries.
He watched you go anyway.
Longer than necessary.
Long enough that it stopped being something he could pretend was casual.
Long enough that it started feeling like he was actively making life choices that would inevitably bite him in the arse in the near future.
You bent slightly to adjust your sunglasses, completely unaware of the absolute collapse happening behind you in real time.
Enzo let out a quiet groan and tipped his head back, staring up at the brutal, indifferent Mediterranean sky like it had personally conspired against him.
Because it had to be illegal, honestly.
The way you could insult him, reject him, walk away from him—and still leave him standing there like an idiot who kept hoping for something he had no real right to hope for, even when he knew better.
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