#lvp

Sunlight finds you before consciousness does. It seeps through the sheer curtains of Lisa’s bedroom, casting soft gold across the silk sheets tangled around your legs. The first thing you feel is warmth, the kind that lingers in the air after being touched all night. The second is her, beside you, utterly at ease.

Lisa sleeps like someone who knows she’s adored, her hair spilling across the pillow in glossy waves, her lips faintly parted. You lie there a moment, drinking her in, unsure whether to move or just memorize her like this. After all, it is a rare moment when she isn’t fully aware and in control, performing, seemingly untouchable.

Eventually, her lashes flutter. She opens her eyes, slow and languid, and finds you watching. A faint smile curves her mouth. “Good morning, darling,” she murmurs, her voice still tinged with sleep, making it deeper, softer, intimate in a way it never is when she’s conducting business.

“Morning,” you manage, heat climbing your face when she reaches out and traces a finger along your jaw.

“I rather hoped I’d wake up to this,” she says, lazy but sincere. The compliment makes your chest tighten. She shifts closer, the sheets slipping just enough for her bare shoulder to emerge. You catch the faint scent of roses and champagne still clinging to her skin.

When she presses a kiss to your temple, your pulse skips. You can feel yourself melting all over again, the same way you did last night.

Now, in the quiet morning, she seems softer. Still Lisa Vanderpump, still impossibly poised, but soothed and content in your arms. You know this might not last, but for now, she looks at you like you’re the only indulgence she doesn’t regret.

“Coffee or mimosas?” she asks.

You smile. “Whichever keeps you here a little longer.”

Her lips curve. “Then mimosas it is, my darling.”