Pairing: Sanji x female!reader
Summary: Pretending to be engaged to Sanji was easy. Convincing yourself it meant nothing was harder.
Contains: fake dating, fake engagement, fluff, PINING, awkward overdramatic romance, mild angst, reader being insecure about how flirty Sanji is.
Authors note: there will be a part two pretty soon, I'm almost done
“There is absolutely no downside to pretending we’re engaged, my sweet love,” Sanji said, eyes shining as he carefully draped his jacket over your shoulders, the fabric brushing teasingly against your bare skin.
“Yes, except for the part where people would think I was engaged to you,” you teased, though you couldn’t stop the faint warmth spreading across your cheeks.
This was going to be a very long mission.
You could have spent hours wondering how exactly you’d ended up in a situation where you were pretending to be madly in love with a cook who seemed born for the role, only to find yourself sharing a honeymoon suite with him for four days.
And yet, there you were, standing in the middle of an absurdly luxurious hotel room, surrounded by flowers, mirrors, silk sheets, and enough romantic decoration to make you wonder what terrible crime you’d committed to deserve such a fate.
Then again, the room itself wasn’t the problem.
The problem was the ecstatic cook currently wandering around it with hearts in his eyes, tossing rose petals into the air and admiring towel arrangements shaped like various adorable, mythical, and, in your opinion, deeply nauseating creatures.
It had all started innocently enough...
The crew had needed information from a wealthy broker attending an exclusive gathering on a secluded resort island. Rumor had it he was acting as the middleman in the private sale of the only known Eternal Pose leading to an otherwise unreachable island, and Robin wasn’t about to let a lead like that slip away.
They didn’t need to steal it. All they had to do was find out who currently possessed the Eternal Pose, where the exchange would take place, and how it would be transported once the deal was done.
The problem was that access to the event was restricted to married couples and engaged pairs.
Except no one had actually known that tiny, insignificant little detail until Sanji and you were already standing at the reception desk.
Up until that moment, he had behaved exactly as he always did around you: hovering attentively nearby, opening doors, showering you with compliments.
Which was why it wasn’t particularly surprising when the woman behind the counter smiled warmly at the two of you while checking your reservation.
“I assume you’re engaged. Ah, young love! You’re practically glowing! Access to the event is restricted to married and engaged couples only.”
The words struck you like lightning from a clear sky, and heat rushed to your face.
Before you could untangle your tongue enough to respond, however, Sanji’s eyes lit up.
This is the greatest day of my life, he thought.
Not with the smile he wore when flirting or charming every beautiful woman who crossed his path.
No, this one was confident. Victorious.
Like a man accepting the highest honor at an award ceremony.
Yes, that’s me. Her fiancé. That’s right. Absolutely.
“Thank you from the bottom of my heart,” he said, taking your hand and pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. “I’ve been looking forward to bringing my fiancée somewhere like this and showing the whole world just how lucky I am.”
“I wouldn’t dream of denying my honeybun an experience like this.”
The receptionist practically melted.
“How adorable! Let me just check… Ah, yes. A couple like you deserves our finest honeymoon suite.”
She handed the keys to the blond cook.
“It’s ready. Gorgeous sea view, enormous jacuzzi, private pool, spa… and plenty of privacy,” she added with a knowing smile. “Enjoy yourselves, lovebirds!”
Sanji somehow managed to beam even brighter, puffing out his chest like an outrageously proud peacock.
“We certainly will! Isn’t that right, my dear Y/N-swan?”
If the ground had opened beneath your feet at that very moment and swallowed you whole, you would have accepted it as a divine deus ex machina.
Sadly, reality remained intact.
“You’re just precious! Look at her! A wedding right around the corner, and he still has that effect on her. She’s red as a poppy!”
One tiny lie, as your so-called fiancé would later put it, caused absolute chaos.
Congratulations began pouring in from every employee they encountered. Complimentary champagne appeared. Cakes. Reservations for couples’ activities. And, worst of all, the luxurious suite would belong to the two of you for four long, seemingly endless days.
“Refusing would have looked suspicious. Besides, I wouldn’t have passed up an opportunity like this if my life depended on it,” your insane fake future husband explained later.
Four days of sweet, sickening romance with Sanji.
The prospect would have been far easier to endure if he weren’t a natural-born expert at expressing affection and performing grand gestures.
Every touch, every door he held open, every chair he pulled out, every compliment he offered came naturally to the cook. He would have done those things regardless, though admittedly with far less frequency and considerably less intensity.
What was happening at the hotel was something else entirely.
Everything had been exaggerated tenfold.
His hand never seemed to leave the small of your back. He introduced you to everyone with a radiant smile. He devoted his undivided attention to you, never leaving you alone for long, remembering every detail of every conversation.
Worst of all, none of it felt forced.
For the blond gentleman, playing the role of the perfect fiancé seemed as effortless as breathing.
For you, meanwhile, it had taken only a single evening to bring you dangerously close to throwing yourself into the ocean and abandoning the mission altogether.
The hardest part was allowing yourself to play along.
You had simply never been that kind of person, even when it was only pretend.
The embarrassment was bad enough.
Feeling painfully aware of your own stiffness and inability to relax somehow made it even worse.
The problem wasn’t Sanji.
For all that his affection was generously distributed among every woman he met, there was still something undeniably pleasant about being cared for. He treated every woman on the crew like something precious, and his kindness extended to others as well, even if he could be considerably rougher around the edges with them.
No, what unsettled you was precisely how universal that affection was.
Instead of bolstering your confidence, it had the opposite effect.
And on your worse days, almost mocking.
Because there was simply no way someone could genuinely say those sorts of things about you.
By the time you were finally escorted to your suite, your “fiancé,” whose arm had remained securely around your waist the entire walk, seized an unexpected opportunity.
The moment you caught your foot on the elevator threshold, he swept you effortlessly into his arms.
Instinctively, you threw your arms around his neck.
“I can still sweep you off your feet,” he said with a wink.
The hotel staff collectively dissolved into delighted squeals.
Then, lowering his voice slightly, he added:
“And every time you fall, I’ll be there to catch you.”
After he finally carried you over the threshold, murmuring, “A little rehearsal before the real thing, my love,” and the door clicked shut behind you, you immediately wriggled out of his arms.
Not without some difficulty.
The way he’d been holding you, firm and secure, had made it practically impossible to fall.
“What do you think you’re doing?!” you hissed, trying to calm the frantic beating of your heart.
Sanji ran a hand through his hair, ruffling the carefully arranged curls you held so dear in the process.
“We don’t have a choice, my love” he said. “It’s the only way. You heard her. They’re only letting couples in.”
Then he paused, a playful smile tugging at his lips as he looked at you with unmistakable fondness.
“And, truthfully, I’m honored that I get to call a creature as lovely as you my fiancée. Even if it’s only for a little while.”
Just when you’d thought you’d recovered, your cheeks burst into flames all over again.
“…I suppose you’re right. We only have three more days to survive,” you sighed.
The next unavoidable disaster came when you finally took a proper look around the room.
Actually, it was beautiful.
Spacious, decorated in warm tones, with enormous windows and a terrace overlooking the sea.
As far as positives went, however, that was where the list ended.
Because the first thing anyone would notice was the petals.
On the enormous king-size bed positioned shamelessly in the center of the room. Across the floor. Scattered over the pillows. Even hanging from the chandelier and ceiling fans, so that petals drifted down around you like rain whenever the blades moved.
An massive heart made of red, pink, and magenta rose petals had been arranged atop the comforter.
And, as the final touch, two towels folded into swans sat at its center, their beaks touching to form yet another heart.
Beside them rested a bowl of strawberries and a card that read:
“For unforgettable moments together.”
“What?” Sanji asked as he wheeled the last suitcase inside. “This is magnificent! A swan for my Y/N-swan!”
The sheer predictability of the Straw Hat cook left you momentarily speechless.
That only made his grin widen.
“Come on, admit it. We’ve seen worse rooms. They could’ve put us in that suite with the mirror on the ceiling.”
“I wouldn’t mind admiring your beauty from every possible angle.”
His smile turned positively roguish.
“Sure you wouldn’t,” you snorted.
Something akin to sympathy flickered through his eyes, but before he could say anything, he walked over to the bed, scooped up a handful of petals, and tossed them into the air.
The delicate red and pink confetti scattered around him, floating down in slow motion like something straight out of a perfume commercial.
“Isn’t it wonderful, my love?”
“They plucked and butchered an entire family of perfectly innocent flowers just to create some tacky nonsense about an ‘intimate retreat for lovers.’ Somewhere, a rose bush is missing half its relatives. Every time someone says ‘romantic getaway,’ a cupid dies.”
You brushed an irritated swath of petals off the bed and accidentally knocked one of the swans crooked.
“You have a vivid imagination.”
He lit a cigarette and glanced around the room.
“You can tell they put a lot of effort into this. That’s dedication. Don’t wreck it. The staff must’ve spent ages setting all this up.”
Kind. Thoughtful. Considerate.
Your chest tightened slightly at the realization.
Still, you replied, far more gently than you’d intended:
“Well, we have to sleep somewhere.”
The world seemed to stop.
Had he thrown another handful of petals at that exact moment, they probably would’ve frozen midair.
You would’ve expected Sanji to short-circuit on the spot.
To start hyperventilating. To spring a nosebleed from the mere implication of spending the night in close proximity to you.
Instead, he cleared his throat and gave a small bow.
“No need to worry, milady. I’ll sleep on the floor.”
“It’s really no trouble,” he said, smiling more sincerely this time. “You didn’t ask to end up in this situation.”
“Like hell you’re sleeping on the floor.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’m a pirate. I’ve slept in worse places. Besides, do you have any idea what it’s like sharing space with Luffy, Usopp, and Marimo? This is practically luxury.”
“So?” You rolled your eyes. “I’m a pirate too. I’ll sleep on the floor.”
The playful tone vanished immediately.
“I’ve slept in worse places,” you repeated, throwing his own words back at him. “And yes, I’m grateful that I share a room with Nami and Robin now. They’re fantastic roommates. But I had a life before that. It wasn’t exactly comfortable. Sleeping on the floor isn’t going to kill me.”
Sanji’s eyes filled with equal parts determination and compassion.
“The day I allow any woman, especially you, to be uncomfortable is the day I’m no longer among the living and whatever horrors lurk beneath the Grand Line finally drag me down.”
Heat rushed into your cheeks so suddenly it almost hurt.
“The bed is more than big enough.”
“That’s not the point,” he began.
Then he stopped when he realized you were serious.
“You can’t possibly be as stubborn as I am.”
“If a lady such as yourself insists on inviting me into bed with her, who am I to deny her?”
You immediately smacked him with the spare towel swan.
And for just a moment, some of the awkwardness evaporated.
“We’ll share the bed,” you confirmed.
Sanji’s expression became suspiciously neutral.
The sort of neutrality people only managed when they were trying very, very hard not to react.
You pointed a warning finger at him.
“And don’t try anything weird.”
“You’re agreeing awfully fast.”
“Me?” He smiled innocently. “Never.”
It was eventually time to shower.
The hotel had thoughtfully provided enormous fluffy bathrobes which, to your horror and Sanji’s delight, were embroidered in gold thread.
“…And don’t even think about coming in, peeking, or trying to join me,” you warned.
Sanji looked genuinely offended.
“I wasn’t planning to! …Do you really think that little of me?”
The wounded look in his eyes sent a familiar sinking feeling twisting through your stomach.
“And what about that time you spied on Nami, Vivi, and me?” you reminded him, as you always did.
His head immediately lowered.
“I’ll be apologizing for that for the rest of my life.”
As if he wouldn’t do it again, the pervert.
“I promise I’ll behave. Take your time. It’ll give me a chance to unpack.”
The door had barely clicked shut behind you when he let out a long breath.
Somehow, he was going to earn your forgiveness.
Somehow, he was going to make you understand who he really was.
Sanji would freely admit that, in the past, he’d occasionally behaved like an idiot.
Chasing after every beautiful woman he saw, bending over backward to make them happy, sometimes even humiliating himself in the process, if Zoro was to be believed.
But he’d always thought the way he treated you was obviously different.
Now, however, he could see the problem.
When a man required medical attention every time a woman smiled at him, suffered catastrophic nosebleeds whenever he caught sight of a particularly attractive figure, and practically launched into orbit after receiving a hug, it was understandable that you might question the sincerity of his feelings.
Maybe, over the next few days, he’d finally be able to show you.
He lit a cigarette and sank back onto the couch.
No matter what happened, he promised himself one thing:
he wouldn’t let you regret agreeing to come with him.
Inside the bathroom, you discovered a walk-in shower with not one but two rainfall showerheads, a bathtub large enough to comfortably fit six people, rose petals scattered across its surface, candles arranged around the edges, and, to top it all off, a small plaque that read:
“Because every romantic journey deserves to begin with a shared bath.”
A knock sounded from the other side of the door.
“Everything alright in there?”
“There are flowers. In. The bathtub.”
“…Seriously?” he laughed.
“It’s like you designed this place yourself.”
When you emerged from the bathroom wrapped in the enormous bathrobe, your hair still damp and your face free of makeup, Sanji nearly forgot how to breathe.
A goddess of this sea, he thought.
Though, if he was being honest, the look leaned far more toward comfort than glamour.
For a moment, he simply stared.
Then he quickly gathered himself and looked away.
You headed for your suitcase to retrieve your nightgown and toiletries.
I’m doomed, echoed through Sanji’s mind.
He wasn’t entirely sure how he was supposed to maintain his composure for the rest of their stay at the resort.
By the time he emerged from the bathroom, dressed in a navy silk pajama set and drying his hair with a towel, you were already tucked into bed on the left side, flipping through one of the resort brochures.
He greeted you and sat down on the edge of the mattress.
“I’m studying this absurdly elaborate brochure and wondering where we might find actual information about the Log Pose.”
He leaned closer to look over your shoulder.
The warmth of his body and the brush of his breath against your neck sent a shiver down your spine.
You were beautiful, his mind screamed.
The sight of you in your nightgown. Your lovely hair. The shadow your lashes cast across your cheeks. The scent of shampoo, lotion, perfume, and all the little things that made you unmistakably you.
It would’ve brought kings to their knees.
Never mind an ordinary mortal like the Straw Hat cook.
Sanji physically forced himself to pull back.
Instead, he picked up another brochure from the bedside table.
Glancing through it, he found no useful information whatsoever.
The pages were packed with advertisements for couples’ massages, sunset cruises, private dinners beneath the stars, and enough heart-shaped decorations to make his eyes hurt.
“‘Renew your vows beneath our Moonlight Pavilion,’” he read aloud. “…They’re really committed to the theme.”
“I’ve learned more about their honeymoon packages than our actual mission.”
He hummed and closed the brochure.
“They wouldn’t advertise something like this openly.”
“No, but they still have to organize it somehow.” Resting your chin on your hand, you thought aloud. “People don’t just arrive on an island carrying priceless navigation equipment. Someone checks them in. Someone handles their luggage. Someone prepares their rooms.”
Something shifted in Sanji’s expression.
A slow grin spread across his face.
“I can work with that, my dear.”
“I’m a chef.” He shrugged as though the answer were obvious. “Professional kitchens love talking to other chefs. Give me an hour near theirs and somebody will complain about deliveries, difficult guests, or whoever ordered dinner at three in the morning.”
“You make espionage sound suspiciously easy.”
“It usually starts with food.”
You couldn’t help laughing.
“Then I’ll handle the guests.”
“They’re wealthy.” You gestured vaguely with the brochure. “Wealthy people gossip. Especially when they think they’re talking to another harmless tourist.”
“So…” Sanji summarized, counting on his fingers. “I befriend the staff. You mingle with the guests.”
“And every evening we compare notes.”
Your gaze wandered around the outrageously romantic room once more before you sighed.
“…I just didn’t think reconnaissance would involve matching bathrobes.”
Sanji followed your eyes toward the embroidered robes hanging beside the wardrobe.
“…Or complimentary couple’s slippers.”
That night, the two of you lay on opposite ends of the enormous bed, so far apart that Zoro and Luffy could’ve comfortably fit between you.
“…Are you planning to fall off?”
“You’re literally hanging between silk sheets and the abyss.”
“Gravity is eventually going to win. I hope you know that.”
“I’m respecting your personal space,” he continued solemnly.
A smile tugged at your lips despite yourself.
“Look how much room we have.”
An idea suddenly struck you.
Grinning, you began arranging the decorative satin pillows between the two of you.
“A barrier?” he asked, tilting his head dramatically.
“Exactly. If neither side violates the established boundaries, there will be no unfortunate consequences.”
“I wasn’t planning to,” he said for what felt like the hundredth time.
“And as a firm guarantee of our neutrality and peaceful diplomatic relations…”
You grabbed a handful of leftover rose petals and scattered them across the pillow border.
“…our brave soldiers of the Red and Pink Rose Army.”
Sanji laughed and immediately joined in.
One of your movements accidentally brushed against something hidden near the headboard.
Suddenly, music filled the room.
Both of you jolted upright.
“Where do you turn this thing off?!”
After several frantic attempts, and after cycling through an alarming variety of songs ranging from cheerful pop music to heartbreaking ballads about eternal love conquering all earthly obstacles, soulmates separated by fate, and passions that transcended every boundary imaginable, you finally managed to silence it.
Then promptly collapsed into helpless laughter.
At last, you settled into bed properly.
No limbs dangling over the edge.
No imaginary cupids soaring triumphantly overhead.
Neither of you seemed capable of falling asleep.
The rhythmic chirping of insects drifted through the open window alongside the distant sound of waves.
He turned toward you in the darkness.
“For offering to sleep on the floor.”
“…There really wasn’t another option.”
You rolled onto your side and stared at him incredulously.
For a man who spent most of his life behaving exactly like Sanji, he certainly had nerve pretending otherwise.
“For you?” you said. “The same man whose thoughts managed to shock Viola, and that woman survived Doflamingo?”
Even in the darkness, you could practically feel him turning red.
“…I don’t want you to think that way about me,” he muttered.
His voice was quieter now.
“You’ll see. I’m not quite as hopeless or reckless as I probably seem at first.”
A smile spread across your face in the darkness.
Not that he could see it.
When you stirred awake at dawn to the sound of waves rolling against the shore, the pillow barricade had long since fallen victim to the countless movements of the night.
And yet, both of you had remained firmly on your respective sides of the bed, never brushing against one another even once.
Somehow, Sanji appeared to have spent the entire night hanging off the very edge of the mattress. One arm dangled toward the floor, one knee bent precariously over the side, and the blanket the two of you had shared, despite stretching over the ruined wall of pillows, offered him no warmth whatsoever in the coolness of the night and early morning. Nearly all of it had migrated to your side.
Frankly, he looked as though he would have slept more comfortably on the floor, as he’d originally suggested, and the faint shadows beginning to form beneath his eyes seemed to agree.
Propping yourself up on one elbow, you took a moment to study him.
His soft blond hair had transformed into a proper crow’s nest, no pun intended. It was so thoroughly disheveled that both spiral eyebrows were fully visible. Raising your hand, you traced the familiar shape of them in the air above his forehead without actually touching him.
You quickly withdrew your hand when his mouth fell open a little further and a faint snore drifted through the room.
A quiet fondness bloomed beneath your ribs and softened your expression.
He’s so handsome when he’s asleep, you thought.
Without the burden of constantly proving himself.
Without the sweetened compliments, poetic declarations, and endless displays of admiration he seemed to consider necessary whenever a woman crossed his path.
Once more, your gaze wandered across his peaceful sleeping features before you carefully pulled the blanket over him.
One that reflected only a fraction of the countless unconscious acts of kindness and consideration he showered you with every day.
If only he could truly love me too, you thought.
Then you settled back onto your pillow, hoping to steal another hour of sleep.
Sunlight spilled into the enormous honeymoon suite where, side by side, lay two members of the Straw Hat crew, each entirely unaware of the effect they had on the other.
The cook was the first to awaken.
His eyelashes fluttered as he fought off the last traces of sleep, and almost immediately he noticed the warmth wrapped around his torso.
How could I allow such a thing to happen?
The thought struck him with immediate horror.
Despite all his efforts, despite spending most of the night stubbornly refusing to relax, he had apparently surrendered to unconsciousness and allowed dear Y/N to freeze while he selfishly stole the blanket for himself.
How would he ever recover from such disgrace?
Could such shame be washed away?
Had he truly committed such a crime even in his sleep?
Had he dared expose a delicate flower to the cold simply so his own selfish person could enjoy a little comfort?
The blanket didn’t look as though it had been carelessly yanked away from a lady at all.
It had been arranged with remarkable care, positioned almost geometrically around the places most vulnerable to the morning chill.
Brightest creature to ever set foot upon the Grand Line…
Thoughtful, caring, wonderful angel…
Stars practically exploded behind his eyes.
What had he done to deserve such kindness?
His gaze drifted toward your sleeping form.
The soft rhythm of your breathing filled the quiet room.
Slowly, sunlight began creeping across your face.
When it finally reached your right eyelid, you stirred.
Sanji was already blushing by the time your eyes opened.
You pushed yourself upright and rubbed the sleep from your eyes.
A small part of you felt self-conscious under the intensity of his attention. Who knew what you looked like first thing in the morning?
“By the way,” you said, squinting at him, “it’s kind of creepy to stare at people while they’re sleeping.”
Sanji blinked in astonishment.
A remarkable statement coming from a woman who had, only a few hours earlier, been tracing the shape of his eyebrows in the air above his face.
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“Not even the greatest effort imaginable could keep me from looking when such beauty is right in front of me.”
Whether it was the sunlight, lingering sleepiness, the way he was looking at you, or his words themselves, you couldn’t say.
All you knew was that the blush spreading across your cheeks deepened considerably.
After a surprisingly peaceful breakfast, if one ignored the heart-shaped pancakes, the complimentary “Lovers’ Blend” coffee, and the waiter who insisted on taking a commemorative photograph, you finally had a chance to focus on the reason you were there.
Sanji, for his part, had been absolutely delighted by the photo. At one point, he’d proudly drawn you against his chest and looked at you with such ridiculous tenderness that you’d actually laughed at the absurdity of the situation.
“It would be a crime not to take a picture of such a lovely couple! Especially when you’re wearing that beautiful dress. I refuse to let an opportunity like this go to waste.”
The photograph had been taken.
Sanji unfolded the resort map between the two of you.
“So,” he said, tapping the paper. “Where do we start?”
Resting your chin on your hand, you studied the various amenities listed across the island.
“I’ll start with the kitchens,” he declared.
Leaning over your shoulder, he allowed his lips to brush your bare shoulder in passing for the benefit of a pair of employees walking nearby.
You felt a shiver race down your spine at the subtlety of it.
“You don’t even work here.”
His grin widened, visibly charmed by your flustered reaction.
“A chef recognizes another chef. Give me twenty minutes.”
“And if they throw you out?”
“…You’re awfully confident.”
A laugh escaped you before you could stop it.
“Alright, Mr. Master Chef.”
“Perhaps it would be safer if you enjoyed the spa, got a massage or two, and waited until I’ve figured out what we’re dealing with.”
You cut him off immediately.
“I’m perfectly capable of surviving crowds far more troublesome than this, and you know it. The only real danger is that I’ll lose my mind listening to conversations about imported wine and scented bath salts.”
Apparently deciding it would be wise to hold his tongue in the future.
“I’ll pray for your survival.”
He stood, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from his shirt.
Two can play this game, you thought.
Rising to your feet, you reached up to straighten his collar yourself, stepping closer and lowering your voice near his ear.
“We’re meeting back here for dinner, darling?”
Then seemingly forgot how to breathe.
Then remembered and started breathing far too hard.
His heart hammered against his ribs like an overenthusiastic woodpecker.
Then hastily pulled himself together and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
“I’ll come find you sooner than that,” he promised softly. “The moment I’m finished.”
The kitchens turned out to be exactly as Sanji had predicted.
Steam curled from simmering pots. Knives struck cutting boards in rapid rhythm. Orders flew across the room louder than cannon fire.
Sanji lingered outside the entrance for all of thirty seconds before spotting one of the sous-chefs struggling with a crate of vegetables.
Without hesitation, he stepped forward.
Then let out a grateful sigh.
“Wouldn’t say no, young man.”
Two became helping unload supplies.
Which somehow transformed into correcting the seasoning in a seafood chowder.
The head chef took one bite.
Standing nearby, Sanji shrugged with practiced nonchalance.
“I only added a little thyme.”
By lunchtime, nobody questioned why he was there.
Stories, recipes, culinary disasters, and tales of memorable guests flowed as freely as the food. They exchanged anecdotes about everyone from high-ranking Marines to infamous pirates, a subject on which Sanji, naturally, had plenty to contribute.
He blended into the crowd so effortlessly it was as if he’d worked there for years.
At one point, a waiter grumbled that Villa Twelve had once again requested dinner for two to be delivered precisely at nine o’clock.
“The strange part,” another waiter added, “is that only one guest is registered there.”
“Maybe they’re lonely,” Sanji suggested casually while chopping herbs.
“Not lonely enough to eat two full-course meals every night.”
Another cook joined the conversation.
“And they’re ridiculously secretive. Management personally delivers the second place setting.”
Sanji continued sautéing vegetables and preparing meats while quietly absorbing every piece of kitchen gossip that might lead them toward the information they needed.
Meanwhile, your own investigation proved exhausting in a completely different way.
The resort had thoughtfully organized what they called A Morning of Shared Serenity.
In practice, this consisted of wealthy couples drinking tea while discussing each other’s lives with astonishing enthusiasm.
Spoke fondly of your wonderful fiancé, who unfortunately wasn’t present at the moment, while mentally noting that if you ever had to attend one of these events again, Sanji would absolutely be coming with you.
Every pretentious comment was met with polite interest.
Every boast was encouraged.
Every complaint was carefully entertained.
Somewhere between the second and third discussion about luxury yachts, an older woman leaned toward her companion.
“The Beaumonts reserved the Moonlight Pavilion again.”
Your ears immediately perked up.
“Tomorrow evening, wasn’t it?”
“Apparently they’re finally meeting that business associate they’ve been waiting for.”
You stirred your tea and kept your expression pleasantly neutral.
Another guest sighed dramatically.
“I do hope they aren’t discussing business all night. It ruins the atmosphere.”
“They rented the entire pavilion.”
You took another sip of tea to hide the smile threatening to appear.
People with entirely too much money truly couldn’t resist gossiping.
By the time dinner finally arrived, you felt as though your social battery had been completely drained and was in desperate need of emergency intervention.
You’d stopped by your room beforehand to freshen up and change clothes, reviving yourself with several chocolates from the complimentary gift basket. Sugar had always possessed the miraculous ability to raise you from the dead.
When you entered the dining hall, however, there was no sign of your “future husband”.
Just as you approached the table, a familiar voice called out:
The blond man with spiral brows stepped toward you and gently pressed a kiss to your hand.
“My eyes are blessed to see you. You look beautiful, as always.”
For a moment, the two of you simply looked at one another.
Then he pulled out your chair.
All around you, elderly couples decorated in varying degrees of extravagance watched the exchange and sighed dreamily.
As you sat down and he carefully moved your chair closer to the table, Sanji leaned near your ear.
“Tonight, I’ll have the honor of feeding you myself. I helped prepare dinner with the chefs.”
You laughed and glanced at him.
“You’re the cook of our crew.”
“And it’s always an honor, Y/N-swan.”
His gaze settled on yours.
As it always did, it immediately found what it was looking for.
“I know entirely too much about honeymoon cruises,” you muttered.
Once you had both been served, with several enthusiastic recommendations from your personal chef, the conversation turned more serious.
Sanji smiled over the rim of his wine glass.
“I think someone important arrives tomorrow.”
“The kitchen has been preparing dinner for two in Villa Twelve since yesterday evening.”
“But only one guest checked in.”
The single word was enough.
Your thoughts immediately arrived at the same conclusion.
“The business associate.”
“I’d wager they’ve been on the island for at least a day. Whoever arranged this meeting has gone to considerable lengths to keep their arrival off the books, but kitchens notice the sort of details people assume they’ll overlook.”
Despite yourself, you leaned forward.
“What exactly did you hear?”
“One waiter complained about delivering two full-course dinners every evening to a villa occupied by a single registered guest. Another mentioned that management personally handles the second place setting and that nobody is allowed to ask questions.”
A thoughtful silence settled between you.
Your fingers traced absent circles around the stem of your wine glass.
“That explains something.”
His attention sharpened immediately.
“I spent the morning surrounded by people who gossip the way sailors drink, and somewhere between discussions about yachts and charity galas, two women mentioned that the Beaumonts had reserved the entire Moonlight Pavilion tomorrow evening. Apparently they’re finally meeting the business associate they’ve been waiting for.”
The corner of Sanji’s mouth lifted.
“So your gossip confirms mine.”
Leaning back in your chair, you watched the scattered pieces suddenly arrange themselves into a coherent picture.
“The associate arrived quietly and has been hidden in Villa Twelve. Tomorrow night’s reservation isn’t just dinner.”
Your eyes met across the table.
“It’s the meeting we’ve been looking for.”
For a brief moment, neither of you touched your food.
The sounds of cutlery, conversation, and soft music faded into the background as you considered what this meant.
Then, almost absentmindedly, you smiled.
“I have to admit, I thought spending the afternoon listening to wealthy socialites complain about one another would be the least useful assignment.”
“And I thought I was simply making soup.”
At that exact moment, the music changed.
A graceful symphony swept through the dining hall.
Several couples were already dancing together, moving across the floor in perfect harmony.
Sanji’s eyes immediately lit up.
“Milady,” he said, taking your hand and pressing a gentle kiss to your skin, “may I have this dance?”
You rose almost automatically, carried along by the moment, and your feet felt strangely light as he drew you closer.
“But Sanji,” you whispered through gritted teeth, thoroughly embarrassed, “I don’t know how to dance.”
A fond smile touched his lips.
He looked genuinely charmed by your expression.
As the distance between you disappeared, Sanji placed his right hand lightly against your shoulder blade, his arm forming a strong, protective frame. He guided your left hand to his shoulder, and your fingers curled into the fabric of his jacket.
Then he offered you a reassuring smile.
Slowly, the two of you began to sway together.
The steady rise and fall of his breathing seemed to provide a rhythm all its own.
Or at least it probably should have.
You had only the vaguest idea what you were doing.
Feeling the subtle shift of his weight onto his right foot, he guided you to mirror him. You softened your knees and stepped back.
For several glorious seconds, everything went perfectly.
Then you stepped directly on his foot.
Mortified, you immediately began apologizing.
Sanji behaved as though nothing had happened.
He stopped you by lifting your hand and pressing a kiss to your palm.
“Relax, my dear. You’re doing wonderfully.”
Noticing your discomfort beneath the curious eyes of the surrounding guests, he gently brushed a strand of hair away from your face and leaned close enough for only you to hear.
“Don’t pay attention to anyone else.”
And somehow, after that, they really weren’t.
You found the rhythm again.
And gradually, you had to admit that you were enjoying yourself.
The closeness. The undivided attention. The feeling that, for a little while, the rest of the world had simply ceased to exist.
As though the two of you were the only people that mattered.
As though you were infinitely precious to one another.
That night, after returning to the suite and preparing for bed, both of you were exhausted.
Somehow, even more exhausted than after many of the adventures that had involved actual fighting.
And yet there was a strange lightness to it as well.
Perhaps because you had genuinely enjoyed spending the day together.
Lying beneath the covers, it all felt surprisingly natural.
Probably because we’ve lived together on the ship for so long, you told yourself, attempting to rationalize it.
After only two days of pretending, the routine no longer felt particularly forced.
There was something deeply comforting about his presence.
The chairs he pulled out for you.
The jackets draped over your shoulders whenever it grew cold.
The way he always insisted you shower first.
The privacy he gave you without ever being asked.
If it had been anyone else, you weren’t sure you would’ve managed to close your eyes at all.
Yet lying here beside him, with his sleeping hand unconsciously holding yours against his chest, over his heart, it felt as though you’d been doing this your entire life.
Existing in one another’s immediate orbit.
And that frightened you a little.
Because alongside that comfort came hope.
A painful, stubborn hope.
That perhaps, despite everything, there was still a chance he truly thought you were worth loving.
That he genuinely found you beautiful.
And that, more than anything else…
he might actually love you.
