CHAPTER 107: UNSPEAKABLE THINGS

The sun was high when they wandered into town, the cobblestones warm beneath their feet, the scent of lemon trees thick in the breeze. The streets wound like lazy rivers between pastel buildings, laundry fluttering from windows above, the occasional Vespa humming by with a burst of laughter and shouted Italian.

Ella wore the linen dress.

That linen dress.

The one Nicholas had bought on a whim when he had taken her shopping because because "it looks like something that would drive me insane," and Ella had rolled her eyes but taken the dress anyway.

It was cream-colored and soft and fell just a little too easily against her skin. The straps were thin. The back dipped scandalously low. And when the sun hit just right, it flirted with transparency.

She wore it anyway.

Nicholas hadn’t taken his eyes off her since they left the villa.

"You’re going to get us arrested," he murmured beside her, watching the hem of the dress lift as she walked.

"You bought this," she said over her shoulder, trying not to smile.

"I didn’t know it would do that when you moved."

Ella glanced back, arching a brow. "What’s it doing?"

"Things," he muttered. "Unspeakable things."

They passed an open-air market in the square where vendors called out in bright, melodic Italian. Nicholas steered them toward one of the stands with an easy hand at the small of her back—casual, but his fingers lingered a little longer than necessary.

She didn’t comment. Just looked at peaches.

Nicholas leaned down close to her ear. "That dress has no business looking that innocent while you’re not wearing anything underneath."

Ella blinked, heat flaring at her cheeks. "I never said I wasn’t."

He pulled back enough to meet her eyes. "Oh? So you are?"

She smirked. "I guess you’ll find out later."

He made a sound low in his throat and turned away, muttering something in Italian under his breath that made the vendor laugh knowingly.

They wandered deeper into the narrow streets after that, ducking into a little art shop where Nicholas promptly got distracted by a series of watercolors depicting the coastline. Ella leaned against the counter, watching him argue with the artist over a frame, the sun painting his cheekbones gold through the open window.

He caught her watching and shot her a grin.

"What?"

"You’re ridiculous," she said.

"Ridiculously handsome? Ridiculously irresistible? Ridiculously in love with you in this dress?"

She blinked. "You didn’t say you were in love."

Nicholas paused.

Then, with a shrug and a mischievous little smile, said, "Slip of the tongue. Could’ve meant lust."

Ella’s mouth opened.

He reached for her hand. "Come on. Gelato."

She let him pull her out of the shop, her heart beating louder than it had before.

The gelato stand was nestled beside a café, shaded by flowering vines that dangled like confetti. Nicholas ordered two scoops for each of them—lemon and strawberry for her, pistachio and hazelnut for himself—then leaned against the low stone wall beside her as they ate.

Ella licked a bit of gelato from her thumb, and Nicholas just stared.

"What now?" she asked.

"You’re not real," he said. "You can’t be."

She smirked. "Because I’m eating gelato?"

"Because you’re eating gelato," he said, "and I want to put you on my shoulders and parade you through town like the ancient Romans did with their goddesses."

"That sounds exhausting."

"I’m strong."

She licked her spoon slowly. "You’re horny."

"Also true."

He leaned in, voice low. "You keep that up, and I will find a dark alley."

Ella tilted her head, a challenge in her smile. "You wouldn’t."

"Sweetheart," he said, licking his own spoon, "I’m already thinking about which wall has the best leverage."

She choked on a laugh. "You’re incorrigible."

"I’m in Italy," he said simply. "My morals are on vacation."

They strolled farther, stopping to buy a pair of beaded earrings from an elderly woman who insisted Ella was too beautiful to wear anything but gold. Nicholas translated, grinning like the cat who’d gotten the cream.

And every time they paused—at a fountain, a mural, the edge of a sun-dappled stairwell—he found some excuse to touch her. A hand at her waist. A brush of fingers at her collarbone. His thumb sliding down her spine as she admired a window display.

It wasn’t overt.

But it was there.

Constant.

Humming under her skin.

"You’re doing this on purpose," she said as they walked down a quiet side street.

"Doing what?"

"Touching me like that. Looking at me like you’re undressing me with your mind."

He grinned without apology. "You already said I’d find out later."

She narrowed her eyes. "You’re trying to distract me."

"Oh, I’m succeeding at distracting you."

He stepped closer, pinning her lightly against the warm stone wall of a narrow alleyway. His hand slid to her waist, thumb brushing bare skin.

"Tell me something," he murmured. "If I kissed you here... would you let me?"

Ella’s breath hitched, eyes flicking to the mouth that was now just a whisper away from hers.

"I might."

He dipped his head just enough for their noses to brush. "That’s not a no."

She arched a brow. "That’s not a yes."

He leaned in further. "You like making me work for it?"

"I like watching you try."

Nicholas grinned, then kissed the corner of her mouth—soft, restrained, maddening.

Then he pulled back with a devil’s smile.

"Let’s save this for the villa," he said. "I have some things I’d like to check off our list."

Ella exhaled a laugh, the tension humming through her veins.

"You’re evil."

"I’m patient," he corrected. "But I am making a new rule."

"Oh?"

"No more of that dress," he said, brushing his knuckles down the front of it. "Unless you’re prepared for consequences."

Ella stepped back, chin high, smile wicked. "Then you better be ready, Carter."

He blinked, caught off guard by how much he liked the sound of his name on her lips like that.

"God help me," he muttered. "I’m in so much trouble."