Morning arrived slowly.
Golden light spilled across the villa's stone floors, filtering through gauzy curtains that fluttered in the sea breeze. The air was soft and cool, carrying the faint scent of salt and lemons through the open windows. Outside, the Amalfi Coast was beginning to stir—birds chirping, the faint hum of boats already cutting through the water far below.
Inside, everything was still.
Ella blinked awake to the gentle sensation of fingers combing through her hair. She didn't open her eyes right away. She didn't need to. The warmth at her back, the steady rhythm of the chest she lay against, the low, familiar hum of breath near her ear—it was all Nicholas.
He'd held her through the night, never shifting far. And now he was awake, content just to touch her.
"Morning," she murmured, voice scratchy with sleep.
Nicholas's fingers stilled. Then resumed, slower. "Good morning, baby."
