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Liturgia

Chapter 18: In the Heat of Summer Sunshine, I Kiss You, and Nobody Needs to Know

Pairing: Ava Silva & Beatrice

Ao3

There’s a playlist and a mood-board.

“You’re telling me that we’re going up a mountain on the back of a scooter?” Beatrice asks incredulously while the red vehicle in question is being kicked into place in front of her.

“Scooter?” Ava counters, rattled by the sheer disrespect to the motorcycle. A modern marvel of engineering so grand and totally necessary that it puts other modes of transportation to shame. “Beatrice, this is a Vespa.”

Her girlfriend crosses her arms displeased. “There’s no way we’re going to drive around the whole day on this thing and not have butt pain.��

“Butt pain doesn’t count on vacation,” Ava says dismissively, handing over one of the accompanying helmets, “Plus, I know a very good and willing masseuse…”

Shaking her head in response to Ava’s lasciviousness, Beatrice grabs at her helmet skeptically, checking the inside first then tugging on the chin straps. “Do you even know how to drive this thing?”

Before Beatrice can protest further, Ava tugs her own helmet on nonchalantly. Then, reaches over for Beatrice’s and gently deposits it atop of her head, making sure to buckle the chin straps snug. “Of course I do! I used to drive around Madrid all the time,” is her reply, but her voice kind of quirks in the end and Beatrice raises a suspicious eyebrow. “Well, I used to. I said ‘I used to’.”

“And why is it in the past tense?” Beatrice probes, pulling Ava forward to adjust the strap around her chin as well.

“Let’s just say that I made the news for crashing and Emilia almost had an aneurysm when she read the headline without context,” she stops for dramatic effect, “‘Ava Silva, Ecstatic in A Sea of Penises’.”

“WHAT!” Beatrice shouts, hand on her heart with a look that screams Ava has just scandalised her and all her ancestors.

Ava’s mind easily jumps to that time when her hand got stuck between the brake and the throttle, sending the Vespa and herself down a hill in the middle of the city. She remembers the poor Samaritans that rushed to help her as she careened down into an awaiting van. By the time she noticed it was too late, her body had flown off and in through the rear doors. Photographs were taken. Sugary penises surrounded her entire person and she swore off ever riding again.

That is until today.

“It’s not my fault you don’t Google me, Beatrice.”

“Maybe it’s a good thing if that’s the kind of headline I’m going to come across!”

“It was an erotics pastries van!” Ava laughs at the outraged but equally fond look shot her way.

“You could have led with that!”

She sits on the Vespa, scooting forward for Beatrice to get on behind her. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“I don’t know? Maybe not giving your girlfriend a heart attack!” Beatrice slides an unsure leg across, mindful of the storage compartment behind them. Ava’s looking at the map on her phone when Beatrice’s arms wrap around her, helmets bumping for a second, chin resting on top of her shoulder. “ Okay, motomami…pesa mi tatami…hit a lo tsunami… ”

“ Oooooooooh! ”

“ Okay, motomami…fina un origami…cruda a lo sashimi… ”

“ Oooooooooh! ”

They both giggle as Ava kicks the kickstand up and the engine comes to life.

The villa’s automatic gates open and they’re off.

(*)

Everyone's changing, I stay the same, I'm

a solo cello outside a chorus

I've got a secret,

It's time for me to tell,

you've been keeping me warm

Beatrice’s arms have enveloped her in a constricted hold as they speed down the narrow hillside road. Up first on their itinerary is Bellagio, a picturesque and deeply laned small village across from the harbour, nestled between the two southern branches of the lake.

They park the Vespa in one of the more quiet side streets and begin their hunt for breakfast. The orange, red and yellow cultural heritage buildings striking against the blue of the sky above and the green of the mountain ranges surrounding them. The clouds are few and far between today, the perfect excuse for sunglasses.

Beatrice matches Ava’s steps, hair down in pretty waves with strands fluttering about with the wind. They don’t converse much as they stroll down the cobblestone streets, heads poking into small alleyways and shop windows every so often. It’s not long until their hands brush, Beatrice quick with an apology. Ava doesn’t hesitate, grabbing ahold of Beatrice’s hand and bringing it up to her lips, placing a kiss and releasing it just as quickly.

In the heat of summer sunshine

I miss you like nobody else

In the heat of summer sunshine

I kiss you, and nobody needs to know

Finally deciding on what to eat, they sit by one of the tables facing the waterfront. When not busy being the subject of her pictures, Beatrice is quietly eating her cream filled cornetto while taking sips of her cappuccino. She, on the other hand, has already eaten three cannoli and various crostatinas, much to her girlfriend’s dismay.

“I don’t see how you’re planning to sustain yourself today with your lack of actual nutritional food,” Beatrice says from behind her cup, froth lining the top of her lips before a tongue passes to lick it off. She had snacked on an array of fruit earlier while waiting for Ava to get ready for the day. Beatrice clicks her tongue before commenting, “You didn’t even leave me a cannoli. Selfish.”

“I asked if you wanted one!” Ava replies, mouth hanging open for a moment, “You literally said ‘that’s too much sugar for any sane person’ before you watched me eat them all!”

“Yeah, well you should have just put one on my plate anyway.”

“Oh! I’ll put something on your plate alright!”

Beatrice’s tongue comes out closely followed by Ava’s.

To sweet beginnings and bitter endings

In coffee city, we borrowed heaven

Don't give it back, Winter is coming,

And I need to stay warm

The sprawling gardens stretch before them as they make their way to Villa Melzi, a neoclassical mansion located by the lake’s shore. The building itself is colossal, with blue shuttered windows covering most of the white façade. Beatrice encourages her to pose for a few pictures before they walk along the more quiet areas of the garden on their way to the small chapel.

“Bea,” Ava says, tugging on her girlfriend’s arm, “What about them? What do you think they’re saying?”

Beatrice looks at the couple just a few metres from them. Two guys around their age, also very obviously on vacation together. She chuckles before lowering her voice in an attempt to mimic one of them, “My name is Sam and I planned this entire trip.”

Beatrice is looking at her expectantly, waiting for her addition to the conversation. As they’ve been walking around, they’ve begun to play a game where they pretend to be the people around them. “My name is Paolo and I’m only here because my boyfriend is organised.”

“My name is Sam and Paolo would starve if I didn’t stash away snacks into our backpack.”

“My name is Paolo and I’m not carrying the backpack.”

“You are also not carrying our backpack, you can’t just sass him for that when you’re not doing it either!”

“Listen Sam, you plan our vacations. I bring my cute little butt for you to admire. It’s the perfect balance of roles.”

“Is that what I’m doing, admiring your cute little butt?”

“Of course, what else is there to distract you? The culture? Actually, nevermind. I saw the document you made for every stop, there were time intervals and everything.”

“I did no such thing! This is all spontaneous! I can be carefree! I can be impulsive!”

“Where are we going after this then?” Ava asks disbelievingly.

Beatrice goes quiet beside her in an act of defiance.

“Come on. I know you want to say it.”

“Nope. You won’t get a peep out of me. I’m being casual. I’m just looking at a cute little butt.”

“Uh-huh…then, we’ll take the ferry next and head to—”

“No!” Beatrice yelps. “We have to go look through the town center first and have lunch, after we get gelato and go to the Basilica. We can’t miss out on its historical significance. It was built between the 11th and 12th century and has a Romanesque style.”

“We’re getting gelato?”

Beatrice takes offense to Ava’s take away from the itinerary spiel and continues her explanation, “There’s a triptych there from the Middle Ages!” but then gives up, amused, “You like gelato, Ava. And I love you. So we’re getting gelato.”

In the heat of summer sunshine

I miss you like nobody else

In the heat of summer sunshine

I kiss you and nobody needs to know

—

Ava is not a hiker. She would admit it to anyone within proximity if there was anyone around to tell. Beatrice doesn’t count in her athletic wear, perfect ass accentuated, pigeon ankles (thank you, Camila) on full display, and hair in a tight bun. Not a semblance of strain on her beautiful face.

Meanwhile, Ava is sure she’s as red as a fire truck, sweat dripping profusely down every possible expanse of her skin, with a wedgie that has been bothering her for hours. She’s exaggerating of course. It’s only been 37 minutes. And they haven’t even reached the top of the mountain yet.

Lake Como is for leisurely strolls through picturesque villages, not high adrenaline calf burning summiting. Ava isn’t above feigning childhood asthma at this point, but something tells her Beatrice wouldn’t believe her, or worse that Beatrice would and then chastise her for not having a puffer.

She was rudely awoken at the ass crack of dawn, the first morning lights barely visible as Beatrice passed along clothing items one by one, forcing her to dazedly put them on while escalating through levels of protests, pleading and childish tears. She had reminded Beatrice that the last time she had hiked was for her and she deserved some mercy. But no. Her girlfriend wasn’t taking no for an answer.

Let’s have a picnic with a panoramic view of Lake Como, Ava.

It’ll be romantic, Ava.

We can eat these delicious cherries, Ava.

I will reward you later, Ava.

Beatrice had said, as they ate cold sfogliatelle and rushed to drive the Vespa before the sun crawled its way over the mountains. And Ava would like to point out that she agreed because she loves Beatrice, not because she wants to be eaten ou—

A bird swoops her and at this point she wishes she was Kevin the dog from The Proposal .

“Take the dog…take the dog…take the dog,” she mutters, kicking up as much dirt as possible, patches of beautiful vista be damned.

“Did you say something?” Beatrice asks from a good 5 metres in front of her.

“ Did you say something? ” She mocks in reply, hamming up the English accent like a deranged Eliza Doolittle.

Beatrice doesn’t seem to have heard, which is good because she’s five seconds away from a murder suicide.

(*)

Ava needs a distraction. Something to get her mind off how agonising this little excursion has turned out to be. “ My grandma and your grandma were sittin' by the fire ,” she bellows, eyes on the floor, concentrating on the steepness of their climb, “ My grandma told your grandma ‘I'm gonna set your flag on fire’, talk 'bout, hey now… ”

“ Hey now… ”

Ava lifts her head. Beatrice has stopped climbing, hand resting on her hip as she waits.

“ Hey now, ” Ava continues the song.

“ Hey now. ”

She’s caught up to Beatrice now, who’s holding out her hand for Ava to hold. “ Iko iko un-day! ”

“ Hey, hey, hey! ”

“ Jock-a-mo fee-na ai na-ne! ”

“ Jock-a-mo fee na-ne! ” They both sing together.

The climb is easier now with Beatrice beside her. The ski resort around them largely forgotten in the Summer months. They’re about halfway through their ascent and the view is slowly revealing itself after climbing almost 8 kilometres. Again, probably an exaggeration. Ava has no idea what’s happening. The wind is picking up now that they’re closer to the ridgeline, causing them to huddle close for warmth and balance.

The song continues, motivating them further. They tap on their bellies, like makeshift bongos.

“ See that woman, all dressed in green Iko, iko, un-day !” Beatrice yells above the draft that threatens to send them to certain death, pulling her closer by the waist, “ She’s a woman, she's a lova machine Oh jock-a-mo fee na-ne, talk 'bout, hey now! ”

“ Hey now! ”

“ Iko iko un-day! ”

“ Hey, hey, hey! ”

“ Jock-a-mo fee-na ai na-ne! ”

“ Jock-a-mo fee na-ne! ”

The loose gravel trail that leads the rest of the way up is precarious and definitely not for Ava. She has slid more times than she can count by now and would have suffered a scrape or two if it wasn’t for Beatrice’s watchful eyes and quick reflexes.

The snow covered tops of the Swiss alps in the distance greet them near the summit, encompassing the entirety of the Lake Como district. Kilometres of lake wrapped up with breathtaking mountain peaks as far as the eye can see.

They sit on the rough ground close together with their cherries, barely able to eat them without hair getting in the way and the gale pushing them from side to side.

Beatrice says something but the roar of the wind drowns her out. She tries again but it’s futile. She is undeterred though, balancing the box of cherries on her lap, which frees the hand that’s not wrapped around Ava. Beatrice reaches for Ava’s hand, smoothing the palm open before running her finger in the shape of a heart.

Ava squeals and the wind takes it, but Beatrice knows, can see it in the smile that reaches her eyes. The warmth spreads through her like liquid fire, filling her with so much adoration for her girlfriend. Without a second thought she too reaches over, tracing a heart on Beatrice’s open palm.

—

Ava’s phone screen lights up with a reminder, followed in short succession by the vibration of an incoming text message. Beatrice, reclined on the opposite end of the hammock, is so engrossed in her novel that she hasn’t even registered the faint disturbance.

Ava takes a moment to admire the breathtaking sight of her girlfriend in repose. Sun bronzed skin on display, her black bikini top visible and only partially covered by her unbuttoned light blue dress shirt. Her toned runner’s legs encased in white linen shorts with one leg bent and the other leg currently thrown over Ava’s own legs, calf resting on Ava’s lap.

Beatrice’s sunhat lays discarded on the ground beside them, the surrounding linden trees providing adequate protection from the rays of the late afternoon sunshine, their leaves casting dappled shadows across Beatrice’s face. Whatever is occurring in the story has her so captivated that a sliver of Beatrice’s tongue is peeking out from the crease of her lips and her brow is furrowed in concentration.

It almost seems a shame to disturb Beatrice but interrupt she must.

Ava runs her palm firmly over Beatrice’s smooth calf, capitalising on this motion to appreciate the strong musculature beneath her hand. She also takes the opportunity to inspect the fading bruise on Beatrice’s ankle, an fun-injury obtained when Beatrice had kicked a leg out to the side that first night in the villa. Beatrice doesn’t even flinch when she presses a tentative finger into the bruise which is a good sign.

“Baby.”

Beatrice absentmindedly looks up from the pages of her book, “Yes?”

“I need you to stop reading now, please. We need to go get dressed. And you can’t ask me any questions.”

Beatrice opens her mouth in protest, “But—”

And Ava interrupts immediately with her hand midair, “Nope, no questions.”

Beatrice heaves a reluctant sigh, pouting minutely, “It was just getting really good.”

Ava doesn’t bother to entertain her with a reply, clapping her hand down onto Beatrice’s leg to punctuate the point, “¡Upa!”

Once Ava has maneuvered herself off the hammock, she steadies it from swinging too wildly with one hand while helping Beatrice slip off it with the other. When Beatrice’s feet are solidly on the ground, Ava cannot help but to pop herself onto her tiptoes in order to plant a kiss onto Beatrice’s lips. A blush quickly spreads across her girlfriend’s cheeks at the unexpected act, outside in broad daylight, with Beatrice mumbling out a “What was that for?” around the beginnings of a pleased grin.

“Nothing. I just really love you is all,” is Ava’s reply as she gives Beatrice’s hand an almighty tug to hurry her towards the house. Beatrice doesn’t budge. Instead, she tugs hard back at Ava’s grip, using Ava’s backwards momentum to pull her into a firm kiss, swallowing Ava’s gasp of surprise.

Ava scrambles into the bedroom, dragging Beatrice closely behind her. “I’m going to get dressed in the ensuite, you pick out what to wear! And no peeking!” With that, she’s grabbing at the bundle of clothing she had quickly set aside in the morning and stashed into a drawer before rushing into the bathroom, leaving the door slightly ajar.

She catches a glimpse of herself in the bathroom mirror. Her face is flushed with excitement and her eyes are sparkling with mischief at the surprise she has in store for Beatrice tonight.

Quickly slipping on her emerald green dress, Ava then runs a brush through her hair and with a spritz of hairspray, her hair is complete. She sends a quick prayer of thanks to the Silva genes for her natural waves, currently exaggerated by a day spent swimming in the villa’s pool and tousled from the mountainside breeze.

Beatrice is huffing audibly from the bedroom, mumbling to herself. Ava catches a few words, “Doesn’t…occasion…dress code…no clothes.”

“Bea?”

There’s a pause followed by a wary “...Yes?”

“What’s wrong?”

With a wail Beatrice is whining out, “I don’t know what to wear! You haven’t told me anything and I didn’t bring that much with me.”

Ava blows out a breath inaudibly, casting a look up at the heavens. She’s convinced this Beatrice, whiny and stroppy, is reserved for her and her alone. Beatrice would never allow another person to witness a version of her that is less than polished or feel comfortable enough to show her petulant, childish side. She loves this version of Beatrice all the same, even if she does want to jokingly throttle this Beatrice at times.

“Beatrice. Baby. Please. Choose something a little dressy. Or anything you want. You look good in everything. You could look great in a toga. Actually, I know you would rock a toga. You proved that just this morning, you looked magnificent in nothing but our bed sheet.”

Ava’s phone vibrates with another text message.

[Dieci minuti.]

Shit . It’s almost here.

Ignoring the sounds of Beatrice’s indecision outside, Ava’s putting on her makeup with a practiced hand. Nothing too crazy, just enough to highlight features that she knows Beatrice likes to appreciate with her eyes. And then she’s done. Giving herself a quick once over in the mirror, she’s calling out, “I’m coming out now and going downstairs. Cover your eyes and no peeking!”

Waiting a beat, Ava pokes her head out around the door to check that Beatrice has indeed covered her eyes and is turned away from her before she slips by. She can’t resist the opportunity to kiss Beatrice on the cheek as she passes, nuzzling at the hand covering her eyes.

A smile crosses Beatrice’s face in response, “You smell good.”

Chancing a glance at the clothes laid out on the bed, Beatrice has narrowed her choices down to three outfits. Before Ava slips out the door into the hallway, she’s calling over her shoulder, “No looking out the window and do not come downstairs until I say so.”

There’s the beam of oncoming car headlights as she descends the steps, just as the final text message comes through on her phone.

[Signorina Forest, è arrivato il fattorino. Potrebbe aprire il cancello, per favore?]

Ava hurries to buzz them in.

She waits, still as a statue behind the entrance door, listening for the solid footsteps crunching up the gravel. She hears the thud of several heavy items being dropped onto the stoop before the footsteps crunch away again. It’s only once the sound of the departing car is far enough that she flings open the door.

What awaits on the stoop is a wooden wine crate containing a large bouquet of red carnations amongst other items, and several insulated baskets containing the five course fine dining meal she’s organised.

Time is of the essence now. She needs to quickly set everything up before any of the warm dishes get too cold.

Quickly pulling all the dishes out of the insulated baskets, she breathes a sigh of relief. The private chef has packed everything so well that the food hasn’t shifted in the drive over. There’s not a lopsided quenelle or a smudged schmear in sight. The mains go back into the insulated comfort of the baskets to keep warm while the dessert goes into the fridge.

Rifling through the wooden wine crate, Ava pulls out the candles and the box of rose petals that she’d specially requested. After scattering a handful of the rose petals across the dining table, she feels a bit perplexed as to what she’s meant to do with the remainder of the petals. She’s never had to do this before. Never had this done for her before. Her only experience with this kind of romantic dinner at home is through movies.

Then with a shrug, there’s not much to do other than to throw handfuls into the air in the hopes that they land artfully around the dining room and in a trail leading back to the base of the stairs.

Surveying the result, she wrinkles her nose and admits to herself that it all looks a bit cheesy and haphazard but as long as Beatrice enjoys it then that’s all that matters.

Ava hustles back into the kitchen, now setting up the platter of antipasti in the middle of the dining table amidst the cluster of candles on either side of the table and next to the two small vases of short stemmed arrangement of orange roses, pink and white baby’s breath.

The final touch is to create the mocktail to accompany their meal. She briefly imagines herself as a bartender in another life as she muddles the prepared mint, lime and sugar before topping the wine glass up with ice cubes and Cedrata, with a few sprigs of mint as a final garnish.

Ava casts a final critical eye over the dining table and the romantic atmosphere. By this point she’s definitely dithered long enough and has kept Beatrice waiting upstairs.

The dining table is now bathed by the light from the waning evening sun and the warm glow of the lit candles, casting parts of the room into shadow.

Gathering herself by the foot of the stairs, she calls out to Beatrice, “Bea? Are you ready?”

She hears Beatrice reply from inside the bedroom, “Yes.”

“Okay, you can come downstairs now.”

Surprisingly, Ava finds that her palms are oddly sweaty and she feels nervous as she waits. It truly does feel like she’s about to pick Beatrice up for a date with the aim of sweeping her off her feet and determined to make sure she falls head over heels in love with her.

(*)

Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no

Oh, pa-pa-ba-da hope you're gonna

Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, no, no, no, no, my love

You're gonna make it worth it

I just wanna tell you how I feel, ooh!

Beatrice appears at the top of the stairs now and Ava loses any train of coherent thought.

Beatrice has chosen to wear a deep blue spaghetti strap dress, the deep V of the bodice’s front panelling covers her but is revealing enough to not leave much to the imagination. It’s accentuated by a small cutout just below the decolletage to highlight the definition of Beatrice’s abdominal muscles. She’s chosen to pull her hair up into a twist, the length of her neck fully exposed. The dress fabric moves smoothly with Beatrice as she descends the stairs, Ava looking on awestruck.

And then Beatrice is stopping right in front of her, her own eyes slowly looking Ava up and down, a smile peeking through at the corner of her lips and causing her dimple to make an appearance. A shiver wracks through Ava’s body under the heat of Beatrice’s gaze.

If my body was a boat, could you steer that, sailor? (Mmh)

Make it feel like it's a 1960s Hollywood trailer (old-school, I like)

Classic like cars, classic like Elizabeth Taylor (Taylor, Taylor)

Need you to romance me, I need a giver, not a taker (ooh, it's what I need)

Beatrice says something to her.

Ava does not hear her.

Thankfully she blinks her way back into conscious thought just as Beatrice tries again, this time gesturing with her hand towards Ava’s back, “Is that for me?”

“Wh—What? Oh. Yes. Yes, these are for you,” Ava stumbles through her words, hurriedly pulling the bouquet of carnations out from behind her back and presenting them to Beatrice.

Their fingers brush as she hands the bouquet over, the hairs on the back of her neck stand up from the mere touch, the nerves of the evening heightening all her sensations. Then Beatrice is burying her face into the bouquet and inhaling deeply, a soft grin as she pronounces the scent as warm and spicy .

“Wow, Bea,” Ava exhales a long breath, “You’re so beautiful. I’m kind of at a loss for words to even describe how you look.”

Beatrice, having now looked up from the bouquet, bestows Ava with a crescent eyed smile before shifting her attention to the other decor, spotting the rose petals by their bare feet. “Ava? What’s all this? What are you doing?”

Feeling a bit sheepish in the moment, she feels herself shrug in reply. “I’m romancing you.” Ava reaches out to grasp Beatrice’s free hand, leading her towards the kitchen and dining table. “We haven’t had a chance to do something like this yet and I just wanted to plan a surprise for you.”

The look on Beatrice’s face as she takes in the decorated dining table, the ambient lighting, and the warm glow of the candles makes it all worth it. Worth the juggle to get all this organised and delivered amongst communication issues and the time constraints of the tour.

Ava hurries toward the table to pull out Beatrice’s chair for her, ushering her to sit. Beatrice does so but not before gently cradling Ava’s face in the palm of her hand and drawing her into a prolonged kiss.

They both regard each other as they separate, giggling as they wipe at the slightly smudged lipstick on each other’s face.

Beatrice leans in for one more peck before settling into her chair. “Darling, you didn’t have to go through all this trouble.”

Ava jokingly frowns at her in reply, “Yes, I did, Beatrice. Because I love you.”

Baby, bae, b-b-bae-b-b-baby, would you?

Would you make it all right?

Or maybe that much better?

If you wanted, you could make it all worth it, worth it, worth it, worth it

Ooh, when I see the sun rising, you make it that much better

So I hope you gonna make it all worth it, worth it, worth it, worth it

Cognisant of the bottomless pit that is her beloved’s stomach, Ava serves the two entrees of carpaccio and polpo to accompany the antipasti platter before sitting down opposite Beatrice.

“Just to let you know, I absolutely plan to play footsie beneath this table tonight.”

Rather than shy away, Beatrice meets her head on by raising her chin in challenge and wiggling her eyebrows as she declares, “Good. I welcome it.”

Ava feels herself fall just a tiny little bit more. A fleeting thought passes through her mind before she mentally bats it away for another day.

She can see herself spending the rest of her life looking at Beatrice .

Meanwhile, Beatrice is busying herself by slicing through the polpo and placing bites of everything onto Ava’s plate before serving herself.

The little moan that Beatrice emits at the first taste of the carpaccio with blood orange dressing and pickled fennel is positively sinful. Ava shifts uncomfortably in her seat in response. Beatrice, on the other hand, seems completely unaware of the effect on her, instead shimmying her shoulders about in her happy food dance.

“Stop being so cute! I’m trying to make you fall in love with me .”

With a small chuckle and a roll of her eyes, Beatrice sits back solidly into her chair, food abandoned. The candlelight catches the gleam of her eyes in the prettiest way. Ava leans forward, forever being pulled into Beatrice’s orbit.

This is the night (something 'bout it's making me cry)

My soul, it did decide (feel my body shiver in your moonlight)

And I need you to (let me have the time of my life)

Checked your credentials, South residentials

Ooh, baby boy girl*, you got so much potential

“Your smile alone could make someone fall in love with you.”

She feels her eyebrows lift, puzzled by Beatrice’s admission.

Beatrice takes a sip of her drink before answering Ava’s unspoken question. “The first time we met, I remember thinking your smile could make someone trip over themselves. And then, when you sang ‘ Aunque Es De Noche ’? I think I knew then that I was in trouble.”

Ava has to fight the urge to not squeal in shock at the first touch. Unexpected as it is, Beatrice has made the first move, her toes gently grazing Ava’s ankle before slowly trailing upward. She closes her eyes briefly, reminding herself to behave but can’t help but to lower her voice, fighting back a smile as she says, “You’re trouble tonight.”

Ava sends a responding foot out, nudging into Beatrice’s other leg, curling it behind her calf to pull it forward and then gently caressing it with the side of her foot.

“Oh? Are we playing footsie pea-knuckle?”

“What the heck is a pea-knuckle?”

Beatrice laughs loudly in response. “Sorry. A thumb war? It’s another name for it. A foot war in this case?”

“A war? I would have started the Trojan War for you.”

“You know it’s entirely possible that Helen did fall in love with Paris, right? Maybe she wasn’t abducted. Besides, I doubt Menelaus’ motivations were so pure. Several texts say that he just wanted to seize more power and conquer territories, and Helen was just an excuse.”

“No! I rebuke this interpretation. Menelaus went after Helen and started the Trojan War because he was desperately in love with her and was trying to rescue her from her abductor.”

“Agree to disagree.”

Ava squints at Beatrice in playful anger. “Regardless, I would fight a war for you Beatrice Young.”

Beatrice chortles in response. “I don’t doubt it.”

It’s when Ava gets up to clear the table and bring back the first of the mains, a slow braised beef rib, that Beatrice tilts her head in curiosity, a slightly confused look on her face. “Ava, is this a set menu from a restaurant?”

Ava picks up the water jug and leans forward to refill Beatrice’s cup before answering. “Not exactly. Have you liked the food so far?”

If anything Beatrice looks even more confused by her reply. “I’ve loved everything we’ve had so far. But there’s just been some flavour combinations that I wouldn’t normally associate with Italian cuisine?” The rising inflection as Beatrice speaks further illustrates her confusion.

“I had it specially curated for your tastes. The private chef asked if we had any preferences and then provided a selection for me to pick from based on what I said you liked to eat.”

Beatrice’s eyelashes blink rapidly for a few seconds, seemingly unsure of how to reply before she’s grasping at Ava’s hand, turning her wrist to face upwards before placing a lingering kiss on her pulse point. “Thank you, my love.”

Something like a dream, babe

Somehow, I'm so captured by you

I'm rearranging all of my plans

And I'm holding my breath

As I hope you make it worth it

Their night continues to unfurl in this fashion, the two flirting back and forth over their food. Eyes crinkling in delight at sharing this moment, just between the two of them, completely at ease and helplessly in love.

“Ava…”

“Yes?”

“Your birthday is coming up in a few days. Is there anything in particular you wanted to do to celebrate?”

“No, just being with you. Here. It's enough.”

“Charmer.”

“Only for you.”

It’s by the third moan that Beatrice lets out over dinner, this time in response to the ravioli, that Ava has the sneaking suspicion that they’ve all been well timed and deliberate. She’s almost certain that Beatrice is trying to get her to crack. There’s a smirk playing at Beatrice’s lips as she stares back at her. Widening her eyes innocently. “What?”

“You are evil,” Ava says sotto voce.

“I have no idea what you are talking about. But also, did you look at yourself in that dress? If anyone’s evil here, it is most definitely you Ava Silva.”

“Say my name again.”

“Ava Silva.”

“Again.”

“Ava.”

“Have I ever told you how good my name sounds on your lips?”

Crap . That was the wrong thing to say.

She’s supposed to be behaving herself and giving Beatrice the best fucking date of her life. And there’s still dessert to get through.

She almost weeps at the thought. “Dessert?”

Beatrice shakes her head slowly. “Not yet. I just want to look at you a little longer and savour the moment.”

Okay. This is good. That’s a good response. She can work with that. She can get them back onto steady non-horny ground .

“Have I told you how incredible you look tonight? In that dress? I keep feeling like I need to pinch myself to check I’m not dreaming.” In retrospect, Ava really should have known that Beatrice had been up to no good the moment she had left her alone upstairs.

The smile Beatrice gives her is devilish, just before she opens her mouth and delivers the most devastating sentence ever with those perfect red lips, “I’m glad. Since I only bought this dress so you could take it off.”

Fuck .

Ava whimpers in reply. She can’t even find it in herself to be embarrassed by it either.

She makes one more half-hearted attempt at keeping the evening on the romantic train track, eyes imploring as she asks, “Pl—Please Bea,” embarrassingly, her voice cracks, “Do you want any of the dessert?”

Beatrice is shaking her head again, “Maybe later. Dessert is not the only thing I am planning on savouring slowly tonight.”

Ava is not a strong person. She is not God’s strongest warrior. Let it be known that she doubts even a celibate nun could fight the temptation of Beatrice in this dress and not pray for absolution. So really, who can blame her when Ava sinks to her knees and crawls under the table towards Beatrice?

Ava blames Beatrice for her immobilisation when she slides a hand up her thigh, followed by her very eager mouth, only to discover that Beatrice does not have any underwear on.

This is the night (this is the night)

My soul, it did decide (worth it)

And I need you to (I need you to)

I'm all in, I can't reverse it

So I hope and pray you make it worth it

The banister rattles, the entire railing shakes with the sheer force of the impact as Ava’s back meets it. The pain only lasts momentarily, quickly superseded by other feelings that are overwhelming her. They’re already gasping for breath, hurriedly sucking in short puffs of air, reluctant to interrupt their incessant need to kiss.

Their mouths coming together over and over again. Her gut is working overtime as it reacts to the way her body is being shuffled around, bouncing at a hectic rate that she no longer cares to control. That all consuming pull is building deep beneath her belly and she’s about to grab the hand gripping her ass and put it where it should be instead.

Ava doubts Beatrice even registers how rough she is being, which in itself is unusual and a huge turn on. Beatrice too caught up with keeping Ava as still as possible so that she can have her way with her, her hand bruising in its grip, traversing a well traveled path. She’s minutely aware that her body is being lifted by Beatrice’s strength alone. One of her hands comes out to grip the banister in an effort to assist but it’s not needed. Beatrice loops both arms underneath her butt, scooping her up in one fluid and swift move.

“Bed—get to bed. Bedroo—” Beatrice says out of breath and into her mouth, “My neck—Ava my—”

“Mmhmm—yeah,” she doesn’t have to be told twice, her arms wrap around Beatrice at the same time she’s being bounced up and re-adjusted in place, Beatrice’s arms seeking a tighter grip.

Beatrice doesn’t hesitate, she’s immediately on the move, climbing up the stairs as if the floor is quickly filling with lava and the bedroom upstairs is their only salvation. Ava can’t even focus on what’s happening, her mind is too busy throwing a small party inside her head. Beatrice has remembered her fantasy of having a The Notebook moment.

The panting by her ear is doing delicious things to her as Beatrice continues to climb the steps to their destination. It all appears easy from where she is, but there’s a small bead of sweat by her girlfriend’s temple, a sign that this is quite possibly more difficult than it appears.

Ava’s slammed into the first wall in sight once they make it upstairs, the result of Beatrice going over the final step with too much momentum. And Ava’s sure she’s knocked her head into the wall, but it doesn’t even matter. She’s far too busy, happily gripping at biceps and admiring the muscles which are now stone hard and burning from the exertion. There’s a thigh between her legs, meant to be keeping her up, but between the heat between her legs and the hard muscle underneath, she can’t find it in herself to stop from grinding against it.

She barely manages to partially undo Beatrice’s bun before she’s being lifted up again, the force careening them back into the wall. She pulls at Beatrice’s jaw, hard. Their lips meeting in a bruising kiss. Then, Beatrice is on the move again, one hand in front of her as she maneuvers them into the bedroom, the other nice and snug under her butt.

In a matter of seconds they’re no longer upright and Beatrice’s weight lands on top of her body fully, but they don’t stop. Lips barely detaching. She’s reaching down to pull Beatrice’s dress off. She needs to touch, she needs to feel Beatrice’s warmth against her.

Beatrice pulls back abruptly, out of her reach. Her pupils are blown, hair messy and still in a half bun. Betrice’s chest is rising and falling erratically as she admires what’s in front of her.

Ava sits up, hands running along Beatrice’s sweat coated thighs to grip at the ends of the dress, but before she can tug it upwards, hands stop her.

“Not yet,” Beatrice commands, pushing against Ava’s shoulders, lowering her back down onto the bed.

And she doesn’t have the vocal ability right now to fight against it. But when she does find it in herself to nod, Beatrice slips her two hands under Ava’s dress, pushing it upwards and easing her underwear down before pulling it off. Leaving Ava completely exposed from waist down.

Her breath hitches. “What are you—” the words die in her mouth.

Beatrice comes close, straddling one of her thighs momentarily while rucking her dress up and aside before lowering herself. When their bodies meet Ava’s mind actually malfunctions, taking a few seconds to adjust and actually recognise what is happening. How Beatrice has placed her body—their bodies to do. It all comes to her quickly then, as Beatrice jerks once sending small trembles through her body. The heat that she has already been feeling intensifying with the new addition.

Beatrice grips both her thighs, finding a rhythm, moving back and forth until it’s everything Ava has ever wanted to experience between them and more. She’s moving now too, eagerly matching Beatrice, watching as the ragged breathing starts. The sounds along with every other sensation making her dizzy and scatterbrained.

Ava’s tightening her abdomen as if doing a crunch to reach upwards for Beatrice’s dress again.

“No,” Beatrice rasps out, keeping their pace, hands clenching tighter around her thighs.

“I want to touch you.”

Beatrice closes her eyes briefly, concentrating on the rhythm. “You can touch me.”

Ava’s hand makes its way underneath Beatrice’s dress, running along her thigh first before splaying out on Beatrice’s stomach, feeling the muscles contract and relax in tandem. The hand doesn’t stay there long, curiosity winning over as it trails back down, fitting its way between them.

Beatrice bites back a moan as eager fingers interrupt their grinding, the pace coming down to a halt. “Stop. That’s not what I want.”

The reply, a low rumble that escapes her throat, “What do you want?”

“I want you to lie back down and enjoy it,” Beatrice breathes out, her body erupting into shivers at the wanton thought.

Beatrice begins the cadence again, pulling Ava’s slick hand away and placing it on her thigh, but Ava much prefers to slide it just a few centimetres higher, squeezing at Beatrice’s ass instead.

As Ava lies back down, the first few signs of her girlfriend being close begins to make their presence known. It starts as the frequency of Beatrice’s thrusting increases, the unsatiated urgency revealing itself. When she looks up, Beatrice’s lips are pressed tight, chest blossoming red, the colour spreading up her neck and meeting her gorgeous freckled cheeks. Eyes meeting Ava’s own. And that’s it, that’s the tipping point for her because she’s growing frantic for release as well.

“Bea—I’m—” she stutters.

Beatrice doesn’t acknowledge her words, the hands on her thighs squeezing impossibly tighter, it’s sure to leave a mark, the pain from the grip adding to the overall experience. In the fog of her one track mind, Ava realises that she too can pull Beatrice closer via the hand already on her girlfriend’s ass. She palms both buttcheeks now, digging her fingers in.

Ava can’t manage to keep her eyes open as the pulsing in her ears mutates into ringing, the pressure bursting through her like a cresting wave. She doesn’t hear herself moan, but can feel the after effects of it in her throat. As she dissolves into pleasure and rides out the last of her orgasm a whimpered moan leaves Beatrice’s lips, hips continuing to move back and forth for some time. Ava waits it out along with Beatrice, deliberately slowing their pace until the last of the shocks finish. Beatrice has that look though as she stills, a clear indication that she wants to be held, so Ava sits up and takes her in her arms until Beatrice is ready to let go.

She moves the sweaty strands of hair off Beatrice’s forehead, finally releasing the last vestiges of hair from its bun, sending the loose waves falling down and around Beatrice’s shoulders. Ava presses a kiss under Beatrice’s jaw, nuzzling slowly until she reaches the earlobe, sucking it into her mouth before asking permission, “Now can I take your dress off?”

At Beatrice’s answering nod, she unzips the back of the dress, easing Beatrice out of it and dropping the material onto the floor. She quickly wiggles out of her own dress, joining Beatrice’s on the floor.

It’s only after several rounds later, interspersed by a hurried venture downstairs while butt naked to retrieve their desserts to eat in bed, that Ava finally asks, “Bea? What would you have done if we had gone out for dinner instead and you had no underwear on?”

—

There’s a delicious burn to Beatrice’s muscles. Evidence of a nice and thorough full body workout.

It also helps that the view is nothing short of breathtaking.

Paddleboarding in the middle of Lake Como? Highly recommended.

But now the prickle of heat is starting to burn against her skin, a combination of the sun’s rays and its reflection off the waters of the lake. Beatrice has been paddling around for well over an hour at this point, a rumble of her tummy is nigh and she should be turning back now.

Ava had elected to stay behind on the boat, emphatically stating that she was on holiday for a good time and to work on her tan. She has had enough of any strenuous outdoor physical activities that did not include sex, thank you very much, and would be unequivocally rejecting any and all suggestions of the sort from Beatrice.

Ava must have been keeping an eye out for her return because once she’s in sight of the boat, Ava’s head shielded by Beatrice’s own sunhat, is bobbing up from the starboard side. When Beatrice gets close, Ava is clambering over to the stern of the boat to steady her and help her off the paddleboard, before quickly disappearing below deck.

“Come eat lunch! I already cut the watermelon.”

—

Beatrice bounces on one foot again, right ear turned downward in the direction of the floor. The thud when she lands makes the wood shake underneath. The stupid water won’t budge no matter how many times she jumps in what has turned out to be a pathetic attempt at removing it from her ear canal. It’s been hours too. Hours of that uncomfortable feeling of something stuck but not. She tries again, this time landing with a lot more force than before.

“What are you doing in there?” Ava enquires from the adjoining room, in bed with ‘ their’ Kindle. It may have been a mistake on Beatrice’s part to share it with Ava because her girlfriend has been picky about every book she has suggested so far. Who is to say she hasn’t opened a few and totally messed with her carefully organised reading flow. “If it’s a spider you’re on your own.”

Beatrice steps out of the bathroom, continuing to shake her head to the right side. “It’s my ear. I’ve had water in it since we got back from the boat.”

Ava slips off the bed before standing, taking Beatrice’s head in her hands, twisting it to have a closer look at the ear. “Even after the shower?”

“Yes. It doesn’t seem to want to come out.”

“One second,” Ava says, releasing her before going inside the ensuite. She’s looking through her toiletries bag in search of something. A few Q-tips are procured seconds later, Ava wiggling them in a victory dance type of way.

“No.”

“What do you mean ‘no’?”

Beatrice backs up, hands raised in front of her, “It is not recommended by healthcare professionals.” When that doesn’t satisfy Ava she continues, “You run the risk of perforating your ear drum!”

“Not recommended—Beatrice there’s water in your ear! There’s been water in your ear for hours, that can cause an infection.” Ava’s advancing towards her now, resolute in exactly what is about to transpire between them.

Beatrice has been corralled by Ava before and knows her girlfriend can be formidable and imposing when need be. There have been instances of pure fear but also moments where she herself has encouraged other things to take place afterwards. Ava will get her way one way or another, but Beatrice can at least delay the inevitable.

She swerves left, but Ava knows, can smell it like a deeply skilled apex predator, accurately herding her towards the closed balcony doors and a potential ear subjugation. It’s an impasse. Beatrice needs to act fast if she is to get away. “Have I told you how much I love you, Ava Silva?”

Her eyes must betray her intention to run out of the bedroom and down the stairs because Ava laughs like the tyrant that she is before turning around to close and lock the door behind her.

“Actually, come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve heard you say it today. Not even once.”

“I love you.”

Ava cocks an eyebrow, walking towards her undeterred, “I’ll be careful. Please? Just sit down, I don't want to tackle you, but I will. You know how strong I can be.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

“You have to keep your finger at least 1 cm from the tip,” she says sitting on the edge of the bed.

Ava nods, urging her to move back more before straddling her lap in an impressive yet effective hold. Beatrice did not account for being restrained, how is she meant to wiggle around like the helpless prey she is now?

“Just keep still, will you?”

She breathes in, hands attaching themselves to Ava’s sides, keeping her as fixed in place as possible.

The Q-tip goes in and Ava turns it carefully. The sensation tickles, sending small waves of pleasure into Beatrice’s brain and she almost almost lets herself forget how dangerous this has the potential to be. After a few seconds the cotton swab comes out and the ear immediately feels a lot better.

“That did help.”

“See? You’re such a big baby,” Ava teases, kissing Beatrice’s cheek before getting off her.

Ava switches off the lights as she comes back to bed, clambering over Beatrice to nestle herself between her and the wall. Everything is quiet while Ava shuffles about, adjusting herself into a comfortable position. They face each other, perfectly content to just lie there mere centimetres from the other, breaths mixing between them.

“Don’t go to sleep yet,” Ava murmurs right as Beatrice’s eyes begin to droop close. It’s hard to fight sleep when everything feels warm, comfortable and blissful. The exhaustion from the day’s activities on the lake finally catching up to her. Ava comes closer, lips just grazing her own, “Don’t sleep…don’t sleep…don’t sleep.”

“Mmm?”

“Tell me a secret,” Ava whispers into her ear.

“What kind of secret?” she replies matching Ava’s hushed tone. Eyes blink open in a concerted effort to stay awake, focusing on the tip of Ava’s ear just poking out from under her short locks.

“Anything you want to share.” Ava doesn’t rush her. She waits patiently, chest rising and falling steadily, a rhythm that in itself threatens to lull Beatrice back to sleep.

And it’s this moment, lying here beside Ava, enveloped in the stillness of their quiet night with her heart full and overflowing after a few blissful days together, that makes Beatrice bold enough to say, “I think I’m homesick.” A crease immediately takes over Ava’s forehead, worry etching its way onto her features as she closely watches Beatrice, prompting her to continue without further delay, “You know how being home makes you feel safe and comfortable? I’m talking about that sensation I guess—that yearning to be home. To lie down with a warm blanket and eat your favourite foods.”

“Añoranza.” Ava raises herself from their sideways position, crossing her legs underneath her.

“What does that mean?” Beatrice is up now too, scooting closer to Ava and eyes searching her face—for what, she doesn’t know. The drowsiness from before slipping away at the opportunity for a conversation that doesn’t revolve around something silly or avoidant.

“In simple terms it means ‘yearning’, but poetically it can mean visiting old memories, especially those that bring you comfort.” Ava stops to contemplate her next words, hand coming to rest on top of Beatrice’s upturned one, “Memories can be a home, for example.”

“You.”

That causes Ava to stop running her fingers along her palm, tilting her head, “Me?”

“When you’re not beside me I feel homesick.”

“Oh.” The acknowledgment barely above a whisper.

“I’ve never felt this way before,” Beatrice ventures, entangling their fingers and squeezing to punctuate her words with a confidence she’s not quite sure that she feels, “I hope it’s okay, that I told you.”

There’s a struggle while Ava tries to catch her breath, voice uneven, “Yeah—yes. I’m happy you told me. I also feel that way, or I think I do. I’m—” Ava hesitates, clearly thinking about what to say next or to not say at all.

Internally Beatrice waits with bated breath, now familiar with the way Ava always withdraws whenever the subject strays too far into the future. “I don’t want to hurt your feelings, I'm just struggling to put my thoughts into words at the moment.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” She wants to heave out a sigh. To make some or even just any kind of physical manifestation to release the way she’s feeling inside at Ava’s lack of understanding or Ava’s repeated evasion of her feelings. Their feelings.

“No! I want to,” Ava is quick to reply, “Just give me a second.”

“Take your time.”

“I—” Ava huffs out uncharacteristically, at a loss for words. Beatrice can see that this, this moment, this vocalisation of her thoughts, is probably a lot more difficult for Ava than she first thought. Ava nods, more to herself than anything else, preparing herself for what she’s about to say. “I don’t remember ever wanting this,” she motions between them with her free hand, “Wanting this kind of relationship. No. That’s not right. I’ve never even contemplated this. But then you happened. And seeing you now, sitting here with you, every day that passes with you by my side, it makes me want to—that after all these years it makes me want to dream of something more. More than what I have always known. More than what I’ve ever dared to hope for.”

“Just dream?” she asks hesitantly.

“No. Not just dream. Think,” Ava stammers out,” I think of you, Beatrice. I think of a future with you.”

“I—”

The sound of the gates opening outside alert them.

“Was that the—” Ava cocks her head, listening closely.

The crunching sound of gravel travels up to them as a car speeds up the driveway.

The words that she was about to say die at the tip of her tongue as a pounding sound from downstairs reverberates up into the quiet of their room. Someone is hammering at the entry door.

Both of them flinch at the harsh sound, eyes wide, minds racing at what would warrant such a distressing noise. It’s not lost on them how forbidding a disturbance like this is in the middle of the night.

She’s up and moving before Ava tries to stop her. Turning back to Ava before reaching the closed bedroom door, “Where are our phones?”

“Yours is downstairs I think. Mine is dead,” Ava replies, the rise and fall of her chest quickening with each second that passes. Ava’s pupils dilated in fear. The pounding starts again. “How could anyone have gotten through the gates? No one else has the code other than the—” she swallows, throwing the blanket to the side before standing and getting up to join Beatrice.

“I’m going down. Stay here.” Beatrice is pulling open the bedroom door now, exiting into the hallway and leaving the door ajar behind her.

“No. Beatrice, I don’t want you to go alone. Bea—”

The pounding continues.

Whoever is behind the front door is insistent. Beatrice quickly creeps down the stairs, wooden treads creaking beneath her feet. The familiar sound of an idling car engine in the driveway stills her nerves long enough to give her fortitude to reach out a hand to the door, intending to face whoever it is on the other side.

“Beatrice! Do not open the door!” Ava yells from the top of the stairs, agitation and fear evident in her voice.

“Beatrice!”

She knows that voice. Can recognise the commanding tone. Has been at the end of it several times. It’s Emilia. But she’s calling out for her, not Ava.

“Beatrice!”

On autopilot now, Beatrice’s hand reaches for the lock, undoing the bolt. It sends Ava into an immediate state of panic, feet thundering down the steps towards her. Beatrice swings her body back towards Ava, hoping to calm her, “It’s Emilia. It’s—”

The door abruptly opens without any action on Beatrice’s part and slams closed just as quickly.

Ava stops halfway down the steps relieved, but only for a moment. In the matter of a few seconds, her face traverses through several emotions, vast and fully discernable, culminating at an all encompassing terror.

“You were photographed together.” Emilia’s words land in the room.

Beatrice feels her breath whoosh out of her, watches Ava mirror the same action, her body understands and reacts before her mind has even caught up.

Emilia’s tone is careful, an attempt at calm, a calm she clearly does not feel as she looks at Ava, face hard-lined but also showing visible signs of unease.

Something settles in the pit of Beatrice’s stomach and all at once she feels sick, the panic lancing through her like a speeding train on a collision course. There’s a cold sweat racing its way up her neck and through her chest. She wants to throw up. No. She needs to throw up.

“It’s unclear whether they have pictures that show Ava’s face, but from what Suzanne has sent through, it’s clear that it is you, Beatrice. On the boat. Kissing someone. They must have had lenses. They’re going to publish whether Suzanne reaches out or not. It’s probably already out.”

No one dares breathe in the silence that follows, stretching to concerning levels.

Ava stands stock still on the stairs, her muscles locked into place.

And if Beatrice is finding it difficult to breathe through her emotions then Ava can barely draw a breath.

Suddenly, Ava jerks into motion. She’s on the move. Racing back up the stairs without sparing them another glance.

Beatrice’s instinct is to follow. Ava needs her. In this moment, Ava’s needs must come first so she must swallow whatever panic induced vomit is clawing up her innards and fight her instinct to withdraw into herself and be by Ava’s side.

As she starts to move, placing a shaky hand onto the banister, Emilia grabs at her wrist, stilling her ascent, “I need you to be sensible.”

Why does everyone always ask that of her? As if she needs to be the one who constantly puts sense into everything she does. She can be unreasonable. She doesn’t need to constantly please the world. Breaking little pieces, giving too much of herself away. She doesn’t have to be sensible. Sensible is staying down here and taking charge of the situation. What Beatrice wants is to be upstairs with her girlfriend. A girlfriend who is probably having a nervous breakdown.

“Beatrice, you need to be sensible,” Emilia reiterates, the hand around her wrist clenching tighter. “Stay here for now. If you go up right now Ava will lash out. She can find it hard to control her emotions during heightened moments. She might say something to you that she doesn’t mean.” It comes from a place of care and from Emilia’s own experiences Beatrice knows, but Ava actively trying to hurt her, it has not been a part of their relationship nor can she ever see Ava doing that to her.

“You said the pictures were of me? On the boat? What about—”

“You’re blocking Ava in the pictures you’re together. They’re obviously aware that someone else was there with you. It’s clear you’re kissing someone but they don’t want to point any fingers without proof. It seems Ava was able to stay out of sight for the most part.”

“Emilia. Please let go of my arm,” Beatrice articulates every syllable clearly, “I’m going to go be with Ava. I presume Suzanne is also on her way?”

Emilia nods before releasing her. “Do you need to see the photos?”

“No.”

As she slowly walks up the stairs, a retreat of her descent from only a few minutes ago yet it now feels like a lifetime ago. She dreads what she might find when she reaches Ava. Her mind, a non-stop barrage of questions. Do they know it’s Ava? Could they figure it out given enough time? Are they wasting time already by not addressing it? Suzanne must be on top of it if she’s on her way. Maybe they can salvage this. Then, the questions turn towards her culpability. Was it her fault? Did she cause this? She desperately wanted this vacation with Ava. She was the one that pressured Ava to agree to this, a holiday in daylight, when all Ava wanted to do was hunker down in one of their apartments.

The sight that greets her when she arrives at the doorway is of Ava hastily pulling stuff out of their bags, rifling through them in search of something. Her movements jerky and a tremble visible in her hands. Her short hair is disheveled and sticking out at odd angles, Ava running panicked fingers through it in repeated attempts to tame it even as she squats to rummage through the bedside drawer.

Ava is completely quiet apart from the sounds of her movements as she continues to search for whatever it is that she is looking for.

She shouldn’t have brought them here.

She had ignored the possible consequences in favour of her own selfish wants and now it was time to face the music.

The bedside drawer slams closed startling Beatrice back to the scene in front of her. Ava sits on the edge of the bed, hands still trembling without pause as she holds the phone’s charging cord to her phone, unable to fit it in place. Beatrice steps into the room, legs maneuvering her forward, her body deciding for her. Beatrice’s hands enclose Ava’s as she lowers herself down onto the floor in front of her, holding Ava’s hands steady as she helps Ava plug in the phone.

They sit there in silence, staring at the dark screen of the dead phone.

Silence reigns as Ava continues to stare, eyes fixated on the screen as the phone boots up, its bright logo casting sharp angles on her features, illuminating the lines of worry and fear, and the hugeness of her eyes. It doesn’t take long for the phone to start loading its apps but it feels like an eternity as Ava chews her thumb in anticipation, the skin coming back raw and wet as her attention returns to the device. Her fingers flitting about quickly, Ava taps and scrolls, eyes darting back and forth reading through what Beatrice assumes is multiple news outlets and social media apps. Ava’s face falling deeper and deeper into a state of hopelessness.

“They know,” Ava says quietly.

Beatrice shakes her head helplessly from where she sits, hands running up and down Ava’s bare legs soothingly, “No. Ava. They don’t know.”

“How—how could you say that, Beatrice?” Ava responds, voice breaking as she raises her head to peer at Beatrice, “Anyone with eyes can put it together.”

Without waiting for a response, Ava breaks their eye contact, dropping her head down to continue looking at her phone.

“Would that be so bad?” At that, Ava immediately lifts her gaze, looking back at her incredulously. She can start to make out the pool of tears beginning to emerge from the corners of Ava’s eyes. “Maybe now that it’s out there we can just, I don’t know… stop hiding? I know that this isn’t the way we wanted to handle things, but at least now we can actually—”

“No,” Ava blurts out.

“No?”

“I can’t.”

“You can’t?”

“You know I can’t.”

“No…,” Beatrice begins uneasily, “I don’t know that you can’t.” Her eyes beseeching, and searching Ava’s for a sign. “Ava, what do you mean you can’t?”

“I can’t. Not now. Not right now. Not like this. I’m not prepared. This is all happening too soon,” the words tumble out of Ava’s mouth in a gasp, “I haven’t even fully thought about the repercussions or the damage it will cause my career. The amount of scrutiny I’ll be under.”

A pit of something begins to burrow its way into Beatrice’s stomach. Something hard and thorny. “But you must have known that this was a possibility, that you considered it at times? That there was a chance we could be found out? Spotted? We’ve been careful, but Ava, that never meant that this… hiding, hiding us , could continue forever. Sooner or later we would have needed to make a decision. I’ve—I've allowed this to go on thinking once our lives were calmer, once you had finished your tour, that you would eventually think of us and think seriously about us, how we would fit into your career.”

Ava’s face is hard. The set of her lips, a grim line. “This is not an easy decision. You can’t ask me to make a decision that will irreparably affect my career like this. You can’t back me into a corner and demand a decision.”

“No one is backing you into a corner.”

“You’re pushing me into it. You’re doing it right now.”

“Ava…that’s not—” she wants to laugh maniacally because this is absurd. How is this moment happening? The two of them not understanding each other isn’t new, but this—they don’t seem to be on the same page, they’re not even in-tune with one another. “I’m not pushing you into a corner Ava, you have done that yourself.”

“I’ve been careful. I just wanted us to—”

“You hid me. You continue to hide me. That’s not being careful, that’s being hurtful.”

“I’m not trying to hurt you, Beatrice.”

“But you have . Whether you meant to or not doesn’t matter because every time you pulled your hand away, every time you walked just a few paces from me, and every time you stopped us from seeing each other you hurt me. I don’t think you have any idea what it felt like when I asked to come be with you on tour and you rejected it outright. You didn’t even discuss it. I almost wish you had just slapped me. Maybe it would have hurt less.”

Ava’s shoulders droop, head following in shame. “I’m sorry.”

“Ava. That’s not—my feelings about all that’s happened during the past months are not important right now. What is important is how we handle things going forward. I assume Emilia is here because she needs to know what you—what we want to do about this and Suzanne will soon be here for the same thing. We need to know how to proceed.”

She stands from her spot next to Ava. They need space. They both need to breathe and they both need a moment to think.

Hand clenching hard on the balcony door handle—the indent of the handle against her hand almost a welcome relief, the bite of a physical pain to ground her—Beatrice makes the decision to open it slightly, letting the cool night breeze seep into the room.

Ava has brought her knees up onto the bed, burrowing her head into them, shoulders shaking as she wraps her arms around her legs.

The whine of another car engine roars up the driveway, followed shortly by the opening of the front door and Beatrice can hear the distinct tone of Suzanne’s voice as she speaks with Emilia.

Ava must hear it as well because a wet snort escapes her nose, arms tightening further around herself.

Beatrice cannot let Ava lose herself in her mind. She’s aware of the crevices in there, of what Ava will find if given the opportunity to linger. She takes a few hesitant steps back to her girlfriend, lowering herself in front of her again. Ava’s legs come loose under her touch, settling on each side.

When Ava looks up her face is splotchy, the red colour spreading from her eyes, to her nose and down to her neck. Her sniffles are wet as tears continue to run in rivulets down her cheeks. Beatrice brings her hands up, wiping underneath Ava’s eyes and pinching her thumb under the runny nose.

“I should have listened to you,” Ava starts, her voice rough from the crying, hanging her head again, “In New York. You were right.” Her breathing is laboured as she struggles to breathe around her cries.

“New York was a long time ago, I said things I shouldn’t—”

“I don’t want to resent you, Beatrice.” Ava lifts her head to look straight into her eyes, biting hard at her lip as she does so, “I don’t want us to end up resenting each other.”

Their eyes are wildly roving back and forth. Trying to understand. Trying to communicate without words.

“What does that even mean?” Beatrice asks, hand coming up to clasp at Ava’s hand, it shakes in her grip. Her fingers work quickly to soothe the nerves in any way she can.

“I should have respected your wishes. You knew how difficult this would be for the both of us. You warned me. And I just— I just didn’t want to hear it.” Ava laughs, but it dies as quickly as it begins, tone brittle and bordering on annoyed. Annoyed at who though? Beatrice? Herself? “I pushed you. I pushed this relationship onto you without thinking things through and now it’s too late.”

“You didn’t—I pushed just as much as you did. I wanted it too. I’m also to blame.”

“Maybe we’re just delaying the inevitable.”

“Ava, please. What are you saying?” A plaintive plea in her voice. Beatrice doesn’t even know what she’s pleading for. Pleading against.

“I just don’t see a way in which this. Us. Doesn’t impact my career. Everything I have worked for, everything I’ve worked so hard for, has the potential to be taken from me––”

Beatrice interjects before Ava can spiral further, “But it won’t be taken from you, Ava. It’s not all or nothing. Look at me and Mary. We’re out, our label is okay with it and so are our fans. You’ll be okay. You won’t lose—”

“No. No,” Ava is furiously shaking her head in response. “No, Beatrice. You saw what they said in response to the MV. You and Mary planned this from the start. That’s…that’s not how I’ve built up my career. I have given up too much of myself to lose it all now. My team and I have come too far to lose it all. This all hangs on people wanting me, my label—the contracts—people wanting to buy my music, my image. I just can’t.”

There’s a significant uptick in Beatrice’s heart rate, as if it knows something she herself doesn’t. That hard and thorny object in her is growing exponentially now, it feels like it's ripping her asunder from the inside. The cooling sensation of blood coating her from within. “What are you doing? Why are you saying it like that, like you’re about to—”

Ava’s breaths are impossibly shallow now, “We can’t keep seeing each other. We need to stop. We can’t. I can’t continue to risk my career,” it’s alarming to witness the gasps of air that Ava’s struggling to force in, a wheeze straining her voice as she struggles to speak and breathe in at the same time, “I’ve already caused enough harm. The flying back and forth trying to keep our relationship afloat. Coming to you and postponing tour dates. The hell I’ve faced from the label. I’ve had to apologize to label heads and fans because of my actions.”

“You’re breaking up with me?”

“I’m ending this before we grow to hate each other.”

“You’re breaking up with me.” Her words sound hollow in her ears, a strange calmness to them. It doesn’t even feel like she’s the one saying them.

Ava is looking at everything but her, as if meeting her eyes will solidify what she has just said. “I’m letting you go. Before you hate me. I can’t make you happy. I can’t give you what you want. You know it but you don’t want to acknowledge it. I don’t want to keep hurting you because of my career.”

Beatrice breathes in, calming herself, grounding herself. She won’t. She won’t allow herself to cry. She shoves down the anger that is threatening to rise up and rear its ugly head. Anger at the way that Ava isn’t even willing to fight for this. For them. Anger at the reality of their lives and their chosen paths. Is there even a point in arguing against it? There’s truth in what Ava has said. They should have spoken about this sooner. They should have been more proactive. She shouldn’t have been so careless with herself. Shouldn’t have been so careless with them.

Beatrice’s free hand comes to her forehead, rubbing it in the hopes that it can ease the tension there. Ava’s other hand comes to grip it, pulling her away from her thoughts as well. “Beatrice, look at me,” Ava’s voice is firm, she clears her throat when their eyes meet, “I love you.”

She shakes her head and attempts to pull away, tugging hard at Ava’s grip but Ava has a solid hold on both her hands, unwilling to put any distance between them. Beatrice swallows hard, the lump in her throat growing bigger and bigger as time passes.

“Beatrice,” Ava’s voice shakes.

“I love you,” she says finally and Ava exhales, releasing their hands.

They observe each other for a while, or at least long enough for the sting in her eyes to finally give way to tears, but when they come out they’re silent, resigned to what has just occurred. And just like hers had done before, Ava’s hands come to her face, wiping away the tears as they spill out, fingers lingering by her cheeks.

Ava lowers her head down, nose nudging close to Beatrice’s own, asking without having to say anything at all. All Beatrice needs to do is lean and they’re kissing, mouths coming together in a desperate attempt to hold on to something. She can taste the salt on Ava’s lips and can feel how warm her cheeks are from crying. She can hear the way they both struggle to breathe through the snot in their noses. It’s not pretty, it doesn’t need to be. They’re feeling too much right now. The impending confirmation once they separate is too great for them to comprehend, a goodbye neither of them are ready for.

They pull away from each other at the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs.

Beatrice stands, putting distance between them. Pushing down a new thought, it wasn’t enough…it wasn’t enough… I wasn’t enough . As she wipes at her tears, pressing her palms firmly against her eye sockets to staunch the flow, Emilia and Suzanne come into view in the hallway.

Ava stands too, grabbing her phone and unplugging it before going into the ensuite and closing the door behind her.

“Beatrice,” Suzanne greets from the doorway, “I apologise for showing up like this but I need to know how you would like me to navigate this.”

She offers what must be a tremulous greeting, a simple gesture of her hand in something resembling a wave. “I’m going to pack my bags and meet you downstairs.”

Suzanne nods and turns to leave.

Emilia does not follow.

“Ava?” Emilia knocks at the bathroom door, but it goes unanswered.

Emilia’s eyes watch her hesitantly as she folds the clothing she brought with her into the duffle. Gathering up the few pieces that Ava had thrown about in her search for the phone cable. There’s no hesitation when she strips off her pajama shorts, quickly replacing them with jeans, and throwing a hoodie over the sleep shirt.

As she grabs her satchel, placing in the last bit of her things, her hands touch a small velvet box at the bottom. Beatrice hesitates, fingers curling around it, feeling the material and fighting back the buildup of tears again. She pulls the box out, not allowing herself a glance as she deposits it on top of the bed. Emilia’s eyes follow her movement, but no words are exchanged.

The sooner she can leave this room, this villa, the sooner she can start to handle the situation.

But there’s something Beatrice must do first.

“Emilia. I would like to apologise for any setbacks I’ve caused. Please know that it wasn’t my intention to derail Ava’s career with my own—” Emilia does something so unexpected that it takes several seconds to register that she has been pulled into a hug, “...issues.”

“I don’t want you to think for a second that you have been an inconvenience to Ava or myself. Please. I want to thank you. I don’t think I could express to you how at ease I have felt since you came into Ava’s life. You’ve offered her something wonderful.” Emilia’s swallowing hard, it seems like she’s searching for her next words, her voice shaking as she says, “I’ve—I haven’t seen Ava so happy, so free, so known in so long. Maybe not since—since…” Emilia clears her throat, gaze falling to the floor, gathering herself before looking at Beatrice once more, “You’ve done beautifully, Beatrice. Thank you. Truly.”

Emilia squeezes her hard before letting go.

“I’ll—I’ll go now.” She can tell Emilia is not a crier, but is on the verge of it. “I won’t let this damage her career. I won’t allow it.”

Emilia nods, hand coming to her shoulder, “I know. I know you won’t. Go. I’ll take care of her.”

Suzanne is waiting for her downstairs by the entryway, arms crossed, a determined look on her face. Suzanne is ready for battle. “We’ll speak in the car. Ava’s name stays here, are we understood?”

Beatrice nods, adjusting the satchel on her shoulder as Suzanne hands her phone over and grabs the duffle from her hand. With one last look up the stairwell, she reluctantly surrenders the desire to see Ava again, then turns to leave behind Suzanne.

—

(*)

I still remember the look on your face

Lit through the darkness at 1:58

The words that you whispered for just us to know

You told me you loved me

So why did you go away?

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have begun our descent. Please ensure your seat backs and tray tables are in their upright positions and your seatbelts are securely fastened.”

Suzanne adjusts her seat, then begins the process of stashing away her laptop into her bag, locking the tray table back. After checking on her own seatbelt she leans towards Beatrice, tugging at the seatbelt a few times, just in case.

But the thing is, Beatrice hasn’t moved during the entire flight from Lake Como. She’s been sitting in the same position for two hours, and has been silent since they arrived at the airport.

Suzanne has been busy, barely sparing her glances as she balances speaking to their PR team, their label and the flood of news outlets out for any piece of her and the “mystery woman”.

The PR statement on Beatrice’s behalf is as follows:

I would like to take a moment to express my sincere appreciation for the continued love and support we receive from our fans, the public, and the media.

At this time, I wish to clarify that I am in a relationship with someone who is not a public figure and who values their privacy. I understand that my personal life is the subject of public curiosity, and while I value that connection, I’ve chosen to keep my relationship private, out of respect for their personal life and in the interest of preserving the integrity of our relationship.

I kindly ask for respect and understanding. I remain committed to sharing our music while also maintaining a healthy boundary around my personal life.

I do recall now the smell of the rain

Fresh on the pavement, I ran off the plane

That July ninth, the beat of your heart

It jumps through your shirt

I can still feel your arms

The deluge that greets them as they descend into Heathrow is enough to delay the arrival of their plane. The runways are crowded with the number of flights eager to disembark their passengers. It’s enough confusion that they’re forced to deplane in one of the designated outside disembarkation areas.

Heavy droplets of rain begin to seep through the light fabric of the hoodie Beatrice is wearing. She follows Suzanne’s steady presence, the only thing keeping her standing at the moment. A firm hand leading her down the steps and across the runway to their gate.

Once they’re inside and past the automatic doors to arrivals Suzanne pulls her aside, an eagle eye looking in the direction of the waiting cameras. “I’ve called for a car. I’ll drop you off at your flat. We can discuss—”

“No. I’ll take the Tube home,” Beatrice interrupts, slinging the duffle across her shoulder and re-adjusting the satchel behind her back. “Blacked out rear windows are starting to crawl under my skin.”

Suzanne is skeptical of this decision but doesn’t press the topic further. “Keep your head down. Text me when you get home?”

Beatrice nods without sparing another glance at the cameras. Suzanne pats her back, heading to the press in order to keep them off her.

Following the familiar signage for the Underground transfer, Beatrice pulls the hoodie over her head, evading tourists and natives alike.

In the train carriage she faces the corner walls, sending a prayer that everyone around her is too exhausted by the morning delays to pay her any mind. There are text messages and missed calls from her bandmates which she avoids for the time being. She’s aware she needs to reply to them, to let them know what has happened, but that’s not something she can wrap her head around right now, especially as she stares at the off-white interior and memories flood back into her mind.

If she concentrates hard enough she can almost make out Ava’s Vans between her Chucks, her hand by Ava’s side keeping her perfectly still as the train jolted forward. How Ava had stared as Beatrice pulled the beanie down to keep her hidden. To keep her safe.

“Something on my face?”

“Wha–”

“You were staring.”

Beatrice squishes her eyes shut and shakes her head, the memory triggering a sudden drop in her stomach, the intensity enough to increase her heart rate. But of course that doesn’t help, not in here, not where so much has happened. She can feel Ava’s breath on her neck before the ‘ I love you ’ was whispered into her ear, for her and only her to hear. Her mouth aches to repeat it, just like she did that night, the night that changed everything between them.

The walk home in the rain is slow, the familiarity unwelcoming with every step she takes. Something that at other times has been comforting now carries traces of melancholy.

Ava’s steps beside her as they rush back to the flat with takeout, the underlying anticipation after choosing each other, waiting for Ava in the dead of night just to have a few days together.

It’s endless and suffocating.

The gate swings closed behind her and the sound alone conjures Ava’s laughter as she rushes ahead, not quite knowing where to go but eager to hold Beatrice’s hand as she leads them there.

The stairs creak, each step solidifying again and again the loss she feels.

But now I'll go

Sit on the floor wearing your clothes

All that I know is I don't know

How to be something you miss

She heads straight for the bedroom, depositing the satchel and the duffle on the floor, she can’t look around because if she does she won’t be able to breathe. Instead she busies herself with pulling the clothing out of the bags, following her system. Clean and put away.

Out of sight, out of mind—

Ava’s faded Totoro shirt.

A pained whimper makes its way out of her throat at the sight of it. The grip on the shirt is tight enough to make her knuckles go white. In her rush to leave the villa she has accidentally grabbed it.

Nothing stops her from slipping it on after showering, Ava’s coconut shampoo permeating her senses.

It is both a comfort and a torment.

After drinking water, the kitchen wall supports her as she slides down onto the cold floor, phone in hand. Beatrice opens the group chat with the band, ignoring the steady stream of texts from everyone. After typing out a quick text confirming their speculation she shuts her phone and makes the mistake of looking down. The bracelet on her wrist feels like an affliction, a symbol of potential and hopelessness all at once.

The bracelet stays on.

She’s incapable of removing it.

The kitchen is inhospitable now, it carries memories of Ava standing next to her mother in the kitchen dutifully listening to instructions, Ava rushing out of the kitchen to avoid flour and raw batter as they made cookies, and Ava’s desperate pleas over Beatrice’s inability to understand their predicament.

I never thought we'd have a last kiss

Never imagined we'd end like this

Your name, forever the name on my lips

She stands.

She can’t do this.

She can’t agonise over every part of her that Ava has touched.

Every part of her that Ava has taken.

She keeps her eyes down as she crosses the living room, pretends she doesn’t see Ava’s jacket hanging from the hook by the door or her shoes under the stool.

The little penguin that still hangs on one of her trees by the piano.

The photograph by her desk.

The painting that hangs next to her bed.

Beatrice pulls the sheet over her head.

The shaking starts then as her body lets go. The need to keep up appearances in public crumble here underneath the safety of her sheets.

When she wakes suddenly, it's to a sob wracking its way through her body. She had dreamt and re-lived it all again. The pounding at the door, Ava’s puffy eyes, the resignation. The sobs slow and turn into hiccups. Slowly Beatrice rolls out of bed and trudges through on the way to the kitchen. She needs a glass of water to fight the dehydration.

At the end of the short hallway, she’s blinking in surprise, completely taken aback. Four pairs of concerned eyes are looking back at her. Her face crumples involuntarily. They crowd close, gently shushing her and smoothing her hair back from her brows.

So I'll watch your life in pictures like I used to watch you sleep

And I feel you forget me like I used to feel you breathe

And I'll keep up with our old friends just to ask them how you are

Hope it's nice where you are

The tour begins again. A welcome distraction apart from the fact that she sees Ava everywhere.

Beatrice glances at the television above them as they await their flight for New York, the close caption below the anchor celebrating the success of Ava’s tour, and how she’s projected to surpass attendance records held by their predecessors.

Ava’s on ads for Hermès as they drive through the city, a peppermint mini bag hanging off her shoulder by a gold chain.

“Can you please turn off the radio?”, Lilith demands as they slip into the SUV after dinner.

The driver apologises as the car falls into silence, cutting off Ava’s ‘ Malamente ’. Beatrice pretends not to have heard it, but the lyrics echo in her mind. Y por delante no voy a perder ni un minuto en volver a pensarte (moving ahead, I won’t waste another minute thinking of you again). It bounces off the walls of her head like some kind of overexcited electron, unstable and unwilling to go back to a ground state of being.

Mary watches.

Camila clears her throat and makes a joke about something that happened at rehearsals.

Yasmine hands over one of her earbuds, Lorde’s album is a must listen. The production? Impeccable. ‘ Man of the Year ’ puts the lad in power ballad.

They pretend it’s okay when it’s not.

Beatrice chuckles, it’s forced and doesn’t land well. And does what she always does, silently torture herself until she’s too exhausted to think about Ava.

And I hope the sun shines and it's a beautiful day

And something reminds you you wish you had stayed

You can plan for a change in the weather and time

But I never planned on you changing your mind

[Ava Silva TIME Person of the Year]

Their PR team posts it in their group chat. Done deal. Issue will be out in December. It’s not meant to rattle her, the team doesn’t know. They share their disappointment on the band missing out. There’s always next year . Only Suzanne replies.

Darling

[We just heard about TIME choosing you for Person of the Year.]

[Congratulations. We couldn’t be happier for you.]

[Thank you.]

[I was happy to hear the news this morning.]

All that I know is I don't know

How to be something you miss

I never thought we’d have a last kiss

I never imagined we’d end like this

Your name, forever the name on my lips

Just like our last kiss

#avatrice #warrior nun #ava silva #sister beatrice #liturgia #fan fiction #ava x beatrice #love this one so much