#Feyre honey the five muses are about to start singing about how you're falling for this man

[starfall-spirit]

Summary: See Renaissance Masterlist

CW: Minor Smut below the cut. Only a few paragraphs this chapter. But Daddy Rhys is on his way to the party. You've been warned.

Word Count: 1, 234

Chapter IV: Kill Me With Kindness

There was flirting over dinner. Eyes full of sultry promises later whispered in her ear as they strolled down the Arno on their fifth evening in Florence. There was a soft string melody and a strong arm around her waist, tugging her closer. Hands, just straying from gentlemanly. There was a story unwinding and a man to it, holding her like a lover. Like a husband.

And there was a moment where a spark turned to flame, burning her up as they left the lights and life of Santo Spirito behind them, that burning rising and rising before Rhys was leading her to his bed, dragging her zipper down and unclasping her bra.

Soft lips skated across her jaw and down her throat, each kiss as tender as the one before it and only pausing to lay her down on the queen size mattress. She gasped as teeth clamped down over her nipple, a tongue stroking over it to soothe the slight pain. “Rhys.”

“My darling Feyre.” She raked her fingers through his hair, practically aching for him to move down, down, down further, to where his still-covered torso—she’d remedy that soon enough—would fit to keep her legs parted, a bit of lace all that separated them. One hand drifted down from his silky hair to move down his neck and to the buttons of the dress shirt he had selected for their time roaming the city.

He caught her hands, kissing each palm. “Feyre darling, we have all the time in the world.”

Still, knowing just where she wanted him to begin, he sank down, hooking his fingertips around the bits of red lace at either hip. With his tongue finally stroking— ~~~~~ A knock on the door was what drew Feyre out of her strange and admittedly pleasant dream. “Feyre. Feyre, are you awake?”

Casting bleary eyes towards the clock, she found it was already nine-thirty. “Shit,” she hissed, instinctively pressing her thighs together as her companion called for her again.

“Yeah. Sorry. Give me a few minutes to shower and I’ll be out.” It was only fair he granted her a moment to compose herself after… that. Not that he knew anything about it. She was hardly breathing as he moved away from her door. “Holy hell.”

She didn’t know how last night—only their second night in the city, in truth—had brought such a scene to her subconscious. Last night was pleasant. Utterly platonic, even if she’d let herself have a little more wine than usual. Even if she had freed her quick tongue and bright laugh. Even if she had leaned into him as the night wind refracted from the murmuring river. His hands hadn’t once strayed beyond catching her when her toe hooked on an uneven cobblestone, but something through their night out had changed.

“Shit.”

Before now she’d never felt the need to start cursing things the second she woke up. If that was what one night did to her, would would the next twelve days mean for them. She put a pin in that thought as she turned on the shower head, stripping down. Who said any of what happened last night would repeat. She could distance herself, even if the city was romantic.

Starting today. Because today really was about history. Last night they had seen the Uffizi Gallery from a distance and Rhys had only taken a glance at her too see her adoration of its history and contents, before saying, “I’ll check on tickets tonight.”

Something told her when she left the shower she’d find those tickets already paid for, despite his catering to her interests within the city before his own. And you know, maybe that was okay, for this trip. She certainly hadn’t been saving for a vacation abroad and he was the one who got them into this mess.

With that in mind, she shut off the shower, drying off and dressing to head out to the kitchen for breakfast. She could smell him cooking breakfast meat. “Good morning, Feyre darling.” She couldn’t help but recall her dream at the endearment, bringing a blush to her cheeks. He raised his eyebrows. “Are you alright?”

“Yes. Yes, I’m fine. Sorry.”

“I don’t know why you keep apologizing this morning, or what’s got you blushing beyond my good looks, which I thought you were acclimated to by now—” She scoffed. “I was worried when you slept so late. It’s a bit unusual for you, isn’t it?”

“Oh, once in a blue moon my internal clock is less insistent. Perhaps I was having a pleasant dream.” She didn’t know why she said it, but at least she’d kept her voice level as she accepted a cup of coffee and a plate holding a croissant from a nearby bakery and fresh sausage.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Once she thoroughly banished the fantasy of his head between her legs, conversation came easily, drifting into her main interests at the Uffizi. He hung on every word, looking like the passion she held was something vital to him. Or perhaps that was her imagination. Some strange lingering affect of his attention to her last night on their walk.

After settling the time for their admission to the gallery, Rhys pulled up the ticket purchase on his laptop, hesitating at the pay point, just waiting for her to argue him paying the small fee. She took another sip of her coffee. “Good,” he murmured, something in his tone—in his eyes—that made her pause a moment. “What?”

“Why?” His brows flicked up at the question. “Why have you insisted on paying for everything?”

“I have what I like to call my inner circle. Small as they are, Mor, Amren, my brothers, they support me in ways others don’t. In return I spoil them. You should see Amren in her fancy jewelry—like a drake hoarding gold.”

He smiled, taking her hand just long enough to brush a thumb across her knuckles. “You’re part of that inner circle now, Feyre. I’m fully entitled to spoil you senseless so long as you remain part of the family.”

He was a caretaker before all else. She’d always known it was beneath the arrogance, but now that they didn’t just see one another in the company of the group—now that they were alone she thought he might just try to kill her with kindness.

She might just let him. Only on their honeymoon of course. ~~~~~ He was preening and he knew it. Twelve euros was hardly a significant purchase, but this was the infamously stubborn Feyre Archeron. He’d had to catch himself earlier, check his tone and word choice as she asked him about his insistence to treat her and the others. Because there was a very different urge to provide for one’s brother or cousin than to provide for a woman one cared for, even if she refused to acknowledge what he felt he wore on his sleeve.

Some selfish part of him had been glad she got that text. Not that her ex was causing issues. The mere thought of that asshole camping outside her apartment had his blood boiling. But that selfish part of him was glad she had decided to go to that lunch, to get on that plane, to walk the river with him.

And perhaps for the one thing she hadn’t decided—to dream of him.

~~~~~

AN: Switch my posting schedule for ACOTW and Renaissance because the late ACOTW chapter went out today.

In Rhys' defense, he hasn't been to that villa in years. He couldn't possibly remember how thin the walls were when he took the room beside the one she picked out. And if he did it was only to ensure she didn't have nightmares about anything, right?????

Also, all Rhys POVs are dedicated to the lovely @the-lonelybarricade. She is the main reason every chapter will have a Rhys POV.

Daddy Rhys is coming, LB. Cross my heart.

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