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jarofstyles · 1 year ago

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Sea View

Hello my lovely babies. Here is a sugar baby!H one shot.

I hope you enjoy them.

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WC- 3.7k

Warnings- public sex/exhibitionism, unprotected sex, slight degrading but also praise kink, soft!dom H

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The Italian sun was turning his skin golden. He knew that it was definitely time for a sunscreen application again, but the beams of warmth felt too damn good on his body to be assed to get up.

Besides- he had Y/N’s leg hitched over his as she napped in the familiar sunbeams he was soaking in.

After a particularly stressful week, Y/N had had enough. She chartered a yacht, called her assistant to defer her calls and woke Harry up from his meditation nap to pack his bags. They were on the private plane before he even properly woke up, but he couldn’t complain.

The water was impossibly blue, the weather was perfect and their boat was heavenly. He’d never been on a vacation quite like this. He’s actually been to Italy for a bit when he did an exchange program, but he hadn’t been able to just relax. He’d spent his time exploring and studying when he was here, picking up the language, learning the people, his surroundings. There wasn’t time to just… be

A week back in Italy with the best food, a private boat and villa and the most beautiful woman he had ever met, all expenses paid? He would be a fool to turn that down. All he needed to do was help her unwind. That meant hiding her work phone from her, massaging her shoulders, letting her sleep on him like she was now, and giving her every bit of affection and sex that she could possibly want.

‘You work so hard, darling. Deserve a break. I’ll take care of you.’ Was what he had told her when they boarded the boat, kissing her lips as he felt her hands grip his shorts. They had been particularly slutty this trip, something he really liked. His new brand of shorts were cut closer on the thigh, in a variety of colors. Y/N had appreciated them greatly.

It was after the first round of sex that day that Y/N requested they spend some time up on the deck. The warmth was welcome to her, he could tell. It was his job to relax her, to keep her sane, and he liked to think he did a pretty good job of it- both with his words and his cock. This time, though, he could tell she had been particularly drained from work and he made it his mission to keep her as relaxed as possible. Their drinks sat on the ledge behind them, condensation sweating the glasses. Y/N’s book was abandoned with a bookmark haphazardly placed in it, her cheek pressed against his bicep.

The concept of a midday nap for her was unheard of. Harry had been with her for a while now, and in his time knowing her he had never experienced it. That’s how he knew she was really exhausted. Fingers stroked the hair from her face with his opposite hand, simply observing her as she slept. A soft vulnerability was painted on her features as her guard was completely down. In her sleep, Harry could see just how sweet she could look. In everyday life, she was a very powerful and merciless businesswoman. She was wealthy beyond his comprehension and she had gotten to that point because she took no prisoners. She had to, in order to get what she wanted. He’d seen firsthand her cold demeanor and her stoic, practiced words when she was at work and they’d be interrupted.

No one besides Harry had ever seen the woman beg for anything. No one had seen tears drip down her face when she was overstimulated, no one had seen how mushy she got after an entire night of hot sex where he took care of her. Despite the fact that they switched around who was in charge and he very much loved being a good boy for her, Harry liked seeing her soften up for him. Being exposed to a side of one of the country’s most powerful people that no one else had gotten the chance to see? It made him feel powerful all in himself.

When their arrangement had started, she had taken the reigns for the most part. She’d needed to get comfortable with him, which had taken some time. The first night he had taken over control had been a bit of a power struggle, but she took to it well after getting a real taste of what Harry could do.

Being able to comfort her, even in moments like this, made him smile.

“I can feel you staring.” Y/N voice slurred against the skin of his arm, rubbing her nose against it as she shifted to tuck her face into his neck. “Rude.”

Harry’s heart warmed with the rays of the sun, turning slightly so he was facing her before gathering up her sleepy form in his arms. “How could I not stare? When the lioness is asleep, it’s the best time to observe the beauty.” Lips pressed against her warm forehead, letting her leg tighten around his waist. Looking down, he could see some of the bruises he had left on her silky skin. Fingerprints on her thighs, a few on her hips. A sense of satisfaction went through him as he felt her lips give a chaste peck to his throat, exhaling heavily. He had done this. He got to experience this woman fully.

“Lioness? I’d say Tigress, if anything.” Her sleepy laugh made him smile. “How long was I out?” Stretching her body out, she shook for a second before curling back up against his side. It did things to his heart that he didn’t want to talk about.

“An hour.” His fingers returned to her waist, rhythmically dragging up and down the curve of it. “Passed right out. You’re exhausted, love.” It was a bit concerning. Y/N handled pressure very well, stress even better since Harry had entered her life- but he could see some cracks forming before they’d left. “M’glad you took us here. You needed a break. I worry about you.” He spoke against her hair, knowing she didn’t like it when he worried.

“I’m okay.” Her voice was soft. “I… I remembered what you’d said about feeling a breaking point coming and doing something about it before you reach it. I was there.” Opening up wasn’t easy for her in the slightest, but Harry had been her confidant for a bit now. He never judged her, always stressed the importance of mental health along with her physical. “I just wanted to go somewhere we could just relax. It’s still hard for me.”

That much, Harry knew all too fucking well. Y/N was always wound up tight. She was coiled like a snake for most of her day. Being a woman in her position, unfortunately she had to be. She had to work twice as hard and be twice as defensive because men were awful and believed they deserved her position, her success more simply because they were men. It was sick and wrong but Harry understood why she had to feel on the guard all the time.

“I know it is.” The reply was soft. “But m’teaching you, aren’t I?” He was a very relaxed person now that he didn’t have to work at the bar. He was able to work on his music, do his yoga, bake his treats, and focus on this fucking gorgeous woman’s pleasure. For some, it wouldn’t be fulfilling. For Harry? It was a dream come true. He loved teaching her how to relax.

“You’re doing a good job.” Y/N chuckled, pulling her face from the refuge of his neck. “Got a pretty boy with equally as pretty words to help me with that.” Her own fingers came up to stroke the facial hair sprouting on his face. She was a very big fan of it, he was finding out. He hadn’t shaved in a few days and she seemed mesmerized.

“Just pretty?” He smiled, feeling her finger pop into his dimple. “I’d prefer… beautiful. Gorgeous. Ruggedly handsome, even. Sexy is acceptable too.” The quips were met with a laugh from the woman, face tilting up and catching his lips.

Harry was pleasantly surprised. Y/N was shy with her kissing at times. It wasn’t that she didn’t like it- she reacted with her whole body when he kissed her- but she didn’t initiate it too much. The opportunity was not going to be wasted. His mouth responded immediately, a happy hum leaving his throat. Fingers gripped her thigh and pulled her tighter against him as she shyly brushed his tongue against hers. Impressive. She was making a lot of the first moves, and he was ecstatic about it.

She tasted like orange juice, the mimosa’s from breakfast back on her tongue. Harry was taking in every bit of it, one hand curled around the back of her neck while the other kept her thigh against his hip, languid greed encompassing the kiss as he took a bit of the control away from her. There was that buzzing in his stomach, cock thickened as her body heat outshined the sun. In the middle of the boat, he didn’t have a care in the world other than keeping her satisfied.

“Mmm.. S’sweet.” He mumbled against her lips, going back in for more. “Open that pretty mouth f’me. Don’t be shy. I want everything from you.” He was going to milk this for everything he could. Her fingers slid into his hair, the manicured nails gently grazing his scalp and making him groan loudly. Chills flushed on his skin as he pulled her closer, cock pulsing in the shorts as he felt her arch into him. She knew what that did to him, the minx.

His tongue found hers before he sucked on it lightly, fingers diggling into her thigh as he pulled back just a bit. He felt her fingers tug on his hair again, trying to pull his mouth back to her own. It was refreshing to feel her need for him. “You’re starting something, darling.” He warned slowly. “M’not going to stop it if you continue.”

“Don’t.” Was her reply, pushing herself further against him. “We can do anything.”

Harry was surprised by her response. They definitely weren’t fully alone, but no one would come out on to the deck if they weren’t requested. Y/N had asked for privacy beforehand. The crew of the large boat stayed below deck… And honestly? Harry didn’t give a fuck if someone from another boat saw them. He was going to take this opportunity to pleasure his woman.

Rolling them over, he heard her squeak as he hovered on top of her. Eyes opened, the lusty haze making her grin as his body was backlit from the sun. He looked like her own personal angel. Swollen pink mouth and scruffy face, he was sent directly from wherever wet dreams originated from to be the one that took care of her.

“Filthy girl.” He whispered. “S’that what you want? Do you want me to do whatever I want to you?” He leaned his nose against her nose, brushing the skin as she nodded.

“Yes.” The word was breathy, unlike her normal cadence.

Harry grinned that filthy grin that made Y/N’s cunt clench around nothing, the promise of more in his eyes making her blink up at him. She had worked so hard, kept it together so well.. All she wanted to do was fall apart under him. Be dirty, take a risk for once in her controlled life. They’d fucked around many places, but she could see other boats not too far away. She knew it was risky.

“Oh, sweet fucking girl. You’ll let me tug this top off?” He questioned, tugging the cups of her bathing suit down slowly to give her a chance to say no. She didn’t. He pulled the fabric over her pebbled nipples, grunting in his throat as he took a look at her beautiful tits on display for him. “Hm.. Beautiful girl. That’s what you are.” Dipping down her body, he showed no hesitation taking one of her nipples into his mouth.

Sucking on the bud, he heard her gasp and fingers grip his hair as he methodically pulled the sensitive nipple into his mouth, brushing his tongue against it. So warm, her skin smelled like her body wash and salt from the ocean as he lathed his tongue over it again. Teeth brushed it ever so slightly as he pulled back, eliciting a gasp from her before he switched breasts with a satisfied groan.

Yes. This is what his girl needed. His sweet, overworked, filthy minded girl. His cock was dripping into his shorts, the risk of the situation and her need for him arousing him more than he had been in a long time.

“More.” She whimpered. The one word was enough to get him to pause, looking at her with his blown out eyes. Mournfully releasing her nipple again, his wet lips opened to speak to her.

“More? Are you asking for me to fuck you, pretty baby?” His low tone made her clit throb, nodding frantically as she felt him press his fingers against her covered cunt. The bathing suit did little to hide her arousal. He could feel her heat, feel the slickness of her, and he knew he needed to take her. Now. “Yeah? Y’want me to tug this to the side and slip right in?” He spoke against her lips, pressing a kiss there before moving to her jaw. “Want my cock tucked up inside you, nice n’snug?”

Fingers tugged the fabric to the side, leaving her slick cunt exposed to the ocean air. To him. She shuddered under him as she peeled her eyes open, watching in anticipation as his hand went for his shorts between them. Slipping them down just enough to expose himself, he grit his teeth. “Hm?” His voice prodded her. He was covering her body, sure, but it would be obvious what they’d be doing.

Her body jolted when he tapped the ruddy tip of his leaking cock against her cunt, nestling it between her slit while he got himself wet.

“Yes.” She had been reduced to a beg. Y/N was usually much more talkative, much more of a tease, but she couldn’t be right now. This was exactly what the woman wanted. She wanted Harry to take over and make her forget all of her troubles. “Please. Just do it.”

Harry didn’t need much convincing.

She was still a bit sensitive from their sex when they’d woken up, a broken whimper leaving her throat as she felt the tip press into her. It was embarrassing how wet she was just from this. The man had made it near impossible to not be affected by his presence and she was too tired to pretend she wasn’t.

Harry’s cock was thick and long and the perfect size to fuck her dumb. To make her mind shut up about anything other than how good it felt. After long days in the office, it’s exactly what she’s needed. It was no different now, eyes falling shut as her head rolled back, legs closifn around his hips to urge him deeper. There was no need to fake that she wasn’t greedy.

“Fuck.” Harry grunted, feeling himself bury into her. “You needed it again. My poor girl. Needed me to take care of you.” He pressed his mouth against hers again before slowly moving, grinding inside of her as her fingers tugged the hair at the nape of his neck. It was a tight, wet paradise being locked inside of her. Shallow thrusts, feeling her clench up around him, he slipped a hand under her head to hold the back of her neck.

“Needed me so bad that you’re taking my cock right in front of everyone. What a filthy, nasty girl you are. So desperate for my prick to be buried in that sweet little pussy all over again that… you don’t even care if you’re caught.” He was working her up. Dirty talk got to her. Stimulated her in a way that he knew she wouldn’t admit to loving when she wasn’t hanging off his cock, but when she was?

She ate it up. Every crumb.

Legs stayed tight around him as he moved slowly, so fucking deep that she could cry. This was what she needed. Harry was right. She was desperate and dirty and she didn’t care if people were even right next to them, she had wanted him to be inside of her more than anything. This was her escape.

“No, my dirty girl just wants to soak me again. You want people to see how wet you get around me? How filthy and sticky you leave my cock every time I pull out? It goes right down to my thighs, you know.” His velvety voice was wrapped around her head. “You’re not happy unless m’balls deep inside of you. Greedy thing.” He crooned, feeling a bit more of her slick coating his cock. Fuck, he was obsessed. “ But this is a newer development. You’ve always like the idea of someone seeing but… they definitely can right now.”

It got to him, too. His dick was swallowed in her sweet relief, but he knew he wouldn’t last too long. Despite the slow thrusts, they were deep and a bit rough, moving her slightly when he bottomed out. Each thrust was rewarded with a squeak, a moan, a whimper. He was addicted to hear what noise he got next.

“They can see it, baby. If they turn their heads, if they look over, they can see you being fucked. Clinging to me, keeping me close. There’s no way they will be able to mistake it.” Despite the fact he eas covering her and his shorts weren’t fully down, the movements made it obvious. Harry’s always been into adventurous sex, always been into exhibitionism, but it was different here. It sent a heady zing right to his cock. Being a show off, an attention whore, he was in his prime.

“Harry…” she whispered, head tilting back as he bit down on the lobe of her ear. “I can’t. M’gonna cum if you t-talk like that.” She was going to regardless. The sweet press into her spot, his spot really, was perfect. There had been worry that maybe he wouldn’t be able to get her off at the beginning of when they met- no man had properly done it before- but he had exceeded all expectations. He was hers. She was keeping this man as long as she possibly could. He was perfection. Indulging in her like this was just one of the many reasons.

“You’d cum if I was silent. Your cunt loves my cock. Doesn’t she? Loves to be fucked in any way. On your knees, your stomach, riding me… but especially when people can see it.” He licked over her neck, the filth of it making her nails dig into the back of his neck. The stab of pain made him moan, moving a bit harder. It wasn’t fast, wasn’t hurried in the slightest. It was lazy and hot and so goddamn good.

“Yes. I love it. I-I want them to see.” She admitted in a slightly slurred voice, the pleasure already building up with his thrusts. Like sparks over her body. “Want them to watch. I’m gonna-“ she couldn’t finish the word, one of the thrusts stealing her breath.

“I know you want that, my filthy slut. Such a little whore for me.” He laughed, breathy and hot as he covered her lips back with his own. He was about to cum. He could feel her begin to quiver around him. “Going to soak my cock and let them see? So fucking dirty. Letting me fuck you out on this deck, not a care about anything other than getting filled. S’gonna make me cum too.” He looked at her with hazy eyes. The sweat on her forehead, the stickiness of their skin under the hot Italian sun.

All of this was erotic.

“Let go for me, angel.” He decided to pull out the language he knew she loved, nestled against her lips. “Voglio sentirti Bella ragazza. sempre così perfetto. Lascia che mi prenda cura di te, sempre.”

Y/N couldn’t stop it. The rasp of his voice, the Italian falling off his tongue, she came with an intensity she didn’t expect. Mouth falling open as he stole her breath, she finally expelled a moan as she came all over him. Slicked up, creamy and hot, she pulled him in and tried to push him away as the orgasm was worked through.

Harry wasn’t far behind, gritting his teeth as he cursed. His balls tight, he released the heavy load into her cunt, stuttered movement of his hips making him grunt with each finishing stroke. He painted her walls white, pushing it in deep as he groaned against her mouth. Breathing each other in, the movement stopped.

Y/N was full in every sense of the word, legs loosening but staying wrapped around him as her body loosened all its limbs. It was exactly the thing she had needed.

“You okay?” He asked softly, nudging his nose back against hers before pressing chaste kisses to the corners of her lips and the heated cheeks. “Did so good. Fucking perfect, as usual.” His praises made her lips quirk in a smile, returning a chaste peck before falling back to her blissed out features.

“Mhm. Perfect, actually.” Her response was a giggle, the relaxation back on her face. “But I’d like you to stay inside me for a bit.”

Harry rose a brow, trying to keep his softening erection at bay. “Will you behave? I need the nap now.” He needed a bit of time before going again- though keeping himself warm on her cock was a very nice addition to the day.

“Probably not. But I’ll let you sleep for a bit on my chest before I bother you for some more.” She replied, carding her fingers through his slightly sweat damp hair. His forehead fell against her shoulder, shaking in a laugh as he kissed the skin.

“Anything for you.”

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hometoursandotherstuff · 3 months ago

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This morning we are dreaming of buying this gorgeous villa in the renowned village of Brunate, Lake Como, Italy. It has 12bds, 14ba, $4.415M.

Hydrangea, my favorite flowers, line the entrance.

Stone arch in the entrance hall.

Stunning sun room/conservatory.

And, what a wonderful dining room, also in the conservatory.

What it looks like from outside.

The lively kitchen is right off the conservatory.

One of the 12 bedroom suites.

Large bath. Love striped wallpaper.

Looks like a ceramic studio in there.

Outside, there's a heated a pool. Beautiful.

Lovely patio- look at the little chest holding books and things.

Then, on the hillside there's a greenhouse-style retreat and a guesthouse above, with a grass roof. The pool is next to the roof.

It's lovely in here.

Gorgeous sitting room.

Spacious bedroom.

And, matching bath.

I wouldn't mind living in the guest house.

What a beautiful village. Look at the tower on the hill, and the lake. Somewhere on the property is a helipad and a tennis court. It's a 4 acre lot.

https://www.jamesedition.com/real_estate/brunate-italy/exceptional-art-nouveau-villa-with-pool-and-park-lake-como

#villa italy #italian villa #houses #home tours #dream homes #house tours #home tour

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cheriladycl01 · 2 months ago

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Kinktober 17/10/2024 Liam Lawson - Hair Pulling

Plot: Liam wants to try something new but he doesn’t want to do anything that will hurt you.

Warnings: Kinktober, SMUT, eating, blowjob, hair pulling, sex, p in v, 18+ Minors DNI

Summer break had just started and you and your boyfriend Liam had decided it would be nice to have a trip. It didn’t take you long to plan and you ended up on the South Coast of Italy in a cute AirBNB you’d found last minute.

Most days were spent at the sandy beach that was just below the Villa you guys were in or walking round the local village trying the various restaurants they had and going into the dainty little shops to find necklaces and gifts for friends and family.

You got back to the Villa after a really long day in the sun and you were both having a relaxing evening on the balcony of the Villa. You’d just got out the shower having washed your hair and shaved your legs that had started to gain a little stubble back after a few days of not shaving them.

You had done all of your skincare once you got out the shower and sat in the warm Italian sun on the balcony in your towels basking in the slowly setting sun and enjoying drying natural with the heat present.

Liam had come and was sat opposite you, reading one of his books.

“Babe, do you think we’re boring?” He asked you, looking at you, as he gently placed his book down on the table resting his chin on his hand.

“What do you mean?” You laugh rubbing a little bit of your moisturiser in that you could feel was still not in your skin.

“I just mean that, I don’t think we … you know go too crazy in our … intimacy?” He asks awkwardly and you cock your head to the side a shocked look on your face. You were incredibly satisfied with Liam in every way he gave himself to you, so you were very confused how the conversation had come too this.

“What?” You laugh, so shocked that this is where his question had lead you both too.

“Like do you ever want me to do something a bit like? I dunno kinkier? God this is embarrassing” he complained, standing up and going to walk into bedroom that was attached to the balcony.

You follow him immediately.

“Where has this come from Liam, I thought we were both happy in our sex life?” You ask a look of concern on your face, worried that you were now the one not satisfying your boyfriend.

“And I am. But sometimes I want to … try more with you? Like, when you pull my hair when I’m eating you out, I love that shit. You don’t do it hard it’s just something for you to run your fingers through and my hairs easier to do that with, but it got me think of like I dunno pulling your hair? But I’m scared because I don’t want to just randomly do it and shock you or omg, god forbid I manage to hurt you?! And so I just thought maybe if I asked and see what you thought? It all sounds so stupid now don’t worry” he laughs awkwardly shying away.

“Let’s try it” you grin, taking his hand and he looks at you shocked.

“Try what?” He asks looking over you, to make sure he wasn’t accidentally dreaming.

“You pulling my hair or … whatever it was you said you wanted to try” you offer and immediately he picks you up, letting the towel around you fall to the ground, leaving your bare and nude to him in all your glory.

“Let’s get this off, need the hair” he groans as he unwraps the towel from around your hair and chucks it onto the wooden floor.

He places you gently on the bed, kissing up your legs before giving teasing little bites on your inner thighs. His teeth didn’t sink in at all and there would be no knowledge of him being down there tomorrow morning, maybe that was something you could bring up for him to do next time.

He dives in, tongue flicking in and out exploring the familiarity of your heat. He was addicted to your taste and could and would eat you out for his career if that was possible. Immediately your hands find their way into his hair, keeping his head in place as his nose nudges your clit, from you pushing him down a little more.

He moans into you, creating vibrations that run up your entire body, a feeling you’d never really get over. His tongue moves faster and your hips try to come up to meet his face a little more to get that friction.

Your hands run through his hair, pulling on the outgrown blonde bits at the nape of his neck that you’d been offering to cut for a while to get back to his normal haircut but now you were considering asking him to never cut his hair too short again.

“So good, taste so fucking good” he moans into you.

His tongue finds its way into your dripping hole, noises coming from him slurping up all the juices you were giving him, and before you can think his tongue and nose, as if they’re working together both his spots that have your head thinking back into the duck feather pillow.

“Fuck baby” you say looking down at him. Usually he out you out good but this time something was different there was something in his eyes and the way his hands gripped your thighs and hips.

“My turn babe” he grins pulling his pants down and your switch yourselves round so he’s now lying where you were and your on your knees in front of him.

His hands come up and find there way into your hair. He holds you down and you mouth finds it’s way round his dick quickly thanks to his helping hand.

You suck, lick, kiss, groan, spit and do eveything that you know he’s enjoys. However he control the pace holding into your hair. He had it fisted into a really messy ponytail and he stated to edge himself. Every time he’d get close he’d use your hair to yank you off him. It wasn’t a harsh yank, not enough to pull any hair out anyway but it did have a nice sort of burn to it that had you moaning every time.

Eventually he lets himself cum pushing your head down as far as he can get it, unloading all he had to offer into your mouth.

After you blew him, normally you’d either ride him while he was laying back down or your lie down and he’d climb on top of you but today was different. He knelt up and kept you with him.

“On your knees facing the headboard babe” he asks and you do, getting into doggy style which was uncommon for you both. You actually don’t think you’ve ever done it like this with him. So it was strange when he stated to push his dick into your wet folds and you couldn’t see his whiny and lust filled expression as he sunk into you.

Pussy drunk is what he normally looked like.

But now he was just a feeling behind you.

“So beautiful” he says once he’d bottomed out in your and stayed there to let you adjust to him in this new position, meaning you felt fuller than you normally did. The moan hed gotten from you as his dick split you apart was one he didn’t think he’d ever forget.

He leaned forward grabbing your hair and pulling you head back, so you were on your knees but your back was flush against him. He kept the pull on your hair, while thrusting in and out of you, slapping sound of skin on skin and your breathy moans are all that could be heard throughout the room.

“Fuck Liam” you moan as one hand circles to your hips, the other still having a really tight grip on your hair tugging it when your head started to loll forward in pleasure when you couldn’t keep it upright.

He tugged it so it was back against him, and he could kiss along your jaw, his hips snapping faster and faster into you until he pushed your forward, so your on your elbows, but his grip still in your hair so your face was looking up, so he could see that expression of your clearly.

“Good girl” he groans looking at you.

Your mouth hung open, flushed face, watery eyes. You looked like an angel who had fallen from heaven and that look, when your eyes rolled to the back of your head, he knew he was done for. And with a last few stabbed thrusts of his hips, he was coming for the second time that night, you shortly following behind him.

“I think maybe we should talk more about our sex life?” He says trying to catch his breath as he pulls out of you and twists round to lie next to you.

“I - I agree” you pant out, never having orgasmed like that.

To new experiences right?

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bluetimeombre · 10 months ago

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˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀Wanting you, under the Italian sun

You and Timmy have most been working hard. For the summer, they decide an Italian getaway.

[a little something that's been sitting in my drafts while i work on some other things, i hope you enjoy. I'm thinking of taking some requests, cause i'm lacking inspiration so if that's something you'd like, let me know and maybe, you'll get lucky]

The car dropped you off at your private villa for the weekend, the wheels rolling onto the stone.

You step out first while your beautiful boyfriend, timothee paid and took the bags from you. You both stare at the old but wonder ours villa which would be your home for the summer.

Timmy threw an arm around you shoulder, drawing you in and kissing your temple. It was an endearing move you revelled in. ‘Are you happy, amore mio?’ (My love)

You smile up at him. ‘Very.’

His lips Slide Over yours before leading you over to the door. You guys had already picked up the keys to the place by the owner. All summer, this would be your own private haven.

The two of you were hidden, surrounded by tall trees to shield you and it was at least a mile walk from the nearest town. You had a stocked kitchen, a pool for your own enjoyment and each other.

You and Timmy had only been dating six months, but it felt like the most blissful forever. Already you knew there was nothing more you could want, you had everything. But still, you both had been working hard over the last few months and knew to keep you both sane, you needed to escape.

You had been working hard on a movie you’re especially proud of with Emerald Fennell (the director of Saltburn). It was premiering at the end of the year and was a high talk of Oscar buzz, but it was taxing. And Timothee had been busy promoting dune two and preparing for Bob Dylan. The only time you’ve shared is surprising each other in different countries, stealing moments of hurried movements of bodies in hotel rooms and several hundred facetimes.

You'd both agreed to get away, knowing it could snowball into stress and terrible times. He was one of the biggest stars in Hollywood, a household name and everyone loved him. Meanwhile everyone was looking to you, a trend-setter, so what your next big move would be.

Italy, it would just be you.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀

You spent your first week sleeping in, bathing in the sunlight that came through the windows, left open for a cool breeze and curtains blowing gently. His hands would run over your bare skin, tracing marks his lips had made the night before. Then he'd roll on top of you and continue the evening.

His lips trail down your neck, biting and licking over a spot. 'Can't get enough of you.'

Then your mornings continue slowly. Sometimes you'd go for a walk around the countryside, or walk into the town and buy some flowers for the villa and Timothee would insist on buying you pretty things.

'A pretty girl deserves pretty things,' he always said.

So, when you brought a bouquet, you always spared a flower for him.

Most mornings, you'd be found in the pool while Timothee made breakfast, bringing it out for the two of you. You'd sit at the set table, next to each other, your legs stretched into his lap as he traced patterns on your skin. Or his head in your lap as you ran your fingers through his hair.

You guys talked, talked about anything. Your careers, your hopes and dreams for the future, together-obviously. You talked about books and poems and movies and family. It was so easy with him. And at the same time, everything was exciting.

Your bodies knew each other, and in the summer, with so much skin, you had many chances to explore each other, but you also explored each others minds, picking out anything you each wanted to know.

Timothee, on rare occasions, even on holiday, slept in. You spent your time admiring him, his lips parted with soft breaths and his curls fresh and soft. He was naked under the sheets but the white covers were pulled over his chest. He still had an arm draped over your stomach, but it was weak in sleep.

You slipped away easily, taking your books and making yourself coffee and heading to the poolside to relax in the morning glow.

Only half an hour slipped by before you boyfriend wandered out, in his trunks, still stretching out the sleep that held his body.

'Good morning, baby,' you greeted with a smile.

Timothee smiled down at you before urging you to shuffle to the end of your chair. He slipped behind you, legs on either side and arms wrapping around your waist. He kissed one the tattooed marks he left on you last night. That's what he loved about the villa, the two of you wearing barley anything. 'Morning, mon amour. How did you sleep?'

You lean your head back on his shoulder. 'Like a babe.'

He smirked, leaning down to kiss you. It was never quick with him, never swift. His lips were hard against yours, his tongue sweeping over your bottom lip to taste the coffee on your tongue.

You pulled back before you could lose your place in your book. But, you pulled your coffee cup from the ground and offered him some.

He took a sip and leant his head on you shoulder, reading over while his hands messaged your stomach and hips. 'Even on holiday you're working.'

'This isn't work, i'm reading.'

'About the architecture of Italy?'

'It's a beautiful place.'

He hummed. 'It suits you, beautiful place for a beautiful girl.' He wears a smirk as his fingers slide over your swimsuit and slowly slip under under it grazes your bare hipbone.

'Timothee,' you warn with the most conviction you could.

'What?' he asked innocently.

You peck him on the lips, pulling away and leaving him to chase them. 'You have a problem.'

'Yes, I do.' Slowly, he slides the book of the chair, leaving it to thud on the ground and he slowly settles you down, as he slides along your back, slowly taking the straps down with his teeth. 'Will you help me?'

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀

As the sun sets on your simple day, the two of you sit at dinner outside as always. You listen to Timothee strum the guitar he brought along, mumble along to some songs he'd learnt for Bob Dylan.

Then, he passed it to you, letting you strum what songs you knew from other movies you'd done.

Once you set the guitar down, it fell quiet.

'You know I want to marry you, right?' said Timmy out of nowhere. 'Not here. Not now. When it's right, for you.'

You look at him. You spoke about futures, but never had he said so blatantly that he will marry you. 'What about you?' you ask.

'I'll be ready when you are,' he says, gently brushing your hair behind your shoulder. 'And this could be our lives. Here. Every summer this could be our villa. You and me. Then one day, our kids. Then, when we've made enough movies we'll do what the old movie stars do. Retire, direct or produce a movie or something. We'd be like those cooky neighbours who throw the craziest parties.'

'Cheeseboards,' you suggest. 'Watching sunsets and sunrises, walking to town to buy ingredients for supper. Then complaining about the kids running around our feet while trying to cook.' you say, playing pretend for your future lives.

Timothee nodded, leaning closer to you, like he could see the future in your eyes. 'We'll hide away here, in the trees, and swim together, naked- when we're alone of course-' you laugh at his. 'and we can spend all day together, I'd get to touch you whenever I please,' his hands slowly caressed up your legs, careful and light.

You blush, smiling and resting your chin in the palm of your hands. 'All day every day touching you.'

'Could you think of anything better?' he smirked, lips brushing yours.

'Well, right now, a few things.' you kissed him and kissed him, thankful forever for the Italian sun.

#timothée chalamet #wonka #timothee x reader #timothee x y/n #timothee imagine #timmy #timothee x you #love #my dreams #timothee chalamet x reader

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shegatsby · 1 year ago

Note

Hi I'm not sure if you're taking requests if not then please completely ignore this

If you are I was wondering how you think Hannibal Lecter might propose to his female s/o?

No Warnings!

A/N;Hi guys, hope you're having a great day. Enjoy this short imagine. Love you all.

Hannibal planned this trip a year ago and he scheduled everything according to it. His patients, his work with the FBI. He seemed extra prepared for this trip which made you question him. You knew his character, he was always ready for anything but this time was different.

Analyzing people rubbed off on you from him, you’ve been together for 3 years now and living together for 2 years and obviously some of his personality traits made their way to you. You weren’t sure whether you had affected him the way he did but this last year he was more settled and sometimes carefree. Of course those occasions were pretty rare, but it was fun to see him opening another bottle of wine after being tipsy or cancelling his work just for a get away with you.

When he made the last phone call about his work he was free. ‘’We won’t be bothered anymore, my love.’’ He kissed your temple and together you left your shared home to catch the flight.

Weather in Italy, Portofino was something you needed. Baltimore was too cold for you. He rented a villa up the hills, overlooking the entire town, sea, forests, buildings. The view made you feel you belong to Portofino, maybe one day you’ll live here with him.

You were on the balcony, being in awe of the sight before you while Hannibal was being in awe of you, he hugged you from behind, kissed the tip of your ear. You giggled like a child, he loved that about you, admired your nurturing, yet, carefree spirit. He was aware that together you were in the perfect balance.

Hi hands went to your stomach, he imagined you carrying his child. Before you, he never imagined having someone in his life, of course he had some people that he saw time to time bur being in a committed relationship was something he never dared to dream. The sun was setting, he made you turned and looked at his deep maroon eyes.

He planned everything and it was time,

‘’My dearest, 3 years ago today was the first time that I saw you. You were drinking your coffee, just the way you like, and reading your book.’’

You smiled, you were reading ‘’A Philosophy of Walking’’ by Frédéric Gros, he made a comment about it, thus, you started talking about great philosophers for 2 maybe 3 hours.

‘’But we were so caught off guard by our instant chemistry that you left without bestowing me nothing but your elegant name. Thanks to my connections with the FBI, I found you.’’

You remembered the big bouquet of flowers on your work desk after a day, how scared you were…

Soon you’ve come to realize that Hannibal Lecter, even though he was the epitome of the modern gentlemen, deep down he was a hunter. He lived to chase and catch, you gave him a chase which was worth the ride.

‘’I never want to let you go, what we have is real.’’ He let go of your hands to get a ring from his pocket. You could feel the tears of happiness forming, ‘’Be mine. Forever.’’ You kissed his lips, ‘’Yes,’’ you whispered, ‘’forever.’’

Thank you for reading. :)

#fanfiction #fanfic #reader insert #hannibal #hannibal lecter #hannibal x reader #hannibal x you #mads mikkelsen #reader #mads mikkelsen x reader #mads mikkelsen imagine #mads mikkelsen icons #mads mikkleson #reader fanfiction #x reader #female reader #fem reader

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escapismsworld · 2 months ago

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The beauty of Villa Contarini

In Villa Contarini's Ballroom, often referred to as the Stucco Room, one can find an extraordinary display of decorative richness that challenges established perceptions of interiors by incorporating non-structural elements, such as raised putti in the seventeenth-century style.

Adorning the walls are various paintings, among them "Shipwreck with the Liberation of a Slave," painted in 1620 by the Venetian artist Carlo Saraceni upon his return from Rome.

A fresco at the ceiling's center portrays "Virtue Expelling Vice," surrounded by allegorical representations like War (Mars and Venus), Justice (sword and balance), Peace (female figure with cornucopia and olive branch), and Nobility (female figure with crowns).

Positioned in Piazzola sul Brenta, within the Padova province of the Veneto region, Villa Contarini is one of the most extraordinarily beautiful Baroque rural palaces in northern Italy.

📷: Domenico Schiavo (mimmo.schiavo - IG)

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adore-laur · 7 months ago

Note

Dadrry idea: since Harry left his position of head chef and there’s a second baby now, maybe they’re struggling a tiny bit with money. Not too much but things are a little stressful and they have to cancel a holiday maybe? Or one of the girls just doesn’t get a toy she wants or something? And they have to explain it to the child just while Harry picks up a few more shifts

——

Harry handled the finances and was highly aware of each transaction made in the family. With two kids, you both had to be quite frugal, especially since Harry was working fewer hours at the restaurant and you were a stay-at-home mom. While there was never an issue of not having enough money to pay the bills and provide your children with life’s necessities, the prospect of running out still haunted your mind. It was possible that an unforeseeable emergency could snatch a hefty chunk of money away. Additionally, there were other boring adult charges like mortgages, taxes, and monthly subscriptions that all left a bigger deduction with each year that passed.

Then there was the summer trip to Italy happening in two months. The plane tickets had already been bought and gifted for Christmas, and the villa was booked in advance. It was expensive, but the other option of staying in a cramped hotel room for a week was undesirable in all regards. The space and privacy were crucial for your sanity.

Italy was not a cheap travel destination per se. There would be money spent every day on transportation, dining, tourist traps, and whatever else sucked you in with its magnificent European beauty. Indulging in extravagance would be tempting, but if you planned and budgeted ahead of time, maybe the financial repercussions of the trip wouldn't be so deplorable. Your wishful thinking was blatantly deceptive.

After putting the kids to bed, you sat at the kitchen table under the dim chandelier and waited for Harry to finish unloading the dishwasher. His silent presence was comfortable as you pondered the logistics of the upcoming trip. Well, pondered was putting it lightly—you were brooding.

"I can hear you thinking," Harry said, setting the last bowl in the cupboard to his left. He washed and dried his hands, then walked over to you with his cotton pajama pants slung low on his hips. His bare torso was at your eye level, and you fought the urge to bury your face in the warm, chiseled skin there.

"My head is going to explode," you muttered, feeling an imminent migraine pulsing near your temples.

He fell into the chair beside you, exhausted from an eventful Saturday filled with dad duties, and scooted it closer to you. "Why, baby?" he asked, his palms scrubbing down his face as he yawned.

"I'm overthinking everything."

Placing his elbow on the table, he cradled his cheek in his palm and gave you his full focus. "Break it down for me."

"There's mainly one thing." You huffed, deciding to broach the topic before it got swept under the rug. "The Italy trip. Prices are going up, and I'm worried we won't be able to afford going anymore."

Harry's expression was the epitome of flummoxed. "Wait, what? Where is this coming from?"

"You're not working full-time," you explained, "and I'm not raking in any income. I mean, will we be able to financially recover from the trip? What if—"

"Hold on, hold on," he said softly, his eyes pinching shut. "Can I interrupt, please?"

You half-heartedly waved your hand in his general direction, in desperate need of his sensible guidance. "Be my guest."

"Let's backtrack for a second. Honey, why do you think we won't be able to afford it? The biggest costs are already out of the way."

"I just told you why. Think about it, Harry." You tapped the table to emphasize each point. "A meal for four people will probably cost over a hundred dollars. That includes breakfast, lunch, and dinner, so if we multiply that by the seven days we're there, it's going to be well over a thousand dollars."

"Okay," he said. He didn't seem to have anything to add after that, so you continued.

"Then there's transportation." You groaned, staring up at the ceiling. "We still have to decide if we're renting a car. If not, we'll have to pay for a bus, or a train, or a taxi. That's going to add up very quickly."

"Mm-hmm." Harry had a dopey look on his face, a hint of a smile tugging the corners of his lips up. Whatever. You were being realistic, and he was in a dreamland where money grew on trees.

You carried on, getting tangled in the vines of your brain's dense jungle. "And then what about all the sightseeing and activities? That's the most expensive aspect." You shrugged helplessly. "I was recently searching for free things to do in Tuscany. I guess there are a lot of buildings we can look at, but I don't know if the kids would enjoy it."

Harry nodded along. When he realized you were done with your long-winded explanation, he lifted his eyebrows and said, "It's a good thing we can spoil them with the raise I got yesterday."

"And also—what?" You stopped abruptly, catching your breath. Did he just...?

Harry stood and bent down to kiss your forehead in that sweet way of his—gentle and imploring, like he wanted to caress your brain and will it to calm down. "I got a raise yesterday," he repeated nonchalantly, nuzzling his nose into your hair.

"Why didn't you tell me?" you demanded, lightly smacking his shoulder.

"I'm telling you right now. I wanted to wait until we had a moment to ourselves." He crouched in front of you, holding your knees just like he'd done when you told him you were pregnant for the second time. The memory was so vivid that it almost left you stunned with emotion. "Five percent pay raise. We're going to be just fine." His simple smile was remedial. "We are not canceling this trip."

You exhaled, releasing all of your worries into the air, the pounding in your temples dissipating. "Why didn't you stop me from rambling on?"

"Because it's healthy to speak those types of thoughts aloud instead of letting them simmer," Harry replied like the perfect husband he was.

You cupped his cheeks and kissed him deeply, pouring all of your love and gratitude into it. "I'm so proud of you," you whispered against his mouth. He savored your words by humming and sliding his tongue across yours for a brief second. "I appreciate the hard work you put into making our little family happy. And thank you for making this vacation possible."

"Wanted to spoil my girls," Harry murmured, craning his neck to kiss you more. His wet lips pulled at yours, greedy for their pliancy.

"Are you going to pick up more hours at the restaurant?" you asked in between the sounds of lip-smacking and heavy breathing. Something about him at night, in the dimly lit kitchen, with you as his sole focus, was igniting that secret fuse only he could play with.

"Shhh..." His fingers dug into your waist as he lifted you off the chair. Your legs and arms wrapped around him, warmth flooding right under your skin like wildfire. "No more work talk. I want some alone time with my wife before a hungry baby wakes us up."

You giggled and bit his bottom lip in excitement before he carried you to the bedroom.

Miraculously, your six-month-old gave the both of you forty minutes of uninterrupted time to roll around in the sheets.

When you went to sleep later that night, visions of Tuscany's hillside vineyards and swimming in the vast sea erased your concerns. As did the unequivocal vision of the man beside you making precious memories with his babies.

With Harry, there was no need to sweat the small stuff. His eyes were set on the most important thing—family.

——

#harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #dad!harry #dadrry #harry styles au #harry styles #adore-laur #SORRY I KINDA PUT MY OWN SPIN ON IT

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keeksandgigz · 8 months ago

Text

Chapter 1: Les Usurpateurs

Part 1 of Words are Futile Devices- A Steddie x Reader Call Me By Your Name AU

Somewhere in Northern Italy, 1983

cw: ~3k words, no smut (yet), EVERYONE IS OF AGE!!!, a lot of unnecessary description for the vibes, reader is a bit of a cunt

notes: I'm back (I think)

Despite the lack of smut in this chapter, this and all my works are 18+ minors do NOT interact

There was something of a quiet intimacy in hearing the summer sparrows in the morning. Nothing but the gentle hum and chirp buried in the ripe peach trees. Thus marking the beginning of your yearly summer stay in Italy, of doing nothing but lounge around and savor the crickets at night, lying down on the couch of the villa your mother had inherited from her great grandparents.

What you liked about your summers in Italy was that time seemed to go slower, at your leisure, spending it between the lake with your friends, the town just a short bike ride away or staying home buried in the pile of books you had brought over just to keep in your room, a bit overgrown, but unable to make it “too yours” because of the guests you’d have to concede your room to a mere four weeks after your arrival at the villa.

Every summer, your father would host literature and art history students at the villa, aspiring professors, authors, archeologists, to help with their dissertations. They’d come with their american ways, obnoxiously disturbing the peace that you had created for yourself in the idyllic world you’d surrounded yourself into. Like that was a different astral plane you’d projected into, with the same friends as always, the same views, the same places to go. A different guest you’d have to surrender your room to for ten weeks, while you were banished to the communicating room, divided only by a shared bathroom. A small twin bed, an old desk and chair, a big enough window to let a good amount of light in, so you don’t suffocate and turn into a vampire. You despised that room.

They always arrived on the first day of July, when the weather seemed to turn from needing a light pair of jeans in the evening to clothes being unbearable. If you were in your room you’d limit yourself to a long enough shirt to keep you decent for the ghosts in the villa. There were no ghosts, but Giovanna, the housekeeper, would pop in from time to time to drop off your clothes– washed, ironed and folded. They smelled like citrus.

You were reading The Count of Monte Cristo when the guest arrived. The rippling sounds of the gravel under the heavy tires of the car sounding like an alarm. You placed your book face down on the page you had been reading and ran to the window. Curious to see what the tide had brought this year. Maybe someone whose English wasn’t very good. Or some lunatic who could only stay inside because of his pollen allergy. You wondered what they would have looked like. Tall? Ugly? Obnoxious in the sense where you could hear them play shuffle and slam and bang doors and cabinets and drawers in the morning when getting ready?

The car came to a stop in front of the door, right under the window of your room. The driver’s door opened, Giuseppe, the groundskeeper of the villa went around to open the trunk. Your heart thumped as you saw the passenger door open. It was a man. He was wearing a pair of white linen shorts, a blue flouncy short sleeve button- up shirt and gold- rimmed glasses. He pushed them up as he placed two hands on his hips, quickly removing one in favor of running his hands through his hair, styled and coiffed like he had not just come off an eight- hour flight.

“You must be…” You’d heard your father say, placing a finger on his bearded chin, the name of the boy must have slipped him.

“Steve. Piacere” the boy said, in an Americanized Italian, sounding like he had a hot potato in his mouth.

“Ah! Steve, Benvenuto” your father said, bidding his welcome and shaking the boy’s hand. Your mother extended a delicate hand as well, introducing herself with a bright smile. At the same time, the opposite passenger door opened. Another boy.

This one had long, frizzy hair. His face was framed by the bangs that stuck on his forehead. He was wearing a black t- shirt of a band you’d never heard of before tucked inside a pair of cutoff denim shorts held up by a belt, a chain clinking at the boy’s side as he stepped off the car. He wouldn’t let Giuseppe take his bags, insisting he could have done it himself.

Your father followed the boy with his eyes as he carried what appeared to be a duffel bag and a beat up suitcase towards your father.

“And this must be Eddie, then” your father said, as Eddie released his suitcase to shake your father’s hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you” the boy said, and from this new angle you could see that he sported three chunky rings on his left hand and a chain necklace around his neck. Your father saw you peeking out the window and motioned for you to come down.

“Shall we go inside? Show you around before dinner?” He motioned towards the boys as Eddie picked his stuff up once again and followed inside. You rolled your eyes. That was your cue to put on some pants and come downstairs.

Your father’s office was just on the right at the bottom of the stairs, as you hopped down the marble steps. You heard chatter.

“Oh there she is” you heard your father announce as you leaned against the doorframe of his office. You tended to dislike his theatrics “Boys, this is my daughter” the two guests turned around, reaching their hands to squeeze yours, as you firmly told them your name.

“Hey, I’m Steve,” he said, fixing his glasses with his other hand. He was soft, but his handshake was firm. Hands bigger than yours.

“You’re the archeology and history nerd” you quipped, a slight curl of your mouth followed it.

Steve didn’t seem to like the name, as he let go of your hand, mouth in a straight line. Embarrassed. Put off. You needed them to know that they weren’t welcome here.

“Hey, what’s up I’m Eddie” the other guy said. His hand was much more rougher and calloused than Steve’s, likely a guitarist.

“You’re the soon to be failed author?” you tilted your head at him,

you tilted your head at him, you heard your mother gasp, the indignation dripping from her mouth as she said your name. Eddie chuckled, a bit taken aback, but amused.

“How do you like daddy’s money, hm?” It was your turn to be indignant. You heard your father snicker behind the boy, followed by Steve. Your hand brusquely retracted from Eddie’s, as your mother poured springs of apologies on your behalf.

“She’s not like this, usually,” your mother said. Which was a lie. You were always like this. Rude, witty, sour.

You heard the disappointment in your dad’s tone “Go show them their room” he said, an intimation for you to leave.

“Make yourselves at home,” he said, before you guided them back upstairs.

Eddie huffed up the stairs. You didn’t offer to take his bags, as he seemed to not need nor want any help.

You opened the large pinewood door.

“You guys are gonna sleep in here. This is my room, but it’s gonna be yours for the rest of your stay. I’m gonna be in the next room over. Unfortunately we’ll have to share a bathroom” You could see sleep calling to them, as their eyes opened and closed slowly at the sight of a made bed.

Eddie dropped his bags and thumped on the bed, sleep immediately overtaking him.

“You have to excuse him, this is the first time he’s traveled outside of the States,” Steve said, sitting on the bed, leaning to take his shoes off.

“Nervous or what?” you asked, examining your bookcase in case you wanted to steal a book to take to your room.

“Just not as lucky as many” Steve shrugged, laying himself down on the mattress “this is his big shot. If your dad likes his stuff it’s all uphill from here” Steve groans, voice full of sleep “thanks for lending us your room, let us know when dinner is.”

And that was that. The boy fell into the arms of slumber.

And when Giovanna rang the bell to announce dinnertime, once again you peeled yourself away from The Count of Monte Cristo. You wondered if they were still sleeping.

You wandered into the bathroom and towards the door as you shot a quick look at the two sleeping bodies on the bed. Eddie was snoring. You were unsure if you should have woken them up.

You toyed with the bathroom door, swinging it between your hands. A grin decorated your face as you decided to slam it. Steve jumped awake, annoyed and scared.

“Dinner’s ready” you muttered, reaching for the handle of the door.

“I’ll pass, thanks” Steve said, shaking Eddie from his almost comatose state. The boy mumbled a semi- discernible “huh?”

“Dinner, Ed. ‘m not going, but you can feel free to” Steve said to the other, but he just turned around and sleepily muttered an “‘mgood, thanks.”

“He’s good. We’ll apologize to your mother in the morning” Steve said, laying back down, ignoring you completely.

Where’s my apology?

You were thankful for the lack of guests at dinner. That way you were able to silently eat and then slither back into your room. Back into your book. Lulled by the crickets, and the whisper of the trees in the weak evening breeze. You ended up falling asleep.

In the morning, Steve was already outside having breakfast with your parents. He looked like he had showered, but you didn’t recall the faint sound of the water running. He was wearing another pair of shorts, another flouncy shirt. Fumbling with a slice of toast, buttered with jam as he talked to your father about the morning paper.

“This is gorgeous by the way” Steve admitted, looking around “your orchard?” he looked at your mother, who was smiling proudly at the compliment.

“We grow a lot of fruit here, Giovanna makes apricot juice fresh every day” she smiled, biting into a slice of bread.

“You had a lot to say yesterday, now you’re a quiet little mouse?” your father teased, elbowing you lightly as you rolled your eyes.

“It’s okay, she apologized” Steve said, an assuring look in his eyes “she didn’t mean that stuff. She told me, it’s just her welcome wagon” he chuckled, and you felt yourself grow red. Why would he save you like that?

Eddie popped out from the door, hair in a bun, changed out of his shirt in favor for a new one.

“You should show them around some time, dear. Take them into town, maybe at the lake, I hope your father is not gonna keep them cooped up in his office for ten weeks” your mother giggled.

“Yeah, no we’d love that. Maybe I’ll get some inspiration for the book” Eddie sat down at the breakfast table, between you and Steve as he fumbled with a soft boiled egg Giovanna had to crack open for him. Embarrassment was veiled on his face.

You looked at his ringed hands, fumble with the small spoon. Did it always look so small?

“We’re not gonna start until the beginning of the week, but I might ask you to go get some supplies into town today and take these two with you. Eddie’s gonna need some nice paper for his typewriter, won’t you?” your father gave him a heavy pat on the shoulder, at which he smiled.

“Have another egg” your mother encouraged the boys. Eddie dug into the pot again, getting more confident with the way he spread the runny yolk on a slice of toast. Some of the runny egg dripped in between his fingers.

Just not as lucky as many.

Steve passed. “I know myself too well, if I have a second, I’ll just have a third and a fourth and a fifth and then I’m just gonna have to get rolled outta here” he joked. I know myself. Self- assured, cocky. You wondered what it felt like to really know yourself, to have everything figured out like he did.

You lent Steve Giuseppe’s old bike, Eddie got an old one of yours, the squeaky rusted tires alerting the two strangers’ presence. You were afraid you would have been pressured into giving one of them your own bike, seeing as you had already surrendered all of your possessions to them.

It was a pleasant day. Not too incredibly hot to be embarrassed if the two boys were to see you, face riddled with uncomfortable beads of sweat, breath heaving irregularly from the dry air of July. Instead, a nice breeze came through the mountains, as you debated on going for a swim later in the day.

That’s what you liked about your summers there. A swimsuit was always the wardrobe of choice under your summer clothes, the freedom to subsist in a plane of existence where your obligations began and ended within the span of a few miles of green grass and honeysuckle flowers.

The two boys followed you down the graveled road into town, which seemed to be deserted, families abandoning their houses in favor of driving to the beach for the weekend.

You asked them if they wanted to get a coffee, as you dismounted your bikes and parked them in front of a coffee place.

You sat outside as you sipped from your espresso cups.

“So” Steve broke the silence “What does one do around here?” you put down your book, the device you so desperately tried to ignore them with, trying to drown them out.

“Wait for the summer to end” you mumbled carelessly, going back to the words on the page.

“Ok and then in the winter you wait for the summer to start?” Eddie snickered.

“Seriously though, what do you do here the whole summer?” Steve interrupted, taking you away from your book again, as you tossed it on the table.

“I read, mostly. Play music, swim at the lake, go out” you huffed out annoyedly, reaching for the book. Eddie preceded you.

“Kafka? What happened to Monte Cristo?” he flicked through the yellowed pages.

“I finished it. How’d you know I was reading that?” you snatched the book back from his hands.

“It was on your bed before I slammed onto it. You should read something a bit more substantial,” he said “Kafka isn’t gonna teach you shit, why don’t you read Dorian Grey instead?” it annoyed you how patronizing his tone was.

“I read that last year, thanks for the help” you retorted, taking the book back from him with a roll of your eyes.

“Your dad seemed to make it abundantly clear that you need to be nice to us” Steve intervened, whining like a petulant child.

“Or what? You’ll snitch on me?” you snapped, the two boys looking at each other.

“Listen, sweetheart,” your nose curled at the nickname, “we’re not your enemies or whatever you think you’ve made us out to be. We really don’t want to be a nuisance to you” nothing about what he said seemed sincere. You rolled your eyes in response.

“Well,” Steve stood up from the metal chair with a violent noise, Eddie following suit “we’ll see you later,” as the both of them mounted their bikes and left. The creaking noises of the rusty old bikes followed in their pedaling.

They finally got the hint.

You spent the rest of your day at the lake, not really in a mood to interact with Chiara or Alessandro, two of your longtime friends. Instead, you made the slushing of the water current your friend, staring at the words on the page. Meaningless words. Kafka didn’t seem so enticing after all.

When you got home it went back on the dusty shelf. Your hand lingered on the spine of Dorian Grey for a moment. The cover was brown and worn, it was your mother’s before it became yours, your heart picked up at the words on the spine, gold lettering. You thought about what Eddie had said earlier.

You picked up Heart of Darkness instead.

Read Part 2 Here

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hannahssimblr · 4 days ago

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Pretending to be good at driving isn’t as easy as I assumed. It’s not like pretending to be into wine, or classical music, or other such things that allow you to nod along and smile, and make statements bland enough to seem vaguely knowledgeable. Italians drive on the right, and I’m terrified, yet one of my hands is nonchalantly out the open window of the rental car, resting against warm metal, while the other white knuckles the wheel. Tyres toss dust into the air behind us, and I feel like we’re starring in a film about Americans in southern Italy, where the sky is colour graded cyan blue, and the greens bleached out, dulled to bone dry ochre so that you know it is hot and poor.

I don’t think I have ever been much of a driver, despite the belief of my classmates back at school who assumed I must be, simply because I owned a car. Yes, I could drive it. I could control the clutch, shift the gears and manoeuvre myself into a parking space with semi-accuracy, but the traffic in Dublin was so diabolical that I spent most of my driving career crawling by, metre by metre, bumper to bumper until I’d give up, pull into the train station and get the DART the rest of the way. The other times, I was having disappointing sex in the passenger seat, or eating ice creams from McDonalds, a dead eyed stare over the bay on Fridays after school, just to have a way to unwind.

The road to Amalfi is a narrow twist of hairpin turns carved from a mountain, climbing above little towns and a verdant landscape which I picture dried to brush by the time July’s heat comes, a landscape in sepia tones.

Warm, dry air kisses my sweat dampened skin as I climb out of the car to the smell of the sea. Salt and seaweed, and fish, from a seafood restaurant by the water. Waves lap against the shore in a gentle symphony as seagulls circle above the vibrant hum of a busy tourist town.

The first thing Astrid wants to do is take photographs. And so, she perches on a low wall, against a backdrop of azure waters and green capped mountains, and poses for the camera. I take several, in a variety of positions, and indulge her whims by digging her straw hat out from the car boot so that she can pose with it, one hand on the brim as she looks out over the Tyrrhenian sea like it is her kingdom.

I get her to take some with me, too, using the front facing camera on my phone, then choose one to send to my mother.

We’re in Italy. Wonderful. Enjoy.

I suspect it will be weeks before we communicate again.

“It looks like it did on the website, anyway,” I say, as I unload our cases outside our villa. It is loaded with picturesque, old-world charm, the brick exterior crumbling slightly from salt and age. We decided that a villa with a pool would suit us best when I booked it, surmising we would appreciate a swim before breakfast under the morning sun. I gaze at my reflection now, a ripple of dark hair against the cloudless sky and take a moment to relax my shoulders, and thank God it will be ten days before I have to drive those perilous roads again.

Our footsteps echo against the hallway tile. Astrid gazes around her as I haul our bags upstairs.

“It’s quite nice,” she says, an understatement that incites a chuckle from me. This is the nicest place I’ve ever stayed at, including a family member’s desert guest house in Palm Springs. It is perfect. From behind the wrought iron banisters I spy a small living room, white linen couches and a bowl of fresh oranges on the table, and suspect they are from the tree outside.

“It’s a marvellous view from here,” Astrid says at the bedroom window while I roll the last of our cases across the floor towards the wardrobe. I won’t want to unpack them. I usually live out of my bags while I’m travelling, but I suspect Astrid will like things hung up and put away. With the heat and the exhaustion from travelling, I cannot face the thought. I join her at the window, where we look out upon a small dock, little coloured boats floating in water so serene, so clear that we can see their shadows at the bottom of the sea.

“Woah, yeah. It’s pretty here, huh?”

“I told you that,” she says, leaning into my chest. “I think this is the best place in the world.”

“Touristy, though, don’t you think?” Across the little bay, the coastal road is traffic jammed, holidaymakers weaving between the cars. A tour yacht glides by, its linen clad passengers pointing their cameras toward the charming little houses that cling to the mountainside, including ours. I raise my hand to wave at them, though I’m certain they cannot see us.

“We are tourists too,” she points out. “It’s good for the economy. If we weren’t here, the restaurants and craft shops would have to close.”

I hum in vague agreement, caught in between two ways of thinking. Jonas paced my room as I packed my bags for the airport, giving me a spirited, if not slightly manic, lecture about the perils of tourism, from environmental degradation, cultural disruption, exploitation and overcrowding.

“Shut up,” I said. “You and I are going to Thailand in June.” And he argued it was different, because he had intentions of learning about the cultures and traditions, and being respectful, unlike all the other tourists, trying to take pictures in the temples with their shoes still on and eating in Subway instead of trying a new cuisine.

Still, the conversation has left me with a vague feeling of nuisance I’ve never experienced while travelling abroad. I look around this bedroom, the voile curtains fluttering in the breeze that floats through the open balcony door, and fear I am gentrifying the town just by standing here. What if they hate me, the locals, and the chino trousers in my suitcase, the way my hair is pushed back, my trendy little sunglasses? I couldn’t even ask for water in Italian if I wanted to.

But Astrid can. Perfect, clever Astrid. She gazes at her appearance in the mirror, and smooths out her dress, which shows no signs of having been travelled in. She combs her fingers through her pin straight hair, and a strand comes loose, floating through the sun rays like a strand of white silk.

I wrap my arms around her waist and kiss her neck. “This is a great room, hm?”

“Yes, it’s spacious.”

“We could spend a lot of time in here.” I slide my hand over her ribs and cup her breasts. She sighs and lifts them away. “Don’t. Not now. We’ll put creases in the fabric.”

“You can change into another outfit.” God knows, she has packed enough clothes.

She twists out of my arms and opens her suitcase on the bed, retrieving her toothbrush. “I don’t feel clean after travelling. I’d need time to have a shower and freshen myself up first.”

To this, I laugh. “I don’t really care about that, to be honest. Like, I’ll go down on you no matter–”

“Well, I do.” She pushes through to the adjacent bathroom. The tap squeaks, and water splashes into the sink. “I want to see the town, anyway. I don’t want to waste the day in bed together.”

“I never think a day is wasted like that.”

“Well, we can do it later. Perhaps after dinner.”

“Very organised,” I say, and she doesn’t respond. She’s brushing her teeth.

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#lucky boy 2011 #weird time to post ik #but it's ready so here you go #sims 4 story #simblr #simblr story #show us your sims #show us your story #ts4 story #sims 4 community

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thecrayonindisguise · 2 months ago

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Chapter 1: The Arrival || Bonds and Barriers

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Original Female Character

Masterpost || next >>

Summary: Caterina Medici and her twin sister Teresa arrive in London from Italy to find suitable husbands. At their first ball, both of the sisters are named the “diamonds of the season,” catching the eye of the entire ton and more...

Word Count: 10.6k

Warnings: no particular warnings, maybe a little bit of swearing

Authors Note: Hey People! This is the first fanfiction I ever wrote so please be merciful… Disclaimer: English is not my first language, so forgive me for any mistakes. The events of this story take place after the first season and before the second season. Enjoy!

Dearest gentle readers,

As the season prepares to unfold in all its splendor, the ton eagerly anticipates the grandest of spectacles, new debutantes, and the elusive bachelors who remain unattached. The ballrooms will be adorned with the finest silks, sparkling jewels, and, naturally, whispers of gossip that travel faster than a fan flutter.

But beware, for not every diamond that sparkles in the light retains its brilliance. There are always those who shine a little too brightly at first glance, only to tarnish under the weight of society’s unforgiving gaze. And what of those who choose to remain in the shadows? Some say the most tantalizing secrets are often found in the quiet corners of the most bustling rooms.

This season promises to be one for the books, as hearts will be stolen, reputations tested, and perhaps even a scandal or two will emerge. Rest assured, I shall be there, quill in hand, to document every misstep, every whispered word, and every flutter of affection that is bound to raise an eyebrow or two.

Remember, dear readers, the ton is not always as it seems. The dance may begin with grace, but how it ends is entirely up to those bold enough to step onto the floor.

Yours truly,

Lady Whistledown.

─────────

“I hope this city will be as Aunt Langstone wrote us… for now, it seems too much…” Caterina looked outside, moving slightly aside from the tiny tent of the carriage, seeing a city full of carriages, dirt, and other things that she has never seen from her beautiful and green dukedom “Polluted,” she finished, making a displeased face.

She is talking to her mother sitting in front of her and to her twin sister, Teresa, who is beside her, curiously looking from the window too, “It’s like it’s all gray, don’t you notice mama?” said Teresa looking her mother “I may believe that the cause of this is are the industries, is one of the many things that aunt wrote us during our journey to London” the mother said, now looking from the window too; “the industries…what a thing” whispered Caterina rolling her eyes and leaning boringly on the seat.

The Medici carriage pulled up in front of the grand Langstone villa in Mayfair, its wheels crunching over the gravel driveway as the horses slowed to a halt. The stately manor rose proudly before them, its stone façade softened by ivy climbing up the walls, giving it an air of distinguished charm. Inside, soft candlelight flickered from the windows, and the doors were flung open in anticipation of the long-awaited guests.

Inside the carriage, Duchess Marie Medici, formerly Marie Aguillon, sat primly, adjusting the lace cuffs of her traveling dress. Her daughters, Caterina and Teresa, glanced out of the window, while Teresa fidgeted with her gloves in excitement, Caterina, however, remained quiet, her skepticism toward the entire endeavor of this London season cloaked in her usual reserve.

The prospect of finding a husband seemed more like a necessity than a romantic adventure. This was her first true taste of London society, but for their mother, this visit held much deeper significance.

"We're here, ladies," Duchess Marie said softly, her voice thick with emotion.

The footmen rushed to the carriage, assisting the ladies as they stepped down. As they did, the grand doors of the villa swung open and out came Rose-Marie Bechard, now Langstone, her arms wide open in welcome. The years had been kind to her, though a touch of gray streaked her hair. Her face lit up with joy as she caught sight of her cousin.

“Marie!” Rose-Marie’s voice was warm, trembling with excitement. “I can hardly believe it! After all these years!”

Marie barely had time to respond before Rose-Marie enveloped her in a tight embrace. "Oh, Rose-Marie, it’s been far too long," Marie said, her voice wavering. The two women clung to each other as though trying to bridge the years of distance in that one embrace.

When they finally stepped back, both had tears in their eyes. “Look at you,” Rose-Marie said, her hands resting on Marie’s arms, “just as beautiful as ever. And these are your daughters, oh, how I’ve waited to meet them.”

“Teresa, Caterina,” Marie gestured to her daughters, who stepped forward gracefully, each giving a polite curtsy. “This is my cousin, Rose-Marie Langstone, whom I’ve spoken of many times.”

Caterina, always the more reserved of the two, smiled demurely, while Teresa’s eyes sparkled with curiosity. “It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you, Lady Langstone,” Teresa said.

“We have heard so many lovely things about you,” added Caterina, her tone warm and engaging.

Rose-Marie laughed softly, her heart full of affection for the girls. "Please, call me Rose-Marie, and you two are even more beautiful than I imagined. My goodness, you must be the talk of the town already. How exciting.”

Just then, Rose-Marie’s husband, Earl Richard Langstone, appeared in the doorway, flanked by their son, David, and daughters Olympia and Cyntia. Richard was a tall, solid man with kind eyes, while David had the sharp, poised look of a man already prepared to take on the responsibilities of his future title. Olympia, a year older than the Medici twins, looked elegant and self-assured, while Cyntia, debuting this season, was bubbling with anticipation.

“Welcome, Duchess,” Richard said with a bow. “It’s a pleasure to finally host you and your lovely daughters.”

“The pleasure is all ours, my lord,” Marie replied graciously. “Your home is as beautiful as the family you’ve raised.”

“Oh, don’t flatter him too much, Marie,” Rose-Marie teased, looping her arm through her cousin. “Come, let’s get you all settled inside.”

As they entered the grand hallway, decorated with portraits and fine furnishings, the Medici women were warmly introduced to the Langstone children. Cyntia was particularly eager, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she greeted the twins. “I cannot wait to spend time with you both this season,” she said, practically bouncing on her toes. “It will be such fun!”

“I’m sure it will,” Caterina said with a polite smile, while Teresa, always a bit more adventurous, leaned in with a mischievous grin. “I think we shall be quite the trio, Cyntia.”

The teasing remark made Cyntia giggle, and even Olympia, who had initially seemed more reserved, cracked a smile. “Yes, indeed,” she said.

Once they were settled into their guest rooms, the Medici women were invited to join the Langstones for a splendid dinner in the grand dining room. The table was laden with the finest dishes, prepared in honor of their arrival. The soft glow of chandeliers bathed the room in a warm, inviting light as everyone took their seats.

Throughout the dinner, the conversation flowed easily between the families. Talk of the upcoming season dominated the discussion, with the Langstone daughters expressing their excitement for the events ahead.

“Cyntia is quite eager for her debut,” Rose-Marie said, smiling fondly at her youngest daughter. “And Olympia will be your guide, I’m sure. She’s already made quite a name for herself.”

Olympia smiled modestly. “I shall do my best, Mother.”

Teresa and Caterina exchanged glances, each thinking of the season ahead, and all the possibilities it held. “I imagine the season will be… quite eventful,” Teresa said, choosing her words carefully. “London society seems very different from what we are used to.”

“Oh, it is,” Olympia assured them, “but you’ll find your footing quickly. The key is to keep your head up and stay true to yourself.”

Caterina raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. “And what of the gentlemen, Olympia? Is there any advice you can offer on that matter?”

Olympia hesitated, her cheeks flushing a deeper shade as she met Caterina's piercing gaze. She fiddled with the lace trim of her sleeve before finally speaking, her voice a touch quieter than usual.

“Well,” Olympia began, glancing around to make sure no one else was listening, “the gentlemen here are… a mix. Some are quite charming, but many are far more interested in appearances than in substance. The key is to smile and nod, but never reveal too much of yourself too soon.”

She paused, then added, “But if you’re looking for a match that’s more than just surface, someone who truly sees you, well… that can be harder to find. You might have to look beyond the usual balls and tea parties.”

Caterina narrowed her eyes slightly, intrigued. “And how does one find such a gentleman?”

Olympia’s blush deepened, her fingers still nervously fidgeting with her gown. “I suppose… you look for the ones who aren’t always in the spotlight, who seem more interested in conversation than in dancing. They exist, but they don’t always make themselves known right away. Sometimes, it’s the quiet ones who surprise you.”

Her words lingered in the air, and Caterina nodded thoughtfully, though her skepticism remained. "Interesting… though I’m not sure I believe in surprises anymore," Caterina mused softly.

Olympia, sensing her cousin's reluctance, simply smiled. “Perhaps you’ll find one when you least expect it.”

As the evening drew to a close, the Medici women retired to their rooms, their hearts and minds buzzing with the excitement of the days to come.

─────────

The Medici family carriage rattled through the quiet streets of Mayfair, the early morning sun casting a soft glow on the rows of elegant townhouses. Inside, Caterina and Teresa sat, their faces painted with varying degrees of displeasure. Teresa, who could barely hide her thoughts, sighed dramatically, her voice full of complaint.

“I don’t understand, Mama,” Teresa began, glancing at her mother with wide, incredulous eyes. “Why are we here for more dresses when we already brought thousands from home? Three bags each, at least!”

Caterina, sitting beside her sister, nodded in agreement. “I must side with Tess on this, Mama. It’s the dawn, and I doubt the shop is even open. It looks like London doesn’t rise as early as we do.” Her voice was cool, matching the disinterest she felt for yet another gown-fitting. She had grown accustomed to luxury and yet, despite the endless opulence, it left her unsatisfied.

Lady Medici, regal as ever, led the way, her stride purposeful as she addressed her daughters without looking back. “Ladies, I don’t want to hear any more complaints. We must acquire new dresses not only for your first ball but for all the others in the season.” She turned slightly, lowering her voice as they passed a mother and daughter walking arm-in-arm. “We need to adjust to British designs, even if they are…out of touch.”

Teresa giggled behind her gloved hand, and even Caterina couldn’t suppress a small smirk at their mother’s biting remark. Lady Medici was always sharp in her observations of fashion and propriety. But before either of the twins could speak again, Lady Medici stopped just outside the shop, turning to face them, her expression stern.

“What have I always said about mornings?” she asked.

The twins, familiar with this routine, rolled their eyes and recited in unison, “ La mattinata fa la giornata .” [The morning makes the day] Their voices carried the rhythm of their native Italian. Lady Medici nodded approvingly. “Good,” she said, a small, triumphant smile on her lips as she ushered them inside.

The shop was quiet, too quiet. When they stepped inside, the bell at the door barely made a sound, and the absence of bustling attendants suggested they were indeed the day’s first customers. The mannequins stood draped in gowns of fine silk and satin, the air thick with the scent of fabric and perfume.

“Hello?” Lady Medici called out, her voice echoing slightly in the stillness. A few moments passed before the sound of hurried footsteps could be heard from upstairs, followed by the rustle of skirts. After what felt like an eternity to the impatient twins, a woman appeared, her hair slightly disheveled, her makeup incomplete, but her dress impeccably styled.

“Good morning, ladies,” the woman greeted, her thick French accent unmistakable. She flashed a broad smile, though the surprise in her eyes was evident. “I didn’t expect any clients this early.” Her gaze flickered over the unfamiliar faces. “What can I do for you?”

“We’re here for a consultation,” Lady Medici began, her voice authoritative but polite. “Madame…?”

“Delacroix,” the woman introduced herself, inclining her head slightly.

“Madame Delacroix,” Lady Medici repeated, her French flawless. “We’ve traveled a long way—”

“Italie,” Delacroix interrupted with a smile, her eyes glittering as she assessed the elaborate gowns the twins wore. “I can recognize the work of your homeland, such a unique hand”.

Lady Medici’s chest swelled with pride. “Indeed. And these are my daughters, Teresa and Caterina Medici. They are to debut this season, and we require someone familiar with British designs for their gowns.”

“Je suis honorée, madame,” Delacroix said, bowing lightly before gesturing toward Teresa. “Shall we begin with measurements?”

As Teresa stepped forward, eager for her turn, Caterina lingered behind, her gaze wandering across the shop. The textures and fabrics displayed failed to impress her, especially in comparison to the luxurious Italian silks she was accustomed to.

“I don’t see any Italian fabrics,” Caterina noted, her voice laced with mild annoyance as she ran her gloved hand over a particularly underwhelming bolt of cloth. “Why is that?”

Delacroix’s smile faltered slightly, a hint of discomfort appearing in her expression. “Mademoiselle, I am afraid Italian fabrics are very difficile to acquire at the moment. They are highly sought after, and the price has increased dramatically.”

“I see,” Caterina responded, her tone cold, as though the modiste’s explanation wasn’t satisfactory. She turned away, moving deeper into the shop, still lost in her assessment of the uninspiring fabrics. Her curiosity led her to a quieter corner of the store, away from the others.

As she absentmindedly ran her hand over a silk cloth, she removed her glove, needing to feel the texture properly. But just as she was about to return to the front of the shop, she turned abruptly straight into someone. The collision was sudden, sending a mess of clothes and her glove tumbling to the floor.

Caterina gasped, the sudden impact knocking her slightly off balance. When she looked up, her breath caught in her throat. Standing before her, clearly flustered, was a man holding an armful of clothes.

Benedict Bridgerton.

The disheveled artist and second son of the Bridgerton family stood frozen in place, his arms full of half-dressed garments, his usual charm nowhere to be found. He had promised himself, the night before, for the umpteenth time, that he would return home before dawn, to avoid misunderstandings that could have caused some scandal but neither this time had he succeeded. So he reduced himself to sneaking up from Madame Delacroix’s shop in broad daylight… with customers!

For a moment, neither of them moved. Caterina’s eyes swept over him, taking in his rumpled appearance, while Benedict found himself mesmerized by the woman before him. Her beauty, her poise, she was unlike any lady he had ever seen, and certainly not someone he expected to bump into at this hour.

“Caterina? Where are you, my dear?” a voice called from the front of the shop, breaking the tense silence.

Caterina glanced toward the source of the voice and then back at Benedict. Without a word, she bent down and swiftly snatched her glove from the pile of fallen clothes, her fingers brushing against Benedict’s hand for the briefest of moments. The touch sent a jolt through him, and he froze again, his heart skipping a beat.

“You should go,” she said firmly, her voice quiet but commanding. Her eyes locked with his, a hint of amusement flickering in them as she tilted her head toward the door.

Benedict, still struggling to regain his composure, nodded quickly. He bowed slightly, his face flushing with embarrassment, before hurrying toward the door, his exit as clumsy as their collision had been.

As the door closed behind him, Caterina straightened her gown and returned her attention to the fabrics. She found herself wondering why it had taken him so long to leave, perhaps he was slow, or simply clumsy, but whatever the reason, it didn’t matter. She had more important things to focus on, like the unimpressive selection of materials in front of her.

─────────

2 days later

The excitement buzzed around the room as the Langstone sisters continued their chatter about the upcoming ball. Cynthia, the youngest, was particularly animated, her face glowing with enthusiasm as she spoke. “Believe me, you will surely enjoy the ball tonight. Lady Danbury is known to host the most splendid and fabulous event of the entire season!”

Teresa, already caught up in the atmosphere, could hardly contain her own excitement. “I heard the Queen will be attending. Is that true?” she asked eagerly while one of the maids carefully adjusted her gown.

Cynthia nodded with a wide grin. “It is indeed! But what makes it even more thrilling is that the Queen hasn’t chosen the Diamond of the Season yet!”

The twins exchanged a confused glance, both frowning slightly at this unfamiliar term. Teresa tilted her head. “The diamond? You mean the mineral?”

Olympia, the older and more experienced sister, let out a soft laugh. “Oh no, not a literal diamond! Every season, the Queen selects one favored young lady, granting her the title of ‘Diamond of the Season.’ It’s the highest honor, essentially making her the most eligible lady of the marriage market.”

Caterina, sitting a bit farther away, scoffed under her breath. “Marriage market, what a concept.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm as her maid twisted the last curl into place. The idea of being paraded around and chosen like some prized possession made her skin crawl. She had no desire to become the center of attention.

Cynthia continued, oblivious to Caterina’s inner disdain. “From that moment on, every gentleman seeking a wife will be vying for her attention. Imagine being the queen’s chosen!”

Teresa, unable to resist teasing her sister, glanced at Caterina with a mischievous smile. “That sounds exactly like something Kitty would love!” she mocked lightly, knowing all too well how uncomfortable her sister would feel being thrust into the spotlight.

Caterina rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling at the playful jibe. The other girls giggled, their laughter filling the room with warmth as they continued preparing for the evening.

As the Langstone sisters began to recount the scandals of last season, particularly the juiciest gossip, the stories were abruptly cut off by a knock at the door. A maid entered, curtseying before announcing, “Your mothers are ready, my ladies. The carriages await.”

The girls quickly gathered their things, a flurry of excitement filling the air once more. Outside, two elegant carriages awaited them, their lacquered surfaces gleaming in the fading light of the afternoon. The Medici ladies would ride in one, while Lady Langstone and her daughters took the other.

─────────

As they settled into their seats, Teresa leaned toward her mother, bubbling with the gossip she had just heard. “Mama, did you know about the diamond title and the Queen’s blessing?” she asked, her voice filled with awe as she recounted all that Cynthia and Olympia had shared.

Lady Medici smiled, her eyes bright with amusement and something else, pride. “Ah, I had nearly forgotten to mention it. There’s a reason why our arrival has caused such a stir,” she said, tapping her hands lightly on her lap. “Word about us has spread quicker than I expected. The Queen is quite curious to meet you both. Upon our arrival, they will announce us formally.” Her voice was filled with excitement, and she looked at her daughters, her smile widening.

Teresa’s eyes widened with wonder. “The Queen herself wants to greet us? Is that… a good thing, Mama?” she asked, unsure whether to feel excited or nervous.

Lady Medici beamed. “Of course, my darling, it’s a wonderful thing! The Queen doesn’t take notice of just anyone. Our family’s reputation precedes us, and this will ensure your introduction to society is nothing short of spectacular. You must understand, that being acknowledged by the Queen places you in a very advantageous position.”

As Lady Medici spoke, Caterina continued staring out the window, her fingers absently playing with the fur draped over her shoulders. Despite the assurances from her mother, Caterina felt uneasy. The thought of being presented to the Queen, of having all eyes on her, only heightened her anxiety. She longed for the warmth of Italy, for the familiarity of home, far away from the chilly, polished world of the British aristocracy.

─────────

The carriage rocked gently as they rode through the bustling streets of Mayfair. She watched the cobbled streets pass by, her mind filled with uncertainty. What if all this attention, this grand entrance into London’s elite, only led her further away from the security she sought? After all, she was here to find stability, not to make herself the talk of the ton.

Teresa’s voice broke through her thoughts as she whispered excitedly to Caterina, “Imagine, Kitty. The Queen, the diamonds, the gentlemen. All of it is just beginning!”

Caterina sighed, offering her sister a faint smile. “Yes, it’s all beginning,” she echoed, but her tone was far more cautious. For Caterina, this debut season was less about the glittering possibilities of romance and more about survival. She had come to London with a purpose, and she couldn’t allow herself to be swept away by fantasies of courtship or the title of “Diamond of the Season.” Too much was at stake.

Still, as they neared the grand estate where Lady Danbury’s ball would take place, Caterina couldn’t shake the gnawing sense that tonight would be different.

As the Medici family carriage came to a halt, Lady Medici, signaled a footman to announce their arrival. Before stepping down, she paused, gathering her daughters’ hands in her own. Her gaze softened as she looked warmly into their eyes, speaking with the gravitas of a mother whose daughters stood on the precipice of something great.

"I don’t need to tell you what to say or what to do tonight," Lady Medici began, her voice steady, "you already know everything." Her expression brightened, eyes glistening. "I am so happy and proud of you both. Our life is about to start a new chapter tonight." Her voice trembled ever so slightly with emotion before she pulled them into a tender embrace.

With a deep breath and a poised smile, she turned to face the grand doors of the ball.

Indeed, as she had just said, a new chapter was about to begin for Caterina and Teresa Medici, and perhaps for the entire ton.

The grand double doors swung open, and the entrance hall echoed with the ceremonial thump of footmen’s sticks hitting the marble floor, a sound that commanded instant attention.

Conversation dwindled to murmurs, all eyes turning to the entrance as an announcement rang out, authoritative and grand:

"Please welcome the Dowager Duchess of Lucca, Marie Medici, and her daughters, Miss Teresa Medici and Miss Caterina Medici."

The trio entered with grace, their figures bathed in the soft glow of the ballroom’s chandeliers. They moved almost in slow motion, their elaborate gowns shimmering under the light as they made their way toward the Queen. All eyes were fixed on them, but that did not stop the whispers from starting, subtle yet sharp.

"Duchess of where?"

"Lucca? Italy, I heard."

"They came all the way from Italy for what, exactly?"

"Look at the number of jewels they’re wearing."

"Surely those must be worth more than the Queen’s crown jewels!"

"And what is that on their shoulders—fur?"

"Fur? How audacious…"

As the chatter filled the room, the three women reached the Queen and dropped into a deep, practiced bow. When they rose, they spoke in unison, their voices blending as they greeted the monarch.

"Your Majesty."

The Queen’s eyes gleamed with genuine curiosity, a rare reaction in the face of so many debutantes. "Duchess," she began, her tone intrigued, "what an unexpected honor to have you here in my court. To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Lady Medici smiled graciously, standing tall and regal. "Your Majesty, I have come from Italy with the intent of finding suitable husbands for my daughters."

The Queen’s eyebrow arched with interest. "Husbands? And were there no suitable bachelors in Italy?"

"Indeed there were," Lady Medici replied with a flattering smile, "but word of your lavish season has reached even our shores. We’ve always admired it and desired to experience this remarkable opportunity."

The Queen seemed to weigh her response before stepping down from her throne, her regal demeanor softening slightly as she studied the Medici sisters more closely. "Well," she declared with a hint of approval, "in that regard, I am thrilled to welcome your daughters into this season. They are exquisitely pretty, Duchess."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Lady Medici beamed, her hand resting on Caterina and Teresa’s shoulders. "They are my greatest joy, my twin daughters."

The Queen’s eyes widened with new fascination. "Twins, you say?" she repeated, her curiosity deepening. "That certainly enhances their… rarity."

Caterina’s brow furrowed slightly, a faint unease prickling at her instincts. She could sense that the Queen’s compliment carried layers of expectation.

Raising her voice to command the attention of the room, the Queen addressed the ton. "It is now my honor," she said, her tone carrying a note of grandeur, "to present to you this season’s Diamond, or should I say Diamonds. Miss Teresa Medici and Miss Caterina Medici!"

A wave of applause erupted through the ballroom, the rare occurrence of two Diamonds causing a stir of excitement. The clapping from the Langstone family, who had been eagerly awaiting this moment, was the loudest of all, brimming with pride.

But amid the sea of applause, Caterina’s mind spun, the weight of the Queen’s pronouncement settling over her. Her smile stiffened as a single thought echoed in her mind: Oh, fuck.

─────────

As the applause filled the room, Benedict Bridgerton's mind was elsewhere.

The name that had just been announced “Caterina Medici, daughter of a duchess from Italy” rang in his ears. That was the identity of the mysterious woman he had seen two days earlier when he had sneaked out of the Modiste.

The same woman who had unknowingly captured his attention and thoughts…

His heart raced as he stared at her from across the ballroom. The elegant figure in the sparkling gown, her hair gleaming under the chandeliers, was none other than the stranger he’d spent days thinking about. But now she wasn’t just a fleeting encounter. She was real, she had a name, and she was standing in front of him in all her beauty.

"Your mouth is leaking, brother," Colin teased, breaking Benedict from his reverie. His younger brother stood beside him, arms crossed, a mischievous grin on his face.

"Wha-what?" Benedict stammered, finally tearing his gaze away from Caterina to glance at Colin, who was now laughing openly.

"I said, your mouth is leaking," Colin repeated, his voice full of amusement. "You’ve been staring at her for quite some time."

Benedict blinked, attempting to regain his composure. "I-I saw her at the Modiste," he said, a little too quickly, as though that explained everything.

"The Modiste?" Colin raised an eyebrow, clearly exasperated. "Again, brother? You’re really becoming predictable."

"Nothing relevant happened," Benedict muttered, but his eyes drifted back to Caterina, who was now engaged in conversation with the Queen. She seemed even more captivating tonight than he remembered, her beauty enhanced by the graceful way she held herself.

"God, she’s even more beautiful tonight," Benedict whispered to himself, unable to suppress the longing in his voice.

Colin’s smirk widened. "Are you already falling for her, brother?" he asked, leaning closer, his tone laced with teasing.

"I don’t know, Colin," Benedict replied, still mesmerized. "But she is the most beautiful creature I have ever seen. I need to talk to her."

Colin chuckled, shaking his head. "Be careful, brother. You sound like a lovesick fool."

At that moment, the applause grew louder as the Queen made her pronouncement, officially introducing the Medici sisters as the Diamonds of the season. The room hummed with excitement, and Colin moved even closer to Benedict.

"You’re going to have a lot of contenders to deal with, brother," He whispered in his ear, his eyes gleaming with amusement, and then clapped Benedict on the shoulder. "Good luck, Ben. You’ll need it."

─────────

“oh that was unexpected…” sighed Lady Medici regarding the diamond announcement.

“what is this thing?” asked annoyed Caterina not even listening to her mother but just looking at her dance card hanging from her wrist.

After the announcement some valets just gave them and the ball continued to go… this was just a short moment before the assail of the ladies by the men of the ton.

“They call it ‘dance card’, is where the gentlemen write their names to reserve you a dance with you or something similar, Cynthia told me, she showed me hers this morning from a previous ball” explained Teresa next to the sister who made a disgusted sound “what an absurdity,” she said before taking it off and throw it in the fireplace next to them.

“Caterina!” recalled her mother “What did you just do! I hope that you were not seen” Lady Medici continued saying, looking around but she just interrupted herself because she saw a multitude of bachelors moving towards them, she widened her eyes scared.

“I throw it in the fire Mother, I am perfectly capable of remembering every man’s name who will dance with me tonight and I don’t need to be reserved, as an object of -” Caterina clarified more than annoyed but she didn’t have the time to finished because her sister took her hand and squeezing fiercely, that acts made her look up to the crowd that was approaching them “oh mamma mia” Caterina whispered before she and her sister were surrounded by all those men, asking them eagerly a dance.

─────────

The ball had reached its crescendo, the music was lively, the laughter contagious, and the whispers were flying faster than the swirling couples on the dance floor. But for Caterina Medici, the night was proving to be a delicate balancing act. Ever since the Queen had declared her and her sister, the diamonds of the season, she had barely had a moment to breathe. Gentleman after gentleman had approached her, each vying for her hand in the next dance, each seemingly more pompous or desperate than the last.

Caterina was no stranger to attention, but this… this was overwhelming. A cascade of flattery, offers of refreshments, compliments on her gown, all of it seemingly designed to entrap her in endless conversations. It didn’t help that Teresa, ever the calm and composed one, handled the pressure with that grace, making Caterina feel just a bit more like an imposter.

So, in a moment of impulsive decision, she had decided to slip away for a breath of air, weaving through the bustling crowd in search of solitude.

So she tried to find a retreat, away from all those pompous people, and a drink…especially a drink. what a species the British, she thought while trying to avoid everyone while walking very close to the wall.

Finally, she spotted a small, tucked-away area near the refreshment tables. It was nearly hidden from view, a small respite from the chaos of the ballroom. Her eyes were drawn to a petite woman in an eye-catching bright yellow dress with striking red hair standing by the food. Caterina let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding and whispered to herself, "A time of peace."

She reached for a small, almond-shaped treat that looked like an amaretto, one of her favorite Italian delicacies. But the moment she bit into it, her face contorted in disgust. It was far too sweet and lacked the rich, familiar taste of home. With a grimace, she quickly took it out of her mouth and discreetly tossed it behind her, trying to recover her composure.

Suddenly, the woman in the bright yellow dress spoke, causing Caterina to jump. “Oh! Lady Medici, what a pleasure! I didn’t see you here.”

Startled, Caterina gasped and turned quickly, trying to mask her embarrassment. “Oh, please, don’t,” she said with a gracious smile, gesturing for the woman not to bow. “There is no need for such formalities, Miss…?”

“Featherington, my lady. Penelope Featherington,” the young woman answered shyly, her cheeks tinged pink.

Caterina’s smile widened. “Penelope, what a beautiful name! A pleasure indeed.”

Penelope blushed deeper, looking down at her hands as she fidgeted with the hem of her dress. “Oh, thank you, though I’ve never been particularly fond of it,” she admitted softly.

Caterina frowned slightly, genuinely puzzled. “Why not? Penelope is a wonderful name, the same as Odysseus' wife and Queen of Ithaca. You should be proud of it.”

Penelope looked up, her blush deepening at the unexpected compliment. The weight of her insecurities felt lighter under Caterina's warm encouragement. For a moment, she didn’t know how to respond, so Caterina, sensing the young lady’s shyness, shifted the conversation.

“May I ask you something, Miss Featherington?” Caterina began, her tone was casual but curious.

“Of course,” Penelope replied, eager to continue the conversation.

“The courtship here,” Caterina said, gesturing vaguely to the ballroom filled with dancing couples, “is it truly like this?”

Penelope looked confused for a moment. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

Caterina sighed softly and elaborated. “I mean, is the entire season going to be filled with endless dancing and conversations with gentlemen until I finally find one ‘suitable’? Is that how it works?”

Penelope couldn’t help but chuckle. “Well, not necessarily. You don’t have to dance with everyone if you’ve already found ‘the one.’”

Caterina snorted, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “The one. Yes, of course,” she said, almost irritated by the idea.

Penelope, sensing Caterina's disillusionment, hesitated before asking, “Have you met anyone pleasing so far?”

Caterina chuckled dryly. “Next question?”

Penelope let out a small, nervous laugh, but before she could say anything else, Caterina continued, “No, I’m afraid not. The gentlemen I’ve danced with tonight have been mind-numbingly dull.”

Penelope’s lips twitched into a small smile. “I can believe that. Some of them can be quite uninteresting. But I imagine in Italy the men must be quite different, or am I wrong?”

Caterina laughed genuinely this time. “Regrettably, no. Men are the same no matter where you go. The only difference is how the courtship is handled.”

Penelope tilted her head, curiosity piqued. “Really? How so?”

“In Italy, it’s usually the parents who arrange the matches, often years before you even meet the person,” Caterina explained. “It’s all for political or financial interests, of course. Rarely does one find their partner at a ball like this.”

“And did you have such a pairing, Lady Medici?” Penelope asked, her voice soft with curiosity.

Caterina chuckled again, shifting her gaze to the dance floor. “Not exactly. All my cousins were already betrothed. That’s part of the reason my sister and I came here.” She paused for a moment, noticing the shock on Penelope's face. “I’m joking, Miss Featherington,” she reassured her with a smile. “we came here because wanted to change air, if we want to put it this way. almost forced I might add.”

Penelope, intrigued by this candid new diamond, was about to ask more when Caterina suddenly turned toward a footman carrying a tray of champagne. “Excuse me!” she called out, waving her hand dramatically. “ Grazie a Dio! ” [thank God]

The footman approached, and before Penelope could register what was happening, Caterina began downing glass after glass of champagne in rapid succession. Penelope and the footman exchanged wide-eyed looks of disbelief.

“You are my salvation,” Caterina said to the footman after finishing the last glass, waving him off dismissively.

“My lady,” Penelope said, half-chuckling as she regained her composure. “Are you sure that much champagne won’t make you ill?”

Caterina waved her off with a laugh. “Don’t be troubled. I am Italian. I’ve been drinking since the age of five.”

Despite her shock, Penelope couldn't help but laugh, charmed by Caterina’s nonchalance. The two continued their conversation easily, with Caterina asking Penelope about English customs, the intricacies of the season, and the latest gossip. Penelope, flattered by the attention and delighted to have someone to speak with so openly, felt a kinship forming. Caterina, in turn, found herself genuinely enjoying Penelope’s company.

Their laughter filled the small corner of the room until Penelope suddenly spotted someone rushing toward them, her dear friend Eloise Bridgerton.

“Oh, Pen, there you are!” Eloise exclaimed, nearly breathless as she reached them, clearly oblivious to Caterina’s presence at first. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere! Why don’t we sneak away before our mamas—”

Eloise froze mid-sentence when she finally noticed the regal woman standing beside Penelope, a glass of champagne in hand. She laughed awkwardly, smoothing her dress. “Oh.”

“Miss Medici,” whispered Penelope softly, nudging Eloise.

Eloise’s eyes widened in realization. “Miss Medici,” she stammered, offering a polite but slightly awkward bow.

Caterina chuckled, amused by Eloise’s discomfort. “Miss Bridgerton, the pleasure is mine,” she said, returning the bow. She then turned to Eloise with a knowing smile. “I must say, I completely agree with your idea to leave this ball early. It’s becoming quite unbearable.”

Eloise laughed awkwardly again, still slightly taken aback by Caterina’s frankness.

“But,” Caterina added, glancing toward the dance floor, “I believe I should go find my sister… or perhaps rescue her, considering what Miss Featherington just told me about the gentleman she’s dancing with.”

With a gracious smile, Caterina nodded to both women. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Featherington. Miss Bridgerton.” Then, with a graceful turn, she made her way back toward the crowd, leaving Eloise and Penelope standing in stunned silence.

─────────

But she hadn’t gotten very far.

As she tried to make her way to the far side of the ballroom, a voice interrupted her rescue.

"Running away already, Miss Medici?" The voice was low, teasing, and unmistakably British.

Caterina turned, her heart skipping a beat as she found herself face-to-face with the very man she had spotted at the Modiste’s a few days prior, the man she had wondered about since then.

Benedict Bridgerton.

For a moment, Caterina was speechless. He was striking, standing tall with a confident, yet mischievous look in his eyes that only seemed to grow sharper when he saw her surprise. His dark hair, his sharp jawline, it was all exactly as she remembered. And now here he was, teasing her as if they were already acquainted.

"You," she said, her eyes narrowing slightly as a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "Are you always this persistent or am I simply a special case? Mr.?” “Benedict Bridgerton,” he said bowing in front of her, still with his mischievous grin, and then he chuckled, clearly amused by her quick wit. "I would argue that I’m only persistent when I see a lady in need of rescue. And judging by how many gentlemen were chasing after you, I think it's safe to say you were in need of one."

Caterina tilted her head slightly, studying him with a raised brow. "Ah, so you’re rescuing me now? How noble of you."

"I do try," he said with a wink. "Though truth be told, I’m also saving myself from my mother’s scorn if I don’t dance at least once tonight. And who better to dance with than the diamond of the season?"

Caterina couldn’t help but laugh, a real one, unrestrained and bright, and it drew a few glances from the nearby guests. "So it’s your mother who forced you into this? I see I’m just an escape for you as well then."

Benedict feigned shock, placing a hand over his chest. "You wound me, Miss Medici. I assure you, no force was involved. Just a very strong suggestion."

The banter between them was easy, and Caterina was intrigued. He wasn’t like the other gentlemen who had approached her tonight, there was no overly polite stiffness, no rehearsed lines about her beauty or her grace. Instead, there was humor, lightness, and a glint of something in his eyes that made her feel as if he was speaking to her, not her title or her reputation.

"And what makes you think I’ll accept your offer?" Caterina teased, though the smile playing on her lips betrayed her amusement.

"Because," Benedict said, stepping closer, his voice dropping slightly, "you’re curious about me. Just as I am about you."

Her heart skipped a beat again. He wasn’t wrong. There was something about him that made her curious. The way he carried himself with ease, the way he spoke to her as though they were equals. And of course, she couldn’t ignore that he had seen her at the Modiste—a moment she had hoped no one would notice. But clearly, he had.

"Very well, Mr. Bridgerton," she said, offering her hand with a smirk. "You’ve earned yourself a dance. Let’s see if you can keep up."

He grinned, taking her hand in his, and led her to the center of the ballroom. The orchestra began a new piece, a waltz, delicate and sweeping, and as they took their positions, Benedict leaned in slightly, his voice low enough for only her to hear.

"I must admit," he said, "when I saw you at the Modiste’s, I wasn’t expecting to meet you like this."

Caterina raised an eyebrow, amused. "And what were you expecting? A quieter introduction, perhaps? Less of an audience?"

"Maybe," he said with a grin. "Or perhaps a little less running away on your part."

She laughed again, unable to resist the humor in his voice. "Well, you caught me. But now you’re stuck with me for the rest of the dance. I hope you don’t regret your decision."

"Never," he said, and they began to move, effortlessly gliding across the floor in perfect time to the music.

For a few moments, they danced in silence, but it wasn’t the awkward kind of quiet that often accompanied first dances. It was…comfortable as if the rhythm of the waltz spoke for them. Caterina could feel the strength in Benedict’s hold, the way he confidently guided her through each step, his eyes never leaving hers.

"You dance well, Mr. Bridgerton," Caterina remarked, her tone playful but genuine.

"I should hope so," he replied. "Though I must admit, I’m finding it difficult to focus."

"Oh? And why is that?"

Benedict met her gaze, his expression softening. "Because you, Miss Medici, are quite… distracting."

Caterina felt a warmth rise in her cheeks, but she didn’t let it show. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, a teasing smile on her lips. "Is that so? I’m not sure whether to take that as a compliment or an excuse."

"Both," Benedict said, his voice low, making her heart skip once more. "But in all seriousness, I’m glad I found you tonight."

"You say that now," Caterina replied, her tone light, though she couldn’t deny the flutter of excitement his words stirred within her. "Let’s see if you still feel that way by the end of the season."

He laughed softly. "I have a feeling I will."

They continued to move together, their steps in sync, but the connection between them went beyond the dance. For Caterina, it was strange how easy it felt to talk to him, to joke with him. She was always on her guard with the men of the ton, always aware of what they might want from her, always careful not to let her walls down. But with Benedict, there was something different.

As the music drew to a close, Benedict twirled her one final time before they came to a stop, their hands still clasped. The applause from the crowd barely registered in Caterina’s mind as she looked up at him, slightly breathless.

"Thank you for the dance," she said softly, her eyes locking with his.

"The pleasure was all mine," Benedict replied, his voice just as quiet, but his gaze held something deeper, something that made Caterina wonder what might happen next.

For the first time that night, she wasn’t thinking about escaping the attention of the gentlemen or the pressures of the season. For the first time, she was simply enjoying the moment. And though she didn’t yet know what it meant, she couldn’t deny that Benedict Bridgerton had made quite the impression on her.

As they parted, Benedict offered her a slight bow, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Until next time, Mr. Bridgerton," she said, and then he watched her walk away.

─────────

As the waltz came to an end, Caterina felt a sense of relief, but also a certain thrill she hadn’t expected. Dancing with Benedict Bridgerton had been more enjoyable than she anticipated. His humor and ease had made her forget if only for a moment, the heavy weight of being named a diamond of the season. As they bowed and parted ways, her eyes naturally drifted toward her sister Teresa, who was currently locked in conversation with yet another hopeful gentleman. And then she remembered her previous mission so a smirk tugged at the corner of her lips.

"Let me save her," she muttered to herself, weaving through the crowd toward Teresa.

When she reached her sister, Caterina gently placed a hand on her arm. "Forgive me, but I must steal my sister away for just a moment," she said with an apologetic smile to the gentleman, who quickly bowed and backed away, sensing the dismissal.

"Thank you," Teresa whispered, her voice tinged with gratitude. "I thought he’d never stop talking."

Caterina grinned. "If you want, I can rescue you again later. But for now, I think we’ve earned a break."

They barely had time to exchange more than a glance before their mother, Lady Medici, appeared beside them, her usual regal air intact. But she wasn’t alone. Standing proudly next to her was a woman the twins had only heard about through whispers and fleeting mentions, Lady Danbury.

"Ladies," Lady Medici said, her tone both formal and excited, "I would like to introduce you to Lady Danbury. She was curious to meet the season’s diamonds. After all, she’s the one who hosted this splendid ball."

Both Caterina and Teresa quickly straightened their posture, casting each other a brief glance before bowing deeply in unison. "Lady Danbury," they greeted her together, their voices respectful, though their eyes flickered with curiosity.

Lady Danbury, dressed in her signature bold attire, eyed the twins with an intensity that immediately made Caterina feel as though she were being sized up, measured, and calculated all at once. The older woman’s expression was inscrutable, but there was a certain sharpness in her gaze that Caterina felt that Lady Danbury was not someone to be taken lightly.

"What a marvelous ball you’ve hosted, my lady," Caterina said, breaking the silence and speaking in her most formal tone, trying to suppress the nerves bubbling in her chest.

"Yes, Lady Danbury," Teresa chimed in. "I can barely stop myself from dancing. The company you've invited is exceptional."

Lady Danbury chuckled, a dry but amused sound, and took a step closer to the twins. Her sharp eyes moved between them, assessing their every detail, their gowns, their posture, their expressions. Caterina and Teresa exchanged a quick glance, both feeling the weight of the woman’s scrutiny.

"So," Lady Danbury began, her voice low but clear, "here are the unknown ladies who have so suddenly become the diamonds of the season… I assure you, from tonight onward, you will have the entire ton buzzing around you like bees to honey. Be very aware of what you say and do from now on."

Caterina’s heart quickened at the words, though her face remained poised. The implications of being diamonds were not lost on her, but hearing it from Lady Danbury only reinforced the pressure. She resisted the urge to glance at Teresa, knowing her sister was likely feeling the same unease.

Lady Medici chuckled softly, though Caterina detected a hint of awkwardness in her mother’s laughter. "My daughters are well aware of the responsibilities they have just been given, Lady Danbury," Lady Medici said, her voice a touch firmer than usual.

Lady Danbury’s sharp gaze flickered toward Lady Medici, her lips curling into a smirk. "I have no doubt they are. But awareness is only the first step, Duchess. Execution, now that… that will be the true test."

Caterina resisted the urge to swallow nervously as Lady Danbury’s words hung in the air, their weight undeniable. It was as though she was already being judged, long before she had the chance to prove herself.

Suddenly, Lady Danbury’s tone shifted, and she looked back at the twins with a casual, almost dismissive air. "You are both invited for tea tomorrow afternoon at my house. I would like to speak with you about a few things, check up on others."

Caterina and Teresa’s eyes widened in surprise at the sudden invitation. It was not common for Lady Danbury to extend such personal offers, especially not to newcomers like them. A flicker of uncertainty passed between the twins, but Lady Medici was quick to respond, her voice filled with practiced politeness.

"Of course, Lady Danbury," Lady Medici said smoothly. "It would be our utmost pleasure to join you."

Lady Danbury hummed in response, her sharp gaze sweeping over the twins once more before she stepped back. "I’ll see you both tomorrow then. Be prompt."

With that, Lady Danbury turned on her heel and began to make her way through the ballroom, her cane clicking against the polished floor. The Medici women watched her leave, all three of them exhaling in unison once she was out of earshot.

Caterina let out a soft, nervous laugh. "Well, that was… intense."

Teresa nodded, her brow furrowed. "I can’t tell if we made a good impression or not."

Lady Medici smiled, though her expression was thoughtful. "Lady Danbury is not easily impressed, but the fact that she invited you for tea is a good sign. It means she’s interested. And when Lady Danbury is interested, the rest of the ton will follow."

Caterina sighed, feeling the weight of the evening settling on her shoulders. "Well, I suppose we’ll find out tomorrow what she really thinks."

Lady Medici gave her daughters a reassuring smile, though even she couldn’t mask her concern. "Indeed. But for tonight, remember to hold your heads high. You’ve been named the diamonds of the season. That is no small feat, and you deserve every bit of the attention you’re receiving."

Teresa gave a small smile, but Caterina couldn’t help the flicker of doubt that crept into her mind. She wasn’t sure if she wanted all of this attention, the expectations, the pressure, the constant eyes watching her every move. But for now, there was nothing to do but smile, nod, and play the part.

As the music began to swell once more and the night continued around them, Caterina cast a glance across the room. The faces of the ton blurred together, each one filled with curiosity and expectation. Her gaze drifted toward the spot where Benedict Bridgerton had been, but he was gone now, swallowed up by the crowd.

Tomorrow, tea with Lady Danbury. Tonight, the eyes of London’s elite. And in between all of it, the weight of her future hung precariously in the balance.

Caterina straightened her shoulders, giving her mother and sister a final nod of reassurance.

─────────

Lady Danbury, always keen to understand the nuances of courtly decisions, seized the opportunity to inquire further. Her voice was low, almost conspiratorial, as she turned to the Queen with a curious glint in her eye. “Your Majesty, if I may ask, what prompted you to choose these particular young ladies as diamonds of the season?”

The Queen, who was observing the Medici sisters with a mixture of amusement and satisfaction, glanced at Lady Danbury with a twinkle in her eye. “Ah, Lady Danbury, you have a keen interest in my choices,” she remarked, her tone both teasing and indulgent.

The Queen’s gaze returned to Caterina and Teresa, who were now laughing lightly with a pair of gentlemen. The sight seemed to please the Queen immensely.

“Because, Lady Danbury,” the Queen began, her voice rich with a sense of revelry, “I am rather bored of choosing always from the same pool of candidates, our own soil if you will. The season tends to become predictable, doesn’t it? And I daresay it’s time for a bit of variety.”

Lady Danbury raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Are you saying that their foreign origin played a part in your decision?”

The Queen’s lips curved into a knowing smile. “Indeed. Two splendid diamonds from overseas. When do I get a chance like that again?” She gestured toward the sisters, who were now the center of attention.

“Their presence introduces a fresh breath of air to our otherwise familiar circle. And who knows? They might even stir things up a bit, adding some excitement to our usual proceedings.”

Lady Danbury nodded thoughtfully, understanding the Queen’s perspective. “I see. You’ve always had a penchant for making the season memorable.”

“Precisely,” the Queen agreed, her gaze following Caterina and Teresa as they moved gracefully through the crowd. “The ton will speak of these two for weeks to come, if not longer. It’s not just about their beauty, though they are certainly striking. It’s about the intrigue and the newness they bring.”

Lady Danbury chuckled softly, a smile playing on her lips. “Well, Your Majesty, I must say you have certainly succeeded in capturing the season’s attention. I’m curious to see how they will handle the scrutiny.”

The Queen’s eyes twinkled with amusement as she turned her attention back to Lady Danbury. “And I am curious to see if they can live up to the reputation I’ve bestowed upon them. After all, the real test lies in how they navigate the intricacies of our society.”

As the two women continued their conversation, the Queen’s gaze lingered on the Medici sisters, her mind already contemplating the potential twists and turns their presence might bring to the season. Meanwhile, Lady Danbury, with her sharp observational skills, made a mental note of the new arrivals, eager to see how they would fare under the watchful eyes of London’s elite.

The evening was still young, and the ballroom was filled with a palpable sense of anticipation. The Queen’s decision to elevate the Medici sisters to diamonds of the season had certainly set the stage for a season unlike any other.

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