Archive of Our Own

Andy woke first.

For a long moment she didn't move. The room remained dim and golden beneath drawn curtains while rainwater still lingered in soft streaks against the windows overlooking Rome. Somewhere beyond the glass the city had already begun waking. Distant traffic. Church bells. The faint murmur of Sunday morning.

Beside her, Emily slept on. Andy stared. God. She still couldn’t quite process how Emily was asleep in her arms. Curled against her side beneath tangled hotel sheets with one leg hooked lazily over Andy's and her face tucked against Andy's shoulder like she'd simply decided this was where she belonged now. Andy's heart immediately did something medically concerning.

She couldn't stop looking at her. Without the armour Emily always looked younger somehow. Softer. Freckles faintly visible across her nose. Red hair spread messily across the pillow in every direction. God. She looked like a sleepy little kitten. (One day when Emily found out about this Andy you’re dead. Barbecued.) Andy smiled helplessly.

Then a terrible, uninvited idea occurred to her. And immediately she knew she was going to do it. Because she possessed neither self-control nor survival instincts where Emily was concerned.

Carefully, Andy reached beneath the blankets and lightly brushed her fingers against Emily's ribs.

Nothing. Emily merely burrowed closer.

Andy bit her lip. Then tried again.

A tiny wiggle. Ooh, fascinating.

Andy grinned. One more.

Emily jerked violently. 

"What the fuck—" Her eyes flew open immediately.

Andy burst out laughing.

Emily stared at her in complete betrayal. For several seconds she looked utterly bewildered by consciousness itself. Bleary-eyed. Pink-cheeked. Hair sticking out in approximately twelve different directions.

Andy nearly died. How was she real?

Emily blinked slowly. The confusion melted away gradually as her brain caught up with reality. Andrea. Rome. The Fountain of Love. Girlfriend. Hotel. Whatever had happened between then and now. 

As understanding settled over her, her expression softened, and then she smiled. It was a small thing at first, the sleepy curve of her mouth still heavy with the remnants of sleep, but warmth followed quickly behind it, brightening her entire face. Andy felt something inside her immediately give way.

God. It felt deeply unfair that a single smile could affect her this much.

"Good morning," Emily mumbled. The sound of her voice, rough with sleep, made Andy's entire chest go soft.

She reached up automatically, brushing a strand of unruly red hair back from Emily's forehead before it could fall into her eyes.

"Good morning, baby." The word slipped out before she had the chance to stop it.

For a second neither of them moved. Emily blinked. Andy blinked.

And then realization arrived for both of them at exactly the same moment. Oh. Well. That had happened. A helpless grin immediately tugged at Andy's mouth.

Across from her, Emily's cheeks began turning pink. That was interesting. Extremely interesting, in fact.  For someone capable of verbally dismantling senior executives without so much as raising her voice, she appeared to possess absolutely no defense whatsoever against being called baby. Andy filed the information away for future use.

Emily rolled her eyes as though she could somehow sense the direction of Andy's thoughts. "Don't."

"I'm not doing anything."

"You look pleased with yourself."

"I am quite pleased with myself."

Emily let out a long-suffering groan and buried her face against Andy's shoulder. The gesture was so instinctive, so comfortable, that it made something warm unfurl low in Andy's chest.

That was perhaps the most startling thing of all. That none of this felt awkward or even strange at all. Instead, there was an ease between them that seemed to have appeared overnight, settling around them as naturally as the tangled sheets and the rain-softened morning light filtering through the curtains. Waking up together already felt less like something new and more like something they had somehow been moving toward for years without realizing it.

The realization probably should have terrified them. Instead, it felt nice. Dangerously, wonderfully nice.

After a moment, Emily tipped her head back slightly and looked up at her. "What would you like to do today?"

Andy blinked. "What?"

Emily's lips twitched. "Today."

"Em, don't you have work?"

Emily looked genuinely offended by the suggestion. "It's Sunday."

"Right."

"I'm in Rome."

"Also true."

She settled even deeper beneath the blankets, looking entirely too comfortable for someone who usually approached life like a military campaign. "No work."

Andy smiled. "No work?"

"No work."

"At all?"

Emily made a dismissive noise and waved a hand vaguely through the air. "Miranda gave me a day off. Fun stuff."

Andy laughed.

"So." Emily nudged her lightly beneath the blankets with one foot. "What would you like to do?"

Andy considered the question.

"Well."

Emily waited patiently.

"I wanted to see museums."

Emily nodded immediately. "Of course you do."

"I want pasta."

"Reasonable."

"I want coffee."

"You're American, not surprised."

Andy ignored that entirely.

"And..." She hesitated.

Emily looked at her curiously.

Andy felt herself smiling before she could stop it. "I want to spend the day with you. Our first official date? Maybe?"

For a moment, Emily simply stared. The expression that crossed her face was so unexpectedly soft it stole the air right out of Andy’s lungs. Surprise flickered there first, melting into something gentler and brighter. Her brows relaxed, a soft pink crept up her cheeks, and pure warmth settled into her features. 

"Oh."

Andy's stomach performed an alarming little flip. "Yeah."

Emily glanced away for a moment, and to Andy's complete astonishment she looked shy. Good God. Eyelashes fluttering down to hide her eyes as she ducked her chin slightly, burying the lower half of her face in the fabric as if trying to hide the blush.

When she looked back, she was smiling again, biting down on her lower lip slightly as if to prevent herself from grinning too hard. "That sounds pretty good."

Just like that, Andy felt her heart surrender all over again.

Before she could think too hard about it, she leaned forward and kissed her. Emily kissed her back immediately. Sleepy and warm and perfect. There was no urgency to it, no desperation, only the quiet contentment of two people with nowhere else to be. For a brief moment, Andy believed this was how anyone was supposed to wake up on a fine, fine Sunday. Wrapped in plush, sumptuous hotel blankets, with your sleepyhead girlfriend curled up in your arms, kissing the last traces of sleep away bit by bit.

When they finally pulled apart, Emily sat up abruptly enough to make Andy laugh. "Come on."

Andy blinked. "Where are we going?"

Emily threw back the blankets. "Bathroom."

"What?"

"We're getting ready, obviously."

Andy laughed. "Together?"

Emily paused. Realized exactly how that sounded.

Then, because she was Emily Charlton and retreat had never been one of her preferred strategies, she lifted her chin. "Yes, because you require supervision."

Somehow that felt even more intimate than the kissing.

-

The bathroom quickly became a negotiation for territory.

They brushed their teeth side by side, bumping elbows in front of the sink while Andy repeatedly stole mirror space she hadn't earned. Emily complained the entire time, though not with any real conviction, and when Andy shamelessly reached for her moisturizer a few minutes later, Emily handed it over while continuing to lecture her about boundaries.

The simple domesticity of it all felt oddly precious. Nothing remarkable was happening. And yet Andy found herself wanting to remember every second of it.

By the time she started attempting her makeup, Emily had evidently reached the limits of her patience. "Oh, for God's sake."

Andy looked up. "What?"

Emily stared at her. Then at the brush. Then back at her.

Andy recognized that disapproving look immediately. "Em—"

"No."

"What?"

"No."

Before Andy could react, Emily stepped forward and plucked the brush neatly from her hand.

"Hey."

"This is painful."

"It's not painful."

"It absolutely is."

Andy laughed. Emily ignored her completely.

One hand settled beneath Andy's chin, her fingers warm against her skin as she gently tilted her face downward.

The shift in atmosphere was immediate. Neither of them laughed. They were suddenly standing much too close together. Close enough that Andy could see the faint freckles scattered across Emily's nose and the concentration gathering between her brows.

"There," Emily murmured quietly.

"Hold still."

A smile tugged at Andy's mouth. "Bossy."

Emily narrowed her eyes. "Andrea. I said don’t move."

"Sorry." She wasn't sorry at all.

Emily went back to work. She approached the task with the same seriousness she brought to everything else, focusing intently as she adjusted Andy's makeup. Every so often she would step back to evaluate her progress before moving in again, turning Andy's face slightly one way or the other with careful fingers.

The concentration was ridiculously endearing. Andy could have watched her forever.

Unfortunately, Emily noticed. "Stop staring."

"You are literally touching my face."

"That's not an excuse."

"It feels like an excuse."

Emily rolled her eyes. But she was smiling.

Several minutes later, she finally stepped back and examined her work one last time.

Silence stretched between them. Andy waited. Emily considered.

Then she gave a single satisfied nod. "There."

Andy turned toward the mirror before looking back at her. "Thank you."

Something close to adoration flickered briefly across Emily's face at the softness in her voice. Before it could disappear, Andy leaned forward and kissed her personal makeup artist.

Emily made a startled sound against her mouth. Then immediately kissed her back with significantly more enthusiasm than professional standards generally required.

Andy laughed into the kiss. Emily kissed her again anyway. Purely for quality-control purposes, obviously.

-

Rome looked entirely different in daylight.

Perhaps it was because Emily had spent the last three days viewing it through the lens of emotional devastation and self-inflicted psychological warfare. Or perhaps it was because Andrea was currently walking beside her with her fingers loosely threaded through Emily's own, smiling at absolutely everything like an overexcited Labrador who had accidentally discovered Europe. Whatever the reason, the city felt softer somehow.

The rain had vanished overnight, leaving behind bright February sunlight that spilled across honey-coloured stone buildings and narrow streets still damp in places where puddles lingered between ancient cobblestones. Cafés had begun dragging tables onto pavements. Shopkeepers opened shutters. Bells chimed somewhere in the distance.

And for the first time since arriving in Rome, Emily felt light. Not completely. She was still Emily Hyperventilating Charlton. There remained approximately seventeen active anxieties lurking somewhere beneath the surface of her consciousness at any given moment. But still, lighter. Maybe because Andrea kept smiling at her. It was becoming a problem. A wonderful problem, admittedly. But a problem nonetheless.

They found a small café tucked into a side street where sunlight spilled across outdoor tables and the scent of fresh coffee drifted through the air.

Andy immediately looked delighted. Emily should have known that expression meant danger.

By the time they sat down beneath a striped awning and the waiter returned to take their order, Andy was already staring far too enthusiastically at the menu.

Emily ordered an espresso. Naturally. Andy ordered something called a maritozzo.

Emily didn't entirely trust anything she couldn't immediately identify. "What is it?" she asked.

Andy looked up. "Apparently it's a Roman pastry."

Emily narrowed her eyes. "That description alone has never ended well."

Andy laughed.

The waiter disappeared.

A few minutes later their breakfast arrived.

Emily took one look at Andy's plate and physically recoiled. "Oh, absolutely not."

Andy looked delighted immediately.

The pastry itself appeared to consist primarily of bread and poor life choices. A large sweet bun had been sliced open through the middle and stuffed with an aggressively excessive amount of whipped cream. The cream alone looked capable of causing medical complications.

Andy looked enchanted. Emily looked horrified.

"Carbs before noon," she muttered, lifting her espresso. "I should have guessed."

Andy shrugged. "You're just jealous."

"I am literally never jealous of bread."

Andy immediately bit into it.

The amount of whipped cream involved should have violated several international treaties.

Emily watched with the expression of someone witnessing a crime. "This is why Americans concern me."

"It's delicious."

"It's offensive."

Andy took another bite. The cream promptly ended up at the corner of her mouth.

Emily sighed. Honestly. One day. This woman was going to be the death of her.

Without thinking, she reached across the table. Andy froze. Emily wiped the cream away with her thumb before it could spread any further. Simple, practical. Somehow entirely automatic.

Only afterwards did she realise Andy was staring at her.

Emily blinked. "What?"

Andy's expression had gone soft in that particular way that immediately made Emily nervous. "You know," she said quietly, "it's really hard not to love you."

Oh. Well. That was unfair. Emily looked away immediately and lifted her coffee, in what could only be labelled as a tactical retreat.

Unfortunately Andy had already seen the faint colour climbing into her cheeks.

"Well," Emily said after a moment, attempting dignity, "I've heard otherwise."

The words escaped before she could stop them. That underlying feeling of unworthiness beneath years of habit and old wounds. The sort of thing that surfaced unexpectedly before she had time to lock it away again.

Andy looked at her for a moment before smiling with full certainty.  "Well, those people were idiots."

Emily blinked.

Andy took another bite of her pastry. "They didn't know better."

Silence settled between them. The sounds of Rome continued around them. Cups clinking against saucers. Conversations drifting between tables. The low hum of a city slowly waking.

Emily looked down into her coffee.

Andy continued more quietly. "They probably didn't have the patience to even get to know you."

Really, what Andy said wasn’t exactly an issue. But she had said them so simply. As though they were obvious. As though loving Emily wasn't some impossible challenge requiring exceptional bravery. As though it was merely something that happened once you stayed long enough.

Emily swallowed, then immediately looked back down at her espresso because she genuinely had no idea what to do with that.

Andy smiled to herself. She knew exactly what she'd done. God, loving Emily might be the easiest thing she’d ever done. How could anyone ever… Well, it didn’t mattered anymore now did it, she was hers, and that was more than enough.

-

Later, after breakfast, they walked north toward Villa Borghese. The city unfolded around them in soft gold and cream beneath a brilliant Roman sky while sunlight spilled through rows of old buildings and caught against fountains and windows and polished stone.

Emily had expected sightseeing. What she had not expected was Andrea suddenly producing a camcorder from her bag.

She stopped walking. Andy looked delighted.

Emily looked offended. "Andrea."

"What?"

"You packed a camcorder."

Andy glanced down at it. "Apparently."

Emily stared. "You flew across the Atlantic with approximately sixty dollars to your name."

"Probably."

"But you remembered the camcorder."

Andy considered this. Then shrugged. "In hindsight that may have been a questionable decision."

"A questionable decision?"

"I was simply shoving whatever I could grab into my bag at the time."

Emily made a noise that sounded suspiciously like fond exasperation.

Andy grinned. Then she switched it on.

The familiar whir of the machine filled the air.

"Oh no."

"Oh yes."

Call her jaded, but Emily did not trust a journalist with a camera, let alone a camcorder.

Andy pointed the camera toward the street ahead of them. The image bounced slightly with each step.

"And here," Andy narrated dramatically, "we can observe the incredible Roman infrastructure."

Emily rolled her eyes.

Andy continued regardless. 

"Notice the architecture." A sweeping pan across the buildings. 

"The history." A dramatic zoom toward a fountain.

"The culture." A passing Vespa.

Emily laughed despite herself. Unfortunately that only encouraged her.

Andy turned in a slow circle, recording everything. The streets. The sunlight. The cafés. The city.

Then, with absolutely no warning whatsoever, she swung the camera toward Emily.

Emily stopped. "Andrea."

"And here," Andy announced cheerfully, "we have another major attraction."

"Andrea."

"My fabulous girlfriend."

The camera remained pointed directly at her.

Emily immediately lifted a hand toward her face. "Oh my God."

Andy laughed. "Say hello."

"No."

"Come on."

"No!”

Emily attempted hiding behind her purse.

Andy simply followed. "Look at her."

"Andrea."

"Absolutely stunning."

"Stop filming me."

"Impossible."

Emily could physically hear the smile in her voice.

The worst part was that Andy looked genuinely delighted. Like this was the most natural thing in the world. Like she couldn't quite believe she was allowed to call Emily her girlfriend and therefore intended to do so at every available opportunity. Love was stupid, really. So stupid it had the ability to turn something so mundane into something heartwarming and beautiful and touching.

"My fabulous girlfriend," Andy repeated.

Emily groaned. And yet the corners of her mouth kept trying to smile. Which was deeply unhelpful.

Andy caught that too. "Oh."

Immediately smug. “Look at her adorable dimples.”

Emily rolled her eyes.

Andy zoomed in.

"Andrea."

"My God, she's beautiful!”

"Turn that off."

"Never."

Emily attempted grabbing the camera. Andy danced backwards out of reach laughing. The footage jolted violently. Somewhere in the background a passing tourist looked mildly concerned. Neither of them cared.

The camera continued recording. Capturing sunlight. Laughter. Ancient streets. And two women who, after days of misunderstanding and yearning and missed opportunities, suddenly found themselves with nowhere urgent to be except beside each other.

-

The walk through Villa Borghese took them beneath rows of towering umbrella pines and winter sunlight that filtered gold through the branches overhead.

Rome seemed determined to show off. Not that Andy minded. In fact, by the time the pale stone façade of Galleria Borghese finally emerged between the trees, Andy physically stopped walking.

"Oh."

Emily glanced over. Andy looked genuinely awestruck.

The gallery stood elegant and bright against the blue sky, surrounded by gardens and fountains and enough history to make Andy's little journalist heart threaten spontaneous combustion.

Her smile spread instantly. Then wider. Then somehow wider still.

Emily stared. Good Lord. If Andrea possessed a tail, it would absolutely have been wagging. Non-stop.

"You look deranged."

Andy turned toward her. "Look at it."

"I am."

"Look at it."

Emily laughed. The sound caught Andy off guard every single time. "Andrea."

"It's beautiful."

"It's a building."

"It's history.”

Emily watched her beam at an eighteenth-century villa with the same enthusiasm most people reserved for puppies. Something warm settled low in her chest. God. She was absurdly fond of this woman.

Before Andy could pull out the camcorder again and begin documenting every individual brick personally, Emily reached over and gently pushed the camera back toward her bag.

"No."

"What?"

"No filming inside the gallery!"

"We aren’t even inside the gallery."

"We’re about to be.”

Andy looked offended. Emily raised an eyebrow.

Andy sighed dramatically. "Fine."

"Thank you."

Emily slipped her hand briefly through Andy's arm and steered them toward the ticket counter. The gesture was so casual neither of them commented on it. Which perhaps said everything.

-

The queue moved quickly. Tourists clustered around them speaking half a dozen languages while guides shepherded groups toward the entrance.

Andy was still distracted by the building. Emily stepped forward when it was their turn.

The woman behind the counter greeted them in Italian. Without missing a beat, Emily answered in fluent, crisp Italian. Andy blinked.

The woman smiled. Emily smiled back. Then they continued conversing rapidly while Andy stood beside her looking increasingly confused.

Excuse me. What.

A few moments later Emily handed over her passport. The woman examined it briefly before nodding and printing two tickets.

More Italian. More smiling.

Then Emily accepted the tickets and stepped away.

Andy stared.

Emily looked at her. "What?"

Andy continued staring. "You speak Italian."

Emily blinked. "Yes."

"You speak Italian."

Emily looked puzzled by her level of surprise. "It's hardly a state secret."

"Since when?"

Emily handed her a ticket. "Since approximately age fifteen."

"What?"

Emily rolled her eyes. "I took Italian GCSE."

Andy accepted this information for roughly two seconds. "You took Italian GCSE."

"Yes."

"And just never mentioned that?"

Emily shrugged. "I dropped it afterwards."

"That isn't the point."

“Well it is hardly worthy for a Two Truths One Lie statement isn’t it. So unimpressive."

"You just casually started speaking another language!”

Emily looked genuinely confused.

Andy pointed accusingly. "You have hidden talents."

"I assure you they're all deeply disappointing."

Andy narrowed her eyes. "Say something."

"No."

"Please."

"No."

"One thing."

Emily sighed dramatically. Then muttered something rapid and musical beneath her breath.

Andy nearly walked into a wall. Because unfortunately hearing Emily speak Italian was doing something strange to her nervous system.

"Oh."

Emily looked suspicious immediately. "What."

Andy shook her head. "Nope."

"What."

"Nothing."

"Andrea."

Andy grinned. "You're very attractive in multiple languages."

Emily nearly missed a step. Success.

-

A few minutes later they joined the line entering the museum itself.

Andy glanced down at her ticket. Then at Emily's. Then back at her ticket. Then at Emily's again.

Something wasn't adding up.

"...Why was yours cheaper?"

Emily looked up from her phone. "I'm an EU citizen."

"Oh."

Andy stared. Then glanced at the prices again. Then at Emily. Then back at the ticket.

A thought appeared. A truly catastrophic thought. The kind that arrived uninvited and immediately made life difficult.

If I married Emily and after a few years and a bit of logistical work I'd get discounted museum tickets. (Gotta do it before Brexit happens, Andy. Cough)

Andy stopped walking. The thought echoed.

I'd get discounted museum tickets.

Pause.

If I married Emily.

Longer pause.

...Wait. What?

Andy nearly choked.

Where the hell had that come from?

They had been girlfriends for less than twenty-four hours. Less. Than. Twenty-four. Hours.

Meanwhile her subconscious apparently looked at one discounted ticket and immediately responded: hey let’s wife this redhead up!

Andy stared straight ahead. Absolutely not. Nope. Not thinking about that. Not touching that thought. That thought could sit quietly in a corner until further notice.

Emily glanced over. "Why do you look frightened?"

"Nothing."

Emily narrowed her eyes. "Andrea."

"Nothing happened."

"That's rarely reassuring."

Andy immediately started walking faster. "Let's go look at art."

-

Then they entered the gallery. And every coherent thought immediately vanished.

“Oh my God." The words escaped before Andy could stop them.

Sunlight streamed through enormous windows. Marble gleamed beneath polished floors. Painted ceilings stretched overhead in impossible colours and impossible detail. Every room seemed somehow more beautiful than the one before it.

Andy turned slowly in a circle. Then another. Then another.

Emily watched with visible amusement. The smile never quite left her face.

"This is incredible."

Emily nodded. "Mm."

Andy pointed. "Look at that."

Emily looked.

Andy pointed somewhere else. “And that."

Emily looked again.

Andy looked seconds away from ascending directly into heaven.

Two minutes later she was staring at another sculpture. Three minutes later she was staring at a ceiling. Five minutes later she was staring at literally a doorway.

Emily folded her arms. "It's a door."

"It's a beautiful door."

"It's a door."

Andy pointed. "Look at the craftsmanship."

Emily laughed.

-

For the next hour Andy bounced enthusiastically from room to room. She was in her element now. Alive and bright-eyed and totally animated.

Every room revealed something new. Every painting sparked another story. Every sculpture inspired another ten minutes of enthusiastic commentary.

She kept forgetting where she was walking because she was too busy looking upward. Twice Emily physically prevented her from colliding with tourists. Once she rescued her from walking directly into a column.

Andy remained undeterred.

And Emily found herself watching Andy almost as often as she watched the art. Because this version of Andy was beautiful. Passionate people always were. There was something wonderful about seeing someone encounter something they genuinely loved.

Andy would drift toward a painting and become completely absorbed. Then she'd suddenly remember Emily existed. And she’d immediately spin around. Locate her. And continue. 

Again and again. Like a compass needle constantly correcting itself.

At one point Emily paused before a painting.

Andy took approximately three steps ahead before noticing. She immediately stopped. Turned around. Found Emily standing quietly with her hands folded behind her back, studying the artwork.

Sunlight caught faint copper highlights in her hair. The painting glowed softly beside her.

Andy stared. Wow, the painting lost. Decisively. Man, it wasn't even close. Emily was prettier than everything in this building. Which felt deeply unfair to centuries of artistic achievement.

-

Eventually they reached another gallery.

Emily paused before a sculpture she'd been quietly admiring. The marble folds looked impossibly soft. The craftsmanship astonishing. She tilted her head slightly, studying details.

Behind her she heard, "Emily."

No response.

"Emily."

Still nothing.

"Em."

Emily sighed. "What."

Andy stood several feet away, already halfway toward the next room, holding out one hand, waiting.  "Come on."

Emily glanced back at the sculpture. Then at Andy. Then back at the sculpture.

Andy wiggled her fingers impatiently. "There's more art."

"I know."

"Then let's go."

Emily rolled her eyes. "You're impossible."

Andy grinned. "Maybe."

Still, she didn't leave, nor did she continue ahead or disappear into the next gallery. She simply waited, impossibly patiently, with her hand extended. Because however excited she became about the museum, she apparently had no intention of exploring it without Emily.

Something warm settled unexpectedly beneath Emily's ribs. Wow this woman was infuriating. Annoying. Very annoying.

She walked over anyway.

As soon as the distance between them vanished, Andy's hand slid into hers without a single moment of hesitation, their fingers locking together in a slow, fluid motion that felt as inevitable and unhurried as water finding its natural path over smooth stones.

Then a smile broke across Andy’s face, catching the light so beautifully that its sudden brilliance seemed to diminish the grandeur of every famous masterpiece gathered in the room around them. "Ready?"

Emily squeezed her hand once. "Lead the way."

And together they disappeared into the next room, surrounded by centuries of masterpieces, Andy couldn't help thinking that somehow, impossibly, she'd ended up with her favourite work of art standing right beside her. 

-

By the time they finally emerged from the Galleria Borghese, the morning had somehow vanished entirely.

Andy wasn't entirely sure where it had gone. One moment they had been stepping beneath painted ceilings and marble archways, sunlight pouring through enormous windows and pooling across polished floors, and the next they were blinking into bright Roman daylight again, the gardens outside glowing gold beneath the early afternoon sun.

The museum doors closed quietly behind them.

Andy immediately stopped walking.

Emily, who had by now become accustomed to these random interruptions, sighed. "What now?"

Andy turned slowly to look at the imposing silhouette of the building rising behind them, her gaze lingering for a moment before drifting back to fixate entirely on Emily, only to find herself pulled once more toward the structure in a quiet, cyclic wave of hesitation. "I think I need another three hours."

"No."

"Two?"

"No."

"One?"

"Andrea."

Andy groaned dramatically.

Emily looked entirely unsympathetic. "We were in there for almost four hours."

"Was it really four?"

"Yes."

"Huh."

Emily stared. Andy looked genuinely surprised. Time had apparently ceased functioning normally somewhere around the second Bernini. Honestly, fair.

-

Unfortunately, the moment they began walking again, another problem emerged.

Specifically, Andy was starving. She was dealing with a sudden wave of total starvation, the kind that completely skips over just being peckish and instantly turns a normal person into someone desperate enough to consider theft.

By the time they reached the edge of the gardens, she was already slowing down.

Emily noticed immediately, it was uncanny how quick she could clock her. "You look unwell."

Andy clutched her chest. "I think I might be dying."

Emily rolled her eyes. "You're hungry."

"I am wasting away."

"You had breakfast."

"That was approximately seven years ago."

"It was four hours."

"Exactly."

Emily sighed.

Then, because despite appearances she possessed a heart somewhere beneath all the sarcasm and expensive tailoring, she pulled out her map.

A few minutes later they had a route and a destination.

-

Babette sat tucked along a quiet Roman street not far from the villa itself, shaded beneath cream-coloured awnings that fluttered softly in the afternoon breeze.

Small tables spilled out onto the pavement beneath pots of greenery and climbing vines. Glasses clinked gently somewhere nearby. Laughter drifted from neighbouring tables. The entire place looked aggressively pleasant. Which was very Roman, really.

They were seated outside beneath a patch of warm sunlight. Andy immediately approved. She approved even more once bread arrived.

Emily watched her tear into it with growing concern. "Has anyone fed you this week?"

Andy pointed a piece of bread at her. "Don't judge me."

"I'm so judging you."

"You’re just projecting because all you had this morning was an espresso."

"You’re spending my money, by the way, just in case it has accidentally slipped your mind."

Andy opened her mouth. Paused. Busted, no comeback for this. Capitalism was deeply cruel. 

“Right. I’ll stop rambling.”

“Thought so.”

-

When the waiter returned, Andy ordered cacio e pepe with absolutely no hesitation whatsoever. Emily ordered a Fettuccine with chopped beef ragout. Fancy. No chance winning capitalism, but at least Andy was going to be well fed and very pleased.

Their wine arrived first, followed shortly by their water, and by the time their food finally made it to the table, Andy felt a wave of genuine relief washing over her as she stared down at the perfect, beautiful plate of cacio e pepe with its steam curling softly upward into the sunlight.

She then reached immediately into her bag.

Emily saw exactly where this was heading. "Oh no."

Andy had already retrieved the camcorder.

"Andrea."

The familiar whir filled the air.

"Andrea."

"I have to document this."

"No."

"Yes."

"Absolutely not."

Andy was already busy capturing everything from the pasta and wine to the bread basket, the café, a passing Vespa, and a nearby dog. The dog seemed confused by the sudden attention.

Emily looked horrified. "Table manners."

Andy pointed the camera toward her.

Emily leaned back instantly. "Andrea."

"I have to."

"You absolutely do not."

"I do."

"For what?"

After pretending to consider this with total seriousness, Andy just smiled and casually replied, "Blackmail purposes."

Emily stared. "Wonderful. Good to know you will be plotting against me in the future."

"I'll use it during future negotiations."

"You are impossible."

Andy just grinned and kept the camera pointed directly at her, holding her ground even as Emily glared, completely unfazed as she simply continued filming.

Eventually Emily sighed. The sort of sigh usually reserved for people beyond saving. "Would you put that thing away and eat your pasta?"

Andy lowered the camera slightly and paused to look over at her, taking in the way the sunlight caught the faint copper strands of Emily's hair until they almost glowed beneath the sunglasses resting on her head. Seeing Emily sit there with one hand around the stem of her wine glass, looking genuinely relaxed, happy, and softer than ever before, hit Andy unexpectedly hard. For so long, their relationship had been built on mere fragments like an isolated dinner, a hurried phone call, or a stolen hour between obligations that was always interrupted and temporary, making it almost overwhelming to realize that Emily was now simply there, sitting right across from her in the flesh.

The camera lowered another inch. Andy's smile softened. "Just reminding myself you're real." The words escaping before she could stop them.

For a moment, neither of them spoke, leaving only the ambient sounds of the café to drift around them softly. The low murmur of conversation, the clink of cutlery, and the distant hum of traffic. Emily blinked once, then twice, as a faint flush immediately began creeping up her neck and rising higher toward her cheeks, a quiet reaction that Andy watched happen in real time with absolute fascination.

"Oh, shut up." The response arrived slightly too quickly.

Emily reached for her wine. "And eat your pasta."

Andy lit up immediately at the sight. God. Making Emily Charlton blush had become one of the most rewarding experiences available to mankind. Possibly her favourite hobby. Certainly her favourite recent hobby. The fact that Emily still seemed mildly offended every time it happened only improved matters.

Andy laughed.

Emily pointed her fork threateningly. "Eat."

Andy took one obedient bite of the pasta, followed immediately by another, before letting out a long, satisfied sigh of absolute bliss and could only manage a breathless, "Oh my God."

Emily closed her eyes. A nearby tourist looked alarmed.

"Andrea."

"This is incredible."

"It's pasta."

"It's life-changing."

Emily took a sip of wine. "You sound ridiculous."

Andy pointed her fork dramatically. "No. The pasta sounds ridiculous."

And despite herself, despite every attempt at maintaining dignity, Emily laughed. The sound drifted across the little Roman street while sunlight warmed the table between them and Andy found herself thinking, not for the first time that day, that she wished she could somehow bottle this exact moment and keep it forever. Despite the wholesome museum, or the perfect pasta, or even glamorous Rome itself, the sight of Emily across from her, blushing into her wine glass and pretending not to smile while Andy looked at her far too much might just remain Andy’s favourite memory of this trip. 

-

After lunch they wandered back toward the hotel without much urgency.

Rome seemed determined to remain beautiful at all hours of the day, sunlight spilling honey-gold across old stone buildings while scooters darted through traffic with casual disregard for both safety regulations and divine intervention. The streets hummed softly around them. Church bells drifted somewhere in the distance. Tourists crowded piazzas. Life carried on.

Emily barely noticed any of it. Mostly because Andrea kept holding her hand and never once let go. It should not have remained this distracting after several hours. Logically, Emily understood that. They were girlfriends now. They had kissed in the rain. They had survived a catastrophic misunderstanding, multiple international flights, emotional devastation, and one extremely dramatic fountain. Hand-holding should not still feel revolutionary.

And yet every time Andrea's fingers tightened around hers, Emily's stomach immediately performed something embarrassing. Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous.

By the time they reached the hotel lobby, Emily had almost convinced herself she was behaving like a normal person again.

Then they stepped into the lift. And immediately lost all personal space.

A group of newly arrived tourists piled inside carrying enormous suitcases that appeared large enough to comfortably transport several adult humans. The lift became crowded almost instantly.

Emily found herself steadily backed toward the corner. Andy ended up directly in front of her. Very directly.

The final suitcase squeezed in. The doors closed. And suddenly there was absolutely nowhere for either of them to move.

Emily's back rested against the mirrored wall. Andy stood so close their shoes nearly touched.

"Oh."

Andy looked up. Emily immediately regretted making eye contact. Because she smiled. God help her.

That smile ought to be regulated by international law.

The crowded lift rattled upward. Nobody spoke. Around them strangers chatted cheerfully in various languages while suitcases bumped against knees and wheels rolled across the floor.

Emily heard none of it. She was far too aware of Andrea. The warmth of her. The scent of her shampoo. The way sunlight from the glass ceiling above briefly caught in her hair.

Andy's smile widened slightly. Emily felt herself beginning to blush. Which only made Andy look more pleased.

"Oh no," Andy murmured.

Emily narrowed her eyes immediately. "What."

"You're blushing."

"I am not."

"You absolutely are."

"I'm really not."

Andrea looked delighted. Emily considered murder.

The lift continued climbing. 

The rest of the tourists stepped off at another floor, taking their luggage with them. Space immediately opened around them.

Neither woman moved. Not even slightly.

Emily suddenly became aware of that fact. Andy apparently became aware of it too.

The silence shifted. Something warmer settling softly between them.

Andy’s gaze dropped briefly toward Emily's mouth before returning upward again. Emily's pulse immediately betrayed her.

"Oh my God," she muttered.

Andy laughed softly. "What?"

Emily folded her arms. "You keep looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"…You know exactly what."

Andy’s eyes sparkled. The infuriating woman.

For a moment she simply studied Emily. Then she said quietly, "You're really cute when you blush."

Emily nearly choked. "I am not."

"You are."

"No."

"Very."

Emily rolled her eyes.

Andy only smiled harder. "Honestly, Em."

"Stop."

"You look adorable."

"Andrea."

"Like, distractingly adorable."

Emily could physically feel heat climbing her neck. This was deeply unfair. "You are lying."

"I'm not."

"You are."

Andy shook her head. "Nope."

Emily huffed.

Andy's smile softened, her voice dropping slightly. "It kind of makes me want to do things."

Emily froze. Oh. Well. That was...quick. The lift suddenly felt much smaller.

Andy looked equally surprised by her own honesty. A faint flush appeared across her cheeks.

For some reason that gave Emily courage. Possibly because if Andrea was going to suffer, Emily believed strongly in equality. So she lifted her chin. Tried very hard to sound confident. And said, "Like what?"

Andrea blinked. Emily immediately wanted to throw herself into traffic.

Andrea stared. Emily stared back. It might have just accidentally, unintentionally become a challenge. Mostly. Possibly. Maybe.

The corner of Andy’s mouth twitched. "Oh."

Emily's heartbeat accelerated.

Andy took a small step closer, close enough that their noses were barely touching, too close that Emily stopped breathing normally. 

"Show me," Emily heard herself say.

The words landed between them.

Andrea's expression changed immediately. Something fond and helpless and entirely too pleased. Oh, the game is on.

"Okay," she said quietly.

Any remaining distance between them evaporated so gradually that Emily barely noticed the shift until Andy’s lips were already brushing against her own. The kiss began with a tentative, almost fragile hesitation, as if they were both suspended in the quiet terror that any sudden movement might shatter the reality of the moment. Emily felt her defenses dissolve entirely, a silent, treacherous surrender to the warmth spreading through her chest. Andy’s hand drifted upward to settle weightily against the curve of her waist, anchoring her, while Emily’s own fingers instinctively sought the line of Andy’s jaw. She let her fingertips linger there, mapping the smooth heat of her skin and the impossibly soft press of silk hair slipping across her knuckles.

God. To kiss Andrea was to lose her footing entirely, sinking into a dangerous, velvet routine where logic simply ceased to exist. Emily found herself idly wondering if a person could actually become physically dependent on another's breath, because the sheer gravity of Andy’s presence felt like a beautiful, debilitating diagnosis. Each languid touch of their lips did nothing to quench the fire, instead acting as a slow match to a fuse, leaving Emily constantly starved for the very thing she was currently consuming. The end of one kiss was merely the heavy, breathless prelude to the next, an infinite, spiraling loop where she wanted nothing more than to lose herself in Andrea's mouth forever.

The lift continued climbing unnoticed around them. Time became slightly irrelevant. Andrea's mouth was warm, patient and unhurried.

Emily felt herself leaning closer without even realizing it, her body surrendering to the pull until she was pressed flush against the heat radiating between them. The entire world narrowed pleasantly, stripping away the noise of the past and the future until the universe contracted into a single, beautifully sharp point of focus. Just this. Just Andrea. Just the breathless, devastating way Andrea was kissing her, a slow and consuming friction of lips and mingling breath that sparked a sudden, liquid fire somewhere further down her belly, spreading a helpless, heavy warmth through her veins.

Just—Ding.

The lift doors slid open. Both women turned automatically. And froze.

Standing outside was Nigel. Nigel Freaking Kipling. 

For one glorious second nobody moved.

Nigel stared. Andrea stared. Emily stared. The silence became catastrophic.

Nigel's eyebrows climbed steadily toward his hairline. "Oh," he said.

Emily felt a sudden, suffocating desire for the earth to swallow her, an internal prayer for some dramatic, merciful oblivion to shield her from the exposure. She wanted death. Immediate death. Fucking hell.

Nigel’s gaze drifted lazily between them, cataloging the wreckage of their restraint with a quiet, knowing precision. His eyes traced the stark, unmistakable evidence of their compromised state. The dark, smudged line of lipstick, the soft, disheveled strands of hair clinging to their temples, and the absolute impossibility of denying what had just happened while they remained standing entirely too close, their skin still tingling from the two inches of space left between them.

Understanding arrived instantly.

His grin appeared with terrifying speed. "Well."

Emily closed her eyes. "No."

Nigel looked delighted. "Well, well, well."

"No."

"Look what we have here."

"Nigel."

"This is fascinating."

"Nigel."

Andy was visibly trying not to laugh. Which Emily considered a betrayal.

The grin widened. "Talk about rebound. Oh wait, this was who you were supposed to bound from."

Emily immediately lunged for the control panel. The close-door button suffered greatly.

"Nigel don't you dare—"

"Oh, I am absolutely—"

The doors began sliding shut.

Nigel's laughter followed them. "I expect details later!"

The doors slid shut, locking them back into a thick, ringing silence as the lift resumed its steady climb. 

Emily remained entirely frozen against the panel, a hot wave of mortification saturating every nerve ending. When she finally dragged her eyes toward Andy, she found her biting her lower lip. Bad sign. Very bad sign.

"Don't."

Andy immediately lost the battle and laughed.

Emily groaned. "Oh my God."

"He looked so happy."

"He looked horrifying."

"He definitely knew."

"Obviously he knew!”

Andy laughed harder.

Emily covered her face. 

For several seconds she simply stood there suffering. Then, with a noise of complete defeat, she stepped forward and buried her face directly into the warm hollow of Andy’s neck.

Andy pulled her close without a second thought, her arms a solid weight around her as she let out a low, continuous giggle that rippled softly against Emily’s cheek.

Emily groaned into her shoulder. "This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me."

Andy pressed a kiss into her hair. "I don't know."

Emily lifted her head suspiciously.

Andy smirked. "I can think of worse ways to get caught."

Emily pulled back just enough to glare. “Andrea!”

Yet, beneath the mortification, the sheer absurdity of it all broke through her defenses, and despite everything, a quiet chuckle escaped her throat.

And Andrea leaned down to brush a sweet, comforting kiss against the corner of her mouth just as the lift completed its climb and slowed to a gentle halt at their floor.

“Well, the cat is out of the bag.”

“Yeah, unexpectedly soon,” Emily huffed, annoyed and embarrassed. “Bloody hell.”