Ricard’s blank look said it all.
“Oh my God. We need to fix this immediately,” I laughed, the excitement bubbling up. “We're starting withIron Man. No debate. This is like a cultural emergency.”
For the first time since I’d arrived, Ricard’s smile reached his eyes fully. “I surrender to your expertise.”
He showed me how to access the villa's entertainment system and soon the opening scenes ofIron Manwere playing. The surround sound made the opening explosion in Afghanistan feel like it was happening around us. We settled back on the sofa, initially keeping a respectful distance. As the movie rolled, that gap began to shrink.
While I shared commentary—explaining references, pointing out Easter eggs, sharing trivia—Ricard listened with genuine interest, chuckling at the right moments. He completely lost it at the “box of scraps” line, laughing harder than I'd ever seen him laugh before.
By the time Tony Stark built his first suit, we had shifted positions entirely. The formal distance had dissolved into something much more comfortable; me slouched against the armrest, Ricard stretched out with his head practically in my lap, my hand absent-mindedly playing with his hair. “I see why this is popular,” Ricard murmured.
“What would you do?” I suddenly asked, looking down to face him. “If you could do anything, be anyone?”
Ricard pondered for a moment. “I’d live simply,” he said. “Somewhere quiet, away from cameras and protocol. I’d read the books I want, not just the required ones. I’d watch movies like this without worrying about public perception.” His arm tightened around my waist. “I’d spend weekends like this, just enjoying time with someone who makes me laugh.”
His words made my heart skip a beat, and suddenly my imagination ran wild with impossible scenarios. I pictured us in some cabin somewhere, maybe in those mountains he talked about. Morning coffee on a porch, Ricard in worn jeans instead of designer clothes, hair messy from sleep. Weekends spent hiking or watching movies or just existing without someone taking our picture or expecting us to be anything other than ourselves.
I went for a joke, not ready to deal with all the feelings his words stirred up. “So what, you'd basically kidnap me and force me to explain Marvel movies to you forever?”
Ricard chuckled, but there was something deeper behind his laugh. “Maybe I would. I could take you back to Avaline, chain you to a bed in the tallest tower, just for me.”
I let myself imagine that too, some fairy-tale castle with stone walls and those arched windows he described. Me in a room filled with books and morning light, waiting for him to return from whatever dukes do during the day.
His tone was light, teasing, yet something in his body shifted against mine, sending a shiver down my spine. I turned towards him again, our faces just inches apart. “Seriously though. Is that what you want? To just... keep me?”
The playfulness faded, replaced by seriousness. “Yes,” he admitted, that single word heavy with meaning. “But not as a possession. As...”
He trailed off, leaning in and closing the distance. His lips brushed against mine in a kiss that was soft, tender, so different from our heated encounters before. This felt like a question, a confession, a dangerous promise.
I melted into him, my hand cupping his cheek, sensing the roughness of stubble beneath my palm. His tongue traced the seam of my lips, and I willingly opened to him, the taste—mint and bourbon—flooding my senses.
For a moment, the world narrowed to just this. Ricard's mouth on mine, his hand at the small of my back, the warmth of his body against me. No clients, no companions, no royal scandals. Just us.
Ricard pulled back, breathing unevenly, eyes dark with desire but tempered by restraint. Instead of pushing, he pressed his forehead against mine, an act of intimacy that felt significant.
We watched the rest of the film in comfortable silence, Ricard’s arm around my waist, chin resting on my shoulder. As the credits rolled, I felt an odd reluctance to break the bubble of normalcy we’d created.
“What did you think?” I asked, stalling.
“I enjoyed it immensely,” Ricard said, his smile genuine. “Though I suspect my enjoyment had as much to do with your company as the film.”
I faced him again, still close. “There are like, twenty more movies in that universe. We’ve barely scratched the surface.”
“Is that an offer to continue my Marvel education?” he asked, eyes crinkling.
“It could be,” I said, remembering the reality we lived in. “But I’m not sure when we’d find the time.”
Ricard’s expression sobered. “No, especially with…” He gestured vaguely to the tablet and the impending family drama looming over him.
“Hey,” I grabbed his hand. “One problem at a time, right? First, you talk to your brother. Then figure out the rest.”
He nodded, fingers intertwining with mine. “You’re right, of course. It’s just... being here with you makes me wish for impossibilities.”
His admission lingered in the air, too honest to dismiss, too dangerous to embrace. I squeezed his hand, unsure of how to respond.
Outside, the sun began to set. I knew I should leave; I’d already stayed longer than wise. But as I turned toward the door, I felt a tug of reluctance to end this moment.
Ricard sighed, glancing at his watch. “It’s getting late. I should let you go. I’m sure you had other plans for your day off besides listening to my troubles.”
