And we do.
We wander the streets of Zurich for hours, aimless and unhurried. The old town is beautiful. Buildings that are centuries old, their facades carefully preserved, narrow cobblestone alleys winding between them like paths through a maze. Shop windows display watches that cost more than cars,chocolate arranged like fine art, clothing with price tags I don't let myself look at too closely.
We don't talk much. Just walk hand in hand, his palm warm and solid against mine, his fingers occasionally squeezing like he's reminding himself I'm real.
We find a small pastry shop tucked into a side street. The smell pulls us inside before we consciously decide to enter. Chocolate and sugar and butter, warm and rich and impossibly inviting.
The interior is tiny, just a handful of tables with mismatched chairs, a glass case displaying pastries that look almost too beautiful to eat. We sit at a table by the window. We order something to eat now and something to bring back to Artan and Luan. The woman behind the counter smiles indulgently and brings us coffee and pastries that taste like heaven.
My phone buzzes against the table. A message from Artan.
Procedure finished. Luan's in recovery for a few hours. Everything went as well as the doctor hoped.
Relief floods through me so suddenly my eyes sting with tears I refuse to shed. I show Erion the message, my hand trembling slightly.
"See?" he says, his voice warm. "All good. I told you he'd be fine."
We finish our coffee slowly, savoring the sweetness and the quiet and the simple pleasure of sitting together without urgency.When we finally leave, the sun is beginning its descent toward the horizon.
We walk alongside the lake. The light is golden now, the kind of light photographers chase, turning everything soft and warm and impossibly beautiful. The water reflects the sky, smooth as glass. The air is cool against my skin, carrying the faint scent of water and flowers.
The atmosphere is romantic in a way that feels almost too perfect, like someone staged it deliberately.
Then we see it.
An area near the water decorated with flowers and candles, white roses and soft candlelight creating a circle of beauty that draws the eye. A man kneels in the center, a small box open in his hand. A woman stands in front of him, her hands over her mouth, tears streaming down her face. Friends cluster nearby, phones out, capturing the moment.
A proposal.
We stop automatically, drawn by the intimacy of the scene playing out in public. Watch as the woman nods, her yes lost in the sound of friends cheering. The man stands, slips the ring onto her finger, and they kiss while everyone applauds.
It's joyful. Pure. The kind of moment that reminds you that love exists outside of complications and consequences, that sometimes people choose each other simply and completely.
I watch the woman laugh through her tears, watch her friends swarm them with hugs and congratulations, watch the man hold her like she's the only thing in the world that matters.
Something shifts in my chest. Settles. Becomes clear.
I turn to Erion. My pulse is racing, my mouth dry, but my voice comes out steady. Certain.
"Let's go back to the villa."
The words are breathless. Deliberate. Heavy with implication.
He looks at me, and I watch understanding cross his face, watch his eyes darken with heat and something fiercer. "Are you sure?"
"Yes."
26
ERION
We barely make it through the villa's entrance before we're on each other.
The door slams shut behind us, the sound echoing through the empty space, and then Lily's mouth is on mine. Hot. Demanding. Nothing tentative about it. Her hands pull at my jacket with desperate fingers, tugging at fabric like she can't get it off fast enough. Then my shirt. Buttons popping. Desperate and clumsy and absolutely perfect.
I kiss her back harder, walking her backward into the entrance hall. My hands find her waist, slide down to grip her hips, pull her flush against me so she can feel exactly what she does to me. How hard I am. How much I want her.
She gasps into my mouth, the sound swallowed by the kiss. Her fingers fumble with my belt, shaking slightly, inexperienced but determined.
