The eighth day arrived with a soft breeze that carried the scent of salt and flowers. Elara woke first, lying still for a moment, listening to Timothy’s even breathing. She reached for his hand, and he stirred slightly, opening his eyes to meet hers with that calm, steady look she had come to crave.
“You’re up early,” he said, voice still heavy with sleep.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she admitted. “Too much thinking about… us.”
He gave her a small smile, squeezing her hand. “Is that a bad thing or a good thing?”
“Good,” she said after a pause, brushing her hair behind her ear. “I’ve never felt this way before. Not even close.”
They spent the morning wandering the quiet streets near the villa, tasting fresh fruit, laughing at their attempts to communicate in broken local phrases. Timothy’s cal
