Serafina’s POV
The drive down the Amalfi Coast should have been romantic and calm, like the kind of scene people post with soft music and slow kisses, but instead it turned into something that felt like a comedy show starring Matteo De Santis and a very dramatic Italian road.
The morning felt different.
Not because the sun was brighter.
Not because the sea was louder.
Because of him.
For once.
He was on his back, one arm resting over his stomach, breathing slow and deep. His face looked younger when he slept. Less sharp. Less guarded.
I propped myself up on one elbow and watched him.
Last night still lived on my skin.
The words still lived in my chest.
I love you.
They felt warm.
He moved slightly, then opened one eye.
“You’re staring again,” he said.
“I am not.”
“You are.”
