Morning in Como begins quietly, sunlight slipping through the tall windows in soft bands of gold that spread slowly across the room and the tangled sheets.
The lake below lies smooth and pale in the early light, the surface barely disturbed except for the faint wake of a distant boat. The villa still holds the deep hush of early morning, a silence so complete it feels sheltered from the world beyond the hills.
Willow wakes first, aware of warmth before thought.
Zane's arm rests around her waist, his hand curved naturally against her hip, holding her close even in sleep. His breathing moves slow and steady against her shoulder, deeper than she ever sees at home, the guarded tension gone entirely.
She turns carefully toward him, studying his face in the soft light.
Sleep smooths the hard lines from his expression. A faint shadow darkens his jaw and his hair falls slightly forward in a way she never sees when he is awake and precise. He looks younger like this. Unarmored.
