The sun was high when they wandered into town, the cobblestones warm beneath their feet, the scent of lemon trees thick in the breeze. The streets wound like lazy rivers between pastel buildings, laundry fluttering from windows above, the occasional Vespa humming by with a burst of laughter and shouted Italian.
Ella wore the linen dress.
That linen dress.
The one Nicholas had bought on a whim when he had taken her shopping because because "it looks like something that would drive me insane," and Ella had rolled her eyes but taken the dress anyway.
It was cream-colored and soft and fell just a little too easily against her skin. The straps were thin. The back dipped scandalously low. And when the sun hit just right, it flirted with transparency.
She wore it anyway.
Nicholas hadn't taken his eyes off her since they left the villa.
"You're going to get us arrested," he murmured beside her, watching the hem of the dress lift as she walked.
