Ava

The next morning, sunlight spilled into the room through sheer curtains, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch across the divide between our rooms. I hadn’t slept—my mind raced, replaying every venomous word Orion had spat and every cold glare exchanged.

The soft murmur of Venice waking up outside felt worlds away from the tension that hung in this suite.

I rose, determined not to let him see any weakness. The war had begun, and every move mattered.

As I stepped out of my room, I found Orion already seated on the plush sofa, a steaming cup of espresso in his hand. He looked up, his gaze unreadable, but I could see the dark circles under his eyes. Had he slept any better than I had? I doubted it.

The stupid thing about this suite? We have to share a bathroom!

“Good morning, Ava.” His voice was clipped, a deliberate performance of civility.

I didn’t reply. Instead, I crossed the room and entered the bathroom. After relieving myself, I brushed my teeth and washed my face. I came back into his room and poured myself a cup of coffee, the silence stretching thin between us.

“You’re quiet today,” he continued, his eyes following my every move. “Plotting your next move already?”

I smirked, turning to face him. “Unlike you, I don’t need to plan deceit. It comes naturally when dealing with snakes.”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he rose and walked towards the window, staring out at the Grand Canal below. For a moment, the silence felt almost fragile, as if one wrong word would shatter whatever truce we’d unknowingly fallen into.

“I’ve made reservations for lunch,” he said finally, not turning to face me. “It’s expected. For appearances.”

“Of course,” I replied, the bitterness barely concealed. “Wouldn’t want to disappoint your adoring public.”

He turned, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. “You think you’re the only one suffering here?”

The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken truths. I didn’t respond. I wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.

---

After an annoyingly slow morning, we had prepared and left the hotel for the grand lunch my dear darling husband talked about.

The restaurant was a vision of Venetian charm, all soft lighting and intimate corners. We sat across from each other, the table a battlefield, every glance a challenge. The staff greeted us warmly, oblivious to the cold war playing out in front of them.

Orion leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving mine. “Smile, Ava. People are watching. What if a board member unexpectedly shows up here?”

I forced a tight-lipped smile, my nails digging into my palm beneath the table. “Enjoying the show, aren’t you? Playing the perfect husband while the world watches.”

He leaned in, his voice low and dangerous. “And you, the perfect victim. How long do you think you can keep that mask in place?”

I didn’t flinch. “Long enough to watch yours slip.”

The waiter arrived with our meals, breaking the tension momentarily. But as the plates were set down, I saw Orion’s eyes flicker—just for a moment—a weary look in his eyes.

---

The restaurant hummed with soft conversations, the clinking of cutlery, and the distant strains of a violin playing something hauntingly beautiful.

The melody floated between us, a gentle reminder of what this place symbolized—romance. But at our table, the silence was the real symphony, a quiet war orchestrated by glances and half-formed words.

We ate in silence, the tension palpable, every bite feeling like a forced performance. My mind wandered to the past—brief flashes of what it would have meant to sit across from him if things were... simpler. Before this façade became our reality.

Orion’s voice cut through the uneasy calm. “Holly had a whole plan, you know,” he said, setting his fork down. “A movie date, a picnic by the canal. She was very thorough.”

I raised an eyebrow. “She’s not here, Orion. We’re not obligated to do any of those things. Unless…” I leaned forward, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “You’re dying to spend time with me.”

He smirked, but there was no warmth in it. “I’d rather be anywhere else. Especially with Chloe.” His voice hardened. “But Holly wants photos. Proof.”

“Then fake it better.”

He leaned back, eyes locked on mine. “Fine. Let’s start now. Scoot over.”

I didn’t move. “No.”

His confidence didn’t falter. He stood up, broad shoulders filling the space, his chiseled face catching the soft glow of the lights. For a brief, absurd moment, my breath caught, but I shoved the feeling aside.

He dropped into the seat next to me, his phone already in hand. Without warning, his arm snaked around my waist, pulling me closer until our sides touched. I tensed, my hand reflexively landing on his chest to stop from colliding with him. His heartbeat, steady and strong beneath my palm, only made the moment more unbearable.

“Relax,” he muttered, eyes fixed on the phone screen.

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

He snapped the picture, but the moment stretched on, his hand lingering. My pulse quickened—betrayal, embarrassment, or something else, I couldn’t tell.

Just then, a smiling waiter approached, eyes widening at the rings on our fingers. “Ah, newlyweds! We offer a complimentary photo service for couples. Would you like one?”

I opened my mouth to decline, but Orion was already standing, pulling me up with him. “That would be perfect.”

Before I could protest, the waiter guided us to a small, beautifully decorated corner. “Stand closer,” he instructed, his hands framing an invisible shot. “More intimate.”

Orion moved behind me, his hands resting on my hips. I stiffened, but he leaned in, his breath warm against my ear. “Play your part, Ava.”

I forced a smile, turning my head slightly. The waiter clicked the shutter, the sound echoing louder than it should. “Perfect! One more, please.”

He positioned us differently this time—Orion’s arm around my shoulders, his hand brushing the bare skin at my collarbone. My breath hitched. The atmosphere shifted, the line between act and reality blurring for a moment.

“Wonderful chemistry,” the waiter remarked, snapping a few more shots before retreating with a satisfied smile.

As we returned to the table, the tension between us felt different—thicker, charged. I couldn’t meet his eyes, afraid of what I might see. Or worse, what I might feel.

“Happy now?” I muttered, taking a long sip of wine.

He didn’t answer. But in the quiet that followed, the music seemed louder, the distance between us more dangerous than ever.