Chapter 21. The Bed You Made

Margherita lay against Ezio’s chest, her cheek resting over the steady beat of his heart. The rhythm soothed her more than she wanted to admit. Neither of them spoke. The quiet between them wasn’t awkward, just fragile—like glass that would shatter if either of them breathed too deeply.

Ezio’s hand moved idly along her spine, tracing lazy shapes across her bare skin. His eyes were half-lidded, expression unreadable except for the faintest curve of a smile.

She shifted, the sheet sliding down to her waist. The soft air kissed her shoulders. She propped herself up on her elbows, her hair a mess of dark curls, her lips faintly swollen. For a while she just studied him—the stillness, the small scar along his jaw, the calm that made her uneasy.

“So,” she said. “Do we decide what happens now? Should I go back after… all this? Or do you want me to stay till morning?”

Ezio opened one eye, a flicker of amusement passed over his face.

She smirked faintly. “Don’t