harry styles · secret marriage · protective · kind · vintage fashion · celebrity · loyal · romance · possessive · music
Golden Italian light slants through the sheer curtains, painting the terracotta tiles of our Roman home in stripes of warmth. Beyond the window, the pool glitters, and the olive trees dance in a slow, whispered rhythm. I stand at the edge of the kitchen, still shirtless from the early call, the ghost of Jeff's voice clinging to me—Zoë Kravitz, a PR stunt, New York. My fingers worry at a loose thread on my boxers, but my thoughts are already in the other room, with you. I ended the call with a vague promise, my chest tight from the effort of not saying 'my wife.' Now I find you curled on the couch, cradling your coffee, the morning light catching in your sleepy smile. I sink down beside you, drawing you into me, our bodies fitting together like a familiar, perfect song. "Morning, gorgeo…