secondchances | return to paradisa

"What does that have to do with anything?" She asks, crossing her arms. Boyfriend or not, she still spent a lot of time with Ezio. Oh, she remembers that being a problem. Along with the whole assassin thing, too.

She's feeling oddly burned and she has no idea if she has the right.

"I never could make a move towards you if I didn't wanna be ditched when the next hot chick showed up."

Which might be a little unfair, or might hint as some insecurity, but the mouth, it runs.

He watches her for a second, feeling sorry he ever mentioned it, feeling sorry that he isn't the kind of man who could be enough for her. He could reach for her and try to pacify her, but he feels it would only make it worse. He lingers close just the same, dropping to a knee in front of her.

"Dolcezza," he says, knowing pet names probably aren't welcome just now, but it comes out anyway. "Women could move on me every hour of the day, and still I would turn down every one if I thought I had a chance with you."

Her face is on fire. She feels more embarrassed than upset. Taking a deep breath, she gives him a helpless look.

"I only had a crush on you for about one million years," she says, and then drags a hand down her face. "Oh, my god. That's what this is. Some missed connections, Paradisa style, but it's just us. We're the missed connection."

It's probably just a coincidence, but she's not going to be convinced otherwise, now.

It could be for them. Knowing Paradisa's sense of humour, it very well may be, but it almost doesn't matter what Paradisa wants -- there's something nice about hearing her say something he's suspected himself for some time.

"I know," he admits. "But you have always had more principles than me, hmm?"

Ezio dares scoot a little closer, putting a hand on her knee, and he smiles.

"See? Not very romantic."

Looking down at his hand is a good excuse not to look right at him and his dumb, handsome face. A handsome face she thinks about kissing, because why not? But she just sits where she is, feeling the sweat from her pits dampening the barely-a-dress she's in. Oh, yeah. Apparently wasn't wearing deodorant. Real romantic.

"I do remember kissing you. It wasn't the castle making me." Tim hadn't really liked that, and Steph couldn't blame him for it. "My principles didn't always stick, huh."

Ezio edges closer still, letting that hand settle on her thigh proper; he smiles at her even as she looks down, relishing that flush a little. It's not so bad, maybe.

"Ah," he teases, gently. "A little more than mine, at least, but for you... I would have tried. Honest. I thought you knew how I felt."

"I knew you loved me, but not... love love." Just saying it makes her ears heat up. "If you would have freaking told me and not Molotov, I... would not be sweating through my clothes right now!"

Unlikely. There would just be a much more massive freak out. She wouldn't be surprised if he could feel the heat radiating off her though her thigh. Oh. Yeah. Hand on thigh. Not uncommon, but she thinks maybe she should take his hand.

So, she does.

"I thiiiink... I think I am in shock."

He chuckles, and when she takes his hand, he gathers it between both of his and kisses her knuckles and looks up at her. Same way as usual, nothing changed there; he looks at her like he adores her, because he does. What difference is there?

"Sweetheart," he says; it feels funny in English. "Breathe. You knew, in your heart. I am certain of it."

She really hopes he doesn't notice her palms are sweaty. But hearing him call her sweetheart makes her crack a smile, and after her brain processes why that's funny, she does laugh.

"What? Don't--no, that's wrong. Please, bring back the dolcezza," she laughs, buying herself a moment or two to absorb the rest of the words. And then she does breathe, taking a deep breath and holding it in her lungs before slowly getting it out. It's not every day your super hot close friend that you've had a thing for says he's in love with you. And it never happens in the magical castle you met in, that you now find yourself in again, maybe, left to figure out how to not potentially starve to death.

Steph watches him for a long moment.

"So what do you know, in your heart, about how I feel?"

"Dolcezza, then," he corrects himself, and he kisses her knuckles again, and then once more for good measure. He doesn't care how sweaty her palms are.

She's lovely, and it's amusing to watch her tumble over this moment that is not at all something he could have planned for that morning, but he knows it is right to have said it.

"I think you're happy," he admits. "But I will survive if you do not feel the same, Stephanie. My heart will mend."

It would be real awkward if she didn't feel anything. He's so dumb, too.

Steph lifts a brow.

"Seriously. I've just said I've had a crush on you for eternity, and I let you put your hands all over me, pinch me, cuddle up, we just found ourselves in this mess and I've sat on you... when did you ever see me do that with anyone else? Oh. And I've hated all your girlfriends. Sorry."

Some more, some less. Hate might be a strong word, but she's making her point, here.

He is so dumb, but he’s dumb in love.

“I thought maybe I was just so irresistible that I overcame your better judgment,” he teases. He also recalls, with near blinding vividness, that time he completely palmed her ass and that she let him. The past years have been the slowest burn of his life, and yet he wouldn’t trade it for anyone. “We’re both blind — and I hated Tim too. If you’d had more than one of those I might not have been able to bear it.”

He was very obvious about his feelings for Tim. Maaaaybe, Steph thinks, he could have been a little more obvious with her about his feelings towards her. More words, less ass palming.

"We're really doing this love confession, this-is-what-was-really-going-on thing right now in this creepy, abandoned castle... okay. Cool. I'm not one for romantic crap, anyway. It works."

Which doesn't really give Ezio much to go on.

He is sluggishly realizing they're on the same page. Sort of, anyway. He keeps playing with her hand, and then he says:

"Ten years from now, we will exhaust ourselves on the argument of whether I was wrong to bring it up now."

And they will, at least in his mind, whether they're here or out in the world beyond or in his world or hers. Ezio doesn't really have a plan so much as a vague goal, with the path between comprised of whatever hurdles might show up.

"I truly believed you knew."

Ten years is a long time, and she vaguely remembers being aware that he lives to be an old man with a wife and children. That's a bridge to cross sometime that's not now because she's not even sure where she's going, both literally and figuratively.

"I swear." That hand he's not holding? It comes up to (lightly) hit the side of his head. "I'm probably going to strangle you before we get to ten years from now."

She's not good at romance, so it's fortunate they've thrown that out the window for this chat.

"I love you too, you know? And I am going to vomit if either of us say anything about the power of love or fate or whatever dragging us here."

Bury her now.

“None of that,” he promises, even as she taps him. “The fates, that is. I am not so sure about the strangling. I might have earned it by then!”

"You've earned it several times over, pretty sure," she says, and then pulls her hand away to grab his arms and tug him. Is she pulling him in for a kiss? No, just to sit beside her again because the kneeling is making her even more nervous. She can't help but glance around, as if to make sure no one saw what probably looked like a freakin' proposal.

He gets up just enough to plunk down next to her. Not quite the kiss he might have hoped for -- it'd be nice but he knows he's tugged on the weakest links of his impulse control and taken her down with him.

"Nothing needs to change," he tells her, "If you do not want it to. We have many other things to attend to first."

"Many other things that all kinda make you go what the hell, right?"

Which is about all the warning he gets before she does actually kiss him. Hey, if they're going to discover the kitchen and city are devoid of food and are forced to trudge out into the wilderness and possibly starve to death, she's not going to pass this up any longer than she has.

He's kind of grinning just before she lands it on him, and for a moment he is mentally blinded by how lovely it is for her to kiss him like that, without mistletoe or jealousy or some other we-can-say-we-didn't-mean-to-in-the-morning. Her lips are soft and she's impulsive sometimes too and he savours it for a beat before he gets one hand on her ribs to steady himself so he can go in on it too. He's going to relish this. It's been too long not to.

It's not unfamiliar, funnily enough, to kiss him. What is new is kissing him without worrying about anyone to judge her for it--because there's no one else here--and letting herself actually enjoy it. There's no denying intent as she matches him, closing her eyes so she doesn't allow her eyes to remind her brain she's actually kissing Ezio. Like, for real, this time.

It's nice. Really nice. Almost too nice. But she's beginning to think that maybe she deserves it for all the hell this place has put her through and likely will continue to put her through.

She does have to break to remember to breath, eyes opening. There's a dull buzz in her brain as she tries to figure out something to say.

"Thanks."

But hey, at least she's smiling.

She does deserve it. He lingers close, his big ol' nose brushing hers, and he gets his other hand up to pet her hair out of her face. She's pretty and that's always a thought floating around his hindbrain when he looks at her, no matter what else he's doing or what might be on his mind, but up close he can savour that particular American beauty of hers, those vivid blue eyes. He loves seeing her happy, too, that particular shamelessness of a good kiss, for once.

"I should be the one thanking you," he rumbles, and then he kisses her again.

She doesn't remember the one word that managed to come out of her mouth, mind and body buzzing because wow, okay, she's really kissing Ezio and he's kissing her back and maybe she should have said to hell with it a lot sooner. Better late than never, right? So, when he responds he should be thanking her, she almost laughs and asks why before they're kissing again.

More confident now, she decides now it's actually appropriate to be sitting on his lap, and invites herself there as she deepens the kiss.

She figures his back probably doesn't feel great, against the stairs, but whatever. She's in the moment. This is much, much better than freaking out about impending doom.

Ezio is more than happy to help her into his lap, a hand roving up her thigh to scoot her as close to him as she'll go. The stairs don't bother him any, not after a great many years of tumbling through stables, across tile rooftops, on garden balconies and in secluded alleyways, and he'd tolerate anything for a lapful of pretty girl, this one most of all. His hands meander a little, slow but bold -- if she's worried about losing weight, he passionately disagrees, her loose clothes rucking up under his palms as he explores the shape of her underneath.

Not only is she the most willing lap resident, but for the first time she openly shows enthusiastic approval for the touching. She didn't dislike it, before, of course. She just didn't return the favor by feeling up his chest while kissing him, is all.

It'd be a lot sexier if her stomach didn't gurgle loud enough to cover up pleased noises she was beginning to make.

Guess her appetite is back.

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