By the end of the week, Alexander was waking earlier, breathing easier, laughing more than he had in years.
Elena took him shopping in town. She made him try on soft denim, earth-toned shirts, boots that were meant to get dirty. She circled around him, adjusting collars and smoothing fabric over his chest, her touch lingering just a little too long.
"You look more like yourself," she said softly.
"How do you know who that is?" he asked.
"Because you relax around me," she answered. "And I like that version of you."
He wasn't sure what stunned him more—the truth in her words or how gently she delivered it.
That night, she invited him to a private wine tasting on the hill overlooking the vineyard. A blanket was spread out beneath a sky scattered with silver stars. Lantern light danced across her face.
She handed him a glass of deep red wine and a piece of locally made chocolate. Their fingers brushed. He felt it everywhere.
"These chocolates are paired perfectly with the grapes we harvest in late summer," she explained.
He tasted both, and the combination was intoxicating. But not as intoxicating as her leaning closer, lips stained a soft berry red, whispering about tannins and sweetness while her knee brushed his thigh.
The air thickened.
Their breaths tangled.
Alexander's heart threatened to break out of its gilded cage.
The city had never felt so far away.
And for the first time in his life, he didn't miss it.
When he reached out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, she closed her eyes softly, leaning into his touch as though she had been waiting for it.
"Elena," he whispered.
"You don't have to be the powerful one here," she murmured, her hand sliding into his, fingers lacing gently—like a velvet rope. "You can be soft with me."
And under the stars, wrapped in wine-sweet air, Alexander knew it was already too late.
He was hers.