When Jaskier woke early the next morning, it took him a few seconds to remember where he was. Curled up in his childhood bed with the sunlight pouring through the glass balcony door and—Jaskier choked—a strong, muscular arm wrapped snugly around his waist. Jaskier lay frozen, afraid to move as he realised that Geralt—his boss, for gods' sake—had cuddled into him at some point during the night. He could feel the warm puffs of Geralt's breaths tickle the back of his neck while stray white hairs tickled his nose and cheek. Just when he thought that his morning couldn't get any worse, Geralt sighed and shifted, pressing his hips against Jaskier's rear and—

"No," he whimpered to himself as he felt the familiar ache between his legs begin to grow. Never mind going to jail for fraud; if Geralt woke up like this, Jaskier dared not think how he'd react if he saw that. Damn his manhood for betraying him at the worst possible time. Suddenly, there was a loud knock at the door and Geralt stirred.

"Jaskier, answer the phone," he mumbled, still half-asleep, releasing his grip on Jaskier and turning over. Taking his chance, Jaskier slipped out of bed and headed towards the door, paused, then hurried over to the corner of the room to retrieve his grandmother's patchwork quilt before tossing it over the bed again. Geralt blinked sleepily as someone knocked on the door again and this time, they heard Jaskier's mother call out to them.

"Rise and shine, sleepy heads!" her muffled voice cried. "I brought you breakfast!"

Geralt sat up suddenly and looked around the room in a confused panic before his shoulders sagged. "Fuck. I forgot I was here." Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he frowned when he caught sight of Jaskier and his tented boxers. "What the hell, Jaskier?"

"I'm sorry, it's the morning!" he hissed, pulling on a pair of jeans and tucking his erection into the waistband. "Don't tell me it doesn't happen to you, too."

"Are you decent?" his mother called. "Can I come in?"

"Just a second!" Jaskier cried, zipping up his jeans and padding over to the bedroom door. Pulling open the door, he was greeted with his mother, beaming at him, holding a large tray with a continental breakfast. "Morning, mum."

"Good morning, love. Did you sleep well?" Mary breezed into the room before Jaskier could answer and beelined straight for Geralt's bedside. "Morning, Geralt! How are you feeling today? Well rested, I hope."

"Uh, yeah," Geralt replied thickly, pressing his back against the headboard and taking the proffered tray from Mary's hands. "Oh, you didn't have to do this…"

"I know, but I wanted to," she smiled. "Now, Jaskier told me what happened to your suitcase. We can't have you walking around with just the clothes on your back, so Grammy and I are taking you on a shopping trip after breakfast. Our treat."

Geralt shook his head. "There's really no need…"

"I know, but I want to," she stressed. She pressed a quick kiss to Jaskier's cheek and strode out of the room. "Grammy and I will be waiting downstairs for you when you're ready!"

When Jaskier closed the bedroom door behind her, Geralt mused, "I see where your inability to listen to anything that I have to say comes from."

"Be nice," Jaskier chided, grabbing the cup of hot chocolate from the tray. "And she has a point: you can't wear one set of clothes the entire time you're here—unless you'd like to borrow some of mine?"

"I doubt they'd fit me."

Tossing off the bedcovers he rose to his feet, stretched and yawned. The taut muscles on his broad, pale shoulders twisted as he stretched, cracking his joints in the process. Jaskier caught himself staring and quickly turned away before Geralt noticed. "You want to grab a shower first?"

When Geralt closed the bathroom door behind him, Jaskier sat down on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands. Great. He hadn't even finished his breakfast and he'd already flashed his boner at Geralt. He hadn't lied when he blamed it on a natural bodily function that he had no control over, but it didn't help that Geralt, for all his faults, also happened to be a physical specimen of a man. It was like he was sculpted from marble, all bulging muscles with milky pale skin and big, powerful hands. Definitely Jaskier's type. Except for the fact that he was his boss. And he was an insufferable prick most of the time.

But not all of the time, as he had discovered to his surprise. Despite their bickering, Geralt had made last night's party bearable, even fun. Who'd have thought that his ruthless boss had a sense of humour? And when his father had pulled his usual stunt of trying to humiliate and undermine Jaskier in front of others, it felt good to have Geralt by his side. Geralt liked to act all stoic and unfeeling, especially in front of his subordinates. Jaskier supposed that it came with the territory; the publishing world was a cut-throat industry, and Geralt didn't earn the moniker Butcher of Blaviken by playing it kind or fair. You looked at Geralt Haute-Bellegarde and the last word that came to mind was vulnerable, yet glimmers of vulnerability had shone through yesterday.

The sound of the shower being switched off pulled Jaskier from his daydream and a moment later, Geralt re-entered the room with just a fluffy white towel slung low across his waist. His body was still damp, little beads of water glistening on his skin, flushed from the hot shower. Geralt ran his fingers through his damp hair, pushing it out of his face. "Bathroom's free."

Jaskier caught himself staring again, only this time he was pretty sure by the amused smile on Geralt's face he had noticed him doing it. Jaskier hurried past Geralt, his ears hot with embarrassment and something else that he'd rather not verbalise. Perhaps this holiday was going to be more challenging than he thought. When Jaskier re-entered the bedroom after a much-needed cold shower, Geralt was dressed in his handsome charcoal suit again and was draining the cup of coffee his mother had made for him.

"There isn't any way that I can talk your mother out of this shopping trip, is there?" he asked, placing the empty cup back onto the tray.

"Nope. It'll be easier just to roll with it," Jaskier advised. "My mum and grammy are just using this as an excuse to get to know you better."

"I figured as much."

"Well, see it as an opportunity to learn about my family. It'll all come in handy during the interview."

Geralt sighed and pulled on his suit jacket. "Fair point."

"Just...try to be nice. Please?" asked Jaskier. Geralt drew him an incredulous look.

"I can be nice when I want to be, you know," he replied testily.

"Fine. Prove it."

Geralt's eyes narrowed at the challenge. "You know what? I'm going to charm them so much that they'll be begging me to marry you."

Jaskier laughed as Geralt strode from the room like a man on a mission. His mother might be a soft touch but his grandmother, however sweet and innocent she appeared to be, didn't suffer fools gladly. After wishing his mother and grandmother a fun day shopping, Jaskier and his father stood on the pier and waved them off as they boarded the boat and sailed for the shore with a slightly less confident-looking Geralt in tow.

"Your boyfriend doesn't seem keen on the water," Albert mused. "I guess we won't be taking him out on any sailing trips any time soon."

"I suppose not," Jaskier agreed. Not that they planned to do any such thing after they headed back to Tretogor. "You made quite the first impression on him yesterday, father. Really welcoming."

"Well, how was I supposed to react? You show up here after all this time with a man you said that you hated, and now he's your boyfriend?"

"I know what I said before but...look, we just got here and you won't even give him a chance," Jaskier argued. "Why don't you try getting to know him first before writing him off?"

"I just never figured you the type of man who slept his way to the middle," Albert sneered.

Albert's words struck Jaskier in the gut as hard as a fist would have. But he kept his composure and said as evenly as possible, "Whatever you may think of me, I'll have you know that Geralt is one of the most respected editors in our industry—"

"He's your meal ticket," Albert retorted. "And you brought him home to meet your mother."

"No, he's not my meal ticket, Dad," Jaskier shot back. "He's my fiance."

Albert blinked. "What did you say?"

"You heard me," said Jaskier, stomping past him. "I'm getting married."

"How are you getting on, Geralt?" Mary called.

"I'm fine!"

Geralt looked at himself in the mirror and shook his head. When he had grudgingly agreed to go on this shopping trip, he thought that he would be the one picking his own clothes. But Mary and Grammy had hemmed and hawed at everything he had suggested.

"Well, it looks nice," Mary would say cautiously. "But wouldn't you prefer something a bit...brighter, perhaps?"

"Black's the only colour I wear," Geralt had informed them.

"Well, that may be, but you look like you're going to a funeral," said Grammy before thrusting a new outfit for him to try into his hands.

So here he was, looking at his reflection in the changing room mirror and a stranger glared back at him. Donning an alpaca wool crew neck jumper with soft cotton slacks and a pair of tan brogues, he looked like one of those blokes from menswear catalogues. Grammy's head popped through the curtain and she smiled.

"Oh my, you look so handsome!" she gushed.

Geralt wasn't so sure. "I suppose it looks okay. They don't have the same thing in black, do they?"

"No." Grammy replied shortly, snatching the tags from the jumper's sleeve and trouser's waistband. "I'll go pay for these just now. You can wear them out of the shop!"

Before Geralt could protest, Grammy was gone. To make matters worse, the two women had insisted on paying for everything themselves. They kept calling it 'their treat' and despite Geralt's protestations, come the end of the day they had purchased him a brand new wardrobe. Geralt wasn't used to being fussed over like this. Yes, he had Jaskier at his beck and call, but he was paid to do it. Mary and Grammy had no good reason to go to such trouble for him other than they were nice. But as embarrassing as it was to have the Pankratz women shower him with kindness, deep down, he was rather enjoying it. He couldn't recall his own mother doing any such thing for him. Certainly not his Uncle Vesemir, who was a good man but not necessarily the most affectionate person. If he'd been fortunate enough to have a family like this, he'd never have left home. Which made it all the more curious that Jaskier had.

When they finally returned to the island early in the evening, Jaskier was waiting for them on the pier. Geralt could tell by the sour expression on Jaskier's face that his day hadn't been anywhere near as enjoyable as his own. As they docked the boat and disembarked, Jaskier helped Geralt onto the pier before pulling him close and whispering in his ear.

"My dad knows that we're engaged."

Geralt's eyes widened with shock. "What? I thought we'd agreed to tell them together!"

"I know, I'm sorry," he grumbled. "We'll need to tell my mum and grammy now before he does."

"Right now?" Geralt hissed. "I've barely stepped foot on dry land, for fuck's sake!"

"What are you two whispering about?" asked Grammy, still passing shopping bags out of the boat to Mary on the pier. Jaskier sighed, took Geralt's hand in his own and turned to face his mother and grandmother.

"Geralt and I have an important announcement to make…"

Mary gasped and dropped the shopping bags. "Oh my gods, you're getting married, aren't you?"

Jaskier blinked and stammered, "Umm...yes, actually. How did you know?"

"I knew it!" cried Grammy, punching the air. "Praise be to Kreve. Didn't I tell you, Mary? You owe me ten Crowns."

"Oh, I'm so happy for both of you," Mary wept, pulling both men into an awkward three-way hug. Grammy clambered off of the boat as quickly as she could and joined the embrace, throwing her arms around Geralt from behind.

"I just knew there was something else going on," said Grammy excitedly, squeezing Geralt as hard as she could. "Jaskier never brings anybody home unless they're important. Gods, the last person he brought back here was Pris and that was years ago!"

"Grammy…" Jaskier groaned, sounding embarrassed.

If Geralt wasn't accustomed to human contact, he certainly wasn't used to having small and surprisingly strong elderly women hug him from the rear. He was relieved when Grammy finally released him from her vice-like grip and patted him on the back.

"Congratulations to you both. Oh, I'm so excited! We haven't had a wedding in a few years. I'll go grab the champagne."

As Grammy hurried back towards the house muttering to herself about all of the wedding preparations, Mary pulled back and wiped tears from her eyes. "This is such wonderful news. Wait 'til we tell your father. He's going to be so happy!"

Mary grabbed a couple of the shopping bags and followed Grammy back towards the house with a definite spring in her step. Geralt waited until she was well out of earshot before turning back to Jaskier.

"What now?"

Jaskier gave an unenthusiastic shrug. "Champagne, I suppose."

What was supposed to be an amicable celebratory dinner with Jaskier's family was made incredibly awkward by Albert's angry side glances in the direction of the 'happy couple' as they ate their meals. What made it even worse was Grammy and Mary's probing questions for Geralt and Jaskier about how they came to be engaged. With each question, Jaskier looked increasingly uncomfortable, shifting in his seat and moving his food about the plate without eating any of it.

"Why don't you have engagement rings?" asked Grammy curiously.

Geralt glanced at Jaskier for an explanation and he shrugged in response. "It was a spur of the moment decision. We haven't gotten around to getting them yet."

Mary and Grammy shared a silent look between themselves before Mary asked, "Well, you'll have to tell us the story."

"What story?"

"How you got engaged!" she cried. "Who proposed to who?"

"How a man proposes says a lot about his character," Grammy declared.

"There's not much to say," Jaskier replied testily. "I asked him to marry me. He said yes. That's about it."

Mary and Grammy looked crestfallen at this paltry description. Geralt felt a stab of annoyance at Jaskier's behaviour. Sure, the relationship was fake, but he could at least take his own advice and make an effort to pretend that it was real. Geralt cleared his throat to get everyone's attention.

"It wasn't quite that simple, buttercup," he argued, smiling at an irritable Jaskier. "It was actually very romantic." Mary and Grammy perked up at those words, so Geralt continued. "We were celebrating our first anniversary together…"

"Ooh," said Grammy and Mary in unison.

"...And I knew that he'd been dying to ask me to marry him, but for some reason, his courage always seemed to fail him. Don't ask me why, I would have said yes in a heartbeat. Maybe he thought that he wasn't good enough for me. Maybe he thought I'd turn him down," Jaskier gave him a warning look but Geralt pressed on. "But on the night of our anniversary, after he'd cooked me a romantic candlelit dinner, he got down on his knees—"

"One knee," Jaskier quickly corrected him.

"—and he sang the most beautiful song to me."

"He didn't!" breathed Grammy, clutching her handkerchief to her chest.

"He did," grinned Geralt. For added effect, he placed his hand over Jaskier's clenched fist. "Of course, I said yes."

"Sing it to us, Jaskier," Mary pleaded. "I'd love to hear it."

"No," he replied quickly. "Absolutely not."

"Oh, go on," Grammy pressed. "Sing it for me."

"Urgh. Maybe later…"

"What if I'm dead later?" she pouted. "I'm very old, you know!"

"I don't even have a guitar!" he argued desperately.

"You played the guitar?" she exclaimed.

"I never knew that you were such a romantic," Mary gushed.

Albert rolled his eyes, tossed his napkin onto the dining room table and rose to his feet. "If you will excuse me, I think I've heard quite enough."

Mary's head snapped towards her husband and she frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Albert drew her an incredulous look. "For the last three years, we've heard nothing but how awful this man is from our son. But now we're expected to ignore all of that and welcome him into the family with open arms? No offence."

"None taken," Geralt grumbled.

"Albert," Grammy hissed. "Mind your manners. We're in the middle of our dinner, for pity's sake!"

"You know what? I think I've had my fill of wedding talk too," said Jaskier loudly, pushing his dinner plate away. "I'm feeling tired, I think I'm just going to head to bed. Goodnight."

"But you haven't sang the song yet!" cried Grammy.

"I'll sing it later!" he snapped, already marching away from the dinner table.

"Julian, come back!" Mary threw her own napkin onto the dinner table in anger.

"Now you've done it. Honestly, when are you going to learn to keep that big gob of yours shut?"

"I'm just telling it like it is!" Albert argued.

"Well, I'd rather you didn't!" she spat back. "We'll be lucky if he doesn't pack his bags and leave after the way you've treated him and Geralt!"

As the argument between Albert and Mary erupted, Grammy leaned over to Geralt and whispered in his ear, "It's probably a good time for you to leave."

"I think you're right," he nodded. Albert and Mary continued to bellow across the table at one another, having seemingly forgotten that they had an audience.

"You better go check on Jay," Grammy suggested patting him on the forearm. "He'll be wanting to see you."

Geralt very much doubted that. He slipped out of the dining room as the argument got into full swing and Grammy drained the last of her champagne from her glass. Clearly, it didn't matter how much money or power you had at your disposal, the super rich were just as prone to quarrelling as everyone else. Heading towards their bedroom, he knocked on the door before entering and was surprised to find the room empty. He stepped out onto the balcony, the cool night air raising goosebumps on his flesh, unsure of whether he should keep looking for Jaskier or just to wait here for him to come back in his own time. Just as he was about to head back into the warmth of the bedroom, he paused. Although the expansive gardens were shrouded in darkness, the unmistakable sound of a guitar was playing in the distance. He turned and squinted his eyes into the blackness and noticed a faint yellow light emitting from the old oak tree where the treehouse was hidden.

Ignoring the shouts of Albert and Mary echoing through the house, Geralt hurried out of the front door and down the sloping grass garden towards the treehouse hidden amongst the dense foliage. As he approached, the mournful sound of the guitar grew louder, and Geralt knew that he had found his faux fiance. He took his time climbing the rickety ladder, not entirely convinced that it could take his weight, but he made it to the top in one piece. Knocking on the wooden hatch, it creaked as he pushed it open.

"Go away," Jaskier called out in a sad voice. Instead of leaving, Geralt climbed inside the small treehouse. There was barely enough room for him to fit through the hatch, and when he got to his feet he had to stoop low or else the top of his head would scrape across the ceiling. Jaskier sat in the corner of the room atop a pile of battered cushions and blankets with an acoustic guitar on his lap and a woeful expression on his face. "I told you to go away."

"You should know by now that I rarely listen to anything that you have to say," Geralt joked.

He sat down next to Jaskier in the cramped little hideaway and since Jaskier didn't protest, he took a moment to take in his new surroundings. While the space was small, it bore all of the hallmarks that this was Jaskier's sanctuary: a flimsy, battered bookcase had been pushed against the opposite wall and was stuffed full of well-read, dog-eared books. The bare walls were covered in faded, weather-beaten posters of Le Papillon (Jaskier's favourite singer as a teenager, he presumed) and on a low shelf, he noticed that Jaskier had placed seashells, knick-knacks and a couple of empty beer bottles with dried flowers in them. Geralt turned to Jaskier, who avoided his gaze.

"I didn't know you played," he said, nodding to the guitar.

"You never asked," Jaskier replied shortly.

That was a fair point. "Do you sing?"

"What do you want, Geralt?" Jaskier sighed.

"I just came to say that I might have gotten a bit carried away with my storytelling."

"Is that your lame attempt at an apology?"

Geralt shrugged. "Kind of, yeah." Jaskier rolled his eyes and Geralt continued, "I'll admit, I was having a bit of fun making up the engagement story. But I didn't think it would turn into a full-blown argument between your parents."

"I know you didn't do it on purpose," said Jaskier quietly. "Don't worry about it. My parents...my dad...it's complicated."

Geralt had figured as much. "I get the impression that your dad isn't too keen on me."

Jaskier sighed and lowered his guitar. "Don't take it personally. He's like that with everyone."

"You most of all?" Geralt chanced. He took Jaskier's silence as a confirmation and asked, "So, what's the story with you and your dad?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Jaskier muttered.

"Well, you're the one that said that we needed to learn all of these things about each other," he argued.

"Not about this."

"But if Dijkstra asks about it—"

"I said no, Geralt," Jaskier snapped.

Geralt wondered if it was better just to give Jaskier space to cool off, but then Grammy had asked him to check up on him, and he didn't much fancy returning to the house and risk walking into the middle of Mary and Albert fighting. And as much as he loathed to admit it, he hated seeing Jaskier look so miserable.

"My first ever gig was Valdo Marx," he began. "I was fifteen. I drank too much mead and my Uncle Vesemir had to come pick me up before the end of the show. It was one of the most embarrassing moments of my life."

Jaskier raised his eyebrows in surprise but said nothing, so Geralt continued. "I'm fluent in Troll, although I rarely have occasion to use it. I like to meditate because it helps me relax when I'm angry or frustrated, especially with work." Geralt wracked his brain for other facts about himself to share. "I like horses, but I've never had the chance to ride one. I hate the rain. And although I was born in Rivia, I was actually raised in Kaedwen with my uncle."

Jaskier frowned. "What's the Rivian accent all about, then?"

"Sounds more respectable and trustworthy in my line of work," he admitted with a sad smile.

"Sadly, that makes a lot of sense." Jaskier looked expectantly at Geralt. "What else?"

"I don't like flowers because they remind me of funerals. I've never played a video game," Geralt blushed as he admitted, "I haven't slept with anyone in over a year. And it pissed me off when Emmerich said that I would die alone because he was probably right."

Jaskier opened his mouth to speak, but there was one more thing that Geralt had to—wanted to—tell him. "And the tattoo, I got it when I was sixteen...after my uncle died. My mother left me in his care when I was very young. I don't know who my father is." Geralt cleared his throat and said as casually as possible, "Anyway, that's all that I can think of right now. I'm sure more will come to mind in the next few days."

Jaskier looked at him with a curious expression. "You really haven't slept with anyone in over a year?"

Geralt glared at him. "That's all that you took away from that conversation? Out of everything else that I told you? Bloody typical."

"That's a long time," Jaskier teased.

"Yeah, well I've been busy," he replied defensively. Jaskier raised his hands in mock surrender.

"Don't take it the wrong way, I'm just surprised. Because you're...you know...not ugly."

Geralt snorted and shook his head in disbelief. "Wow. Thanks. Well, I suppose you're not too bad-looking yourself."

A mischievous grin spread across Jaskier's face. "You think that I'm handsome?"

"Don't put words in my mouth," Geralt warned.

Jaskier chuckled and strummed his guitar a couple of times, and Geralt couldn't help but feel relieved to see him smiling again. It struck him then that Jaskier had quite a lovely smile. He smiled with more than his mouth though. Geralt could see the happiness written across his face; it came from deep within his eyes, which were a deep earthy brown like soil after a torrential rain. He hated the rain. But he liked Jaskier's eyes. More than was strictly professional, he realised.

Jaskier began to pluck the strings, playing a tune that Geralt knew very well and his eyes widened with surprise. "You know how to play Valdo Marx?"

"He's an atrocious singer, if you ask me," said Jaskier lightly. "But I do happen to know a few of his songs, yes."

Geralt enjoyed listening to Jaskier play music to him. He also, to his surprise, enjoyed talking to Jaskier: about himself, about Jaskier, about anything. They had spent almost every day of the last three years in each other's company, and he had learned nothing of note about his assistant. But in one evening, Geralt learned quite a lot about Julian Alfred Pankratz, and the more he learned, the more he began to realise what he had been missing out on for the longest time. They sat there in the treehouse until the sky transformed from an inky black to pale gold and pink. With the dawning of a new day breaking, Jaskier yawned and rubbed his tired eyes.

"I suppose we ought to head to bed," he said sleepily before giving Geralt a small smile. "Thank you. For sitting with me. And talking."

Jaskier was looking at Geralt with an expression that he couldn't immediately identify, and despite the cold air, it made his skin prickle with heat. It was only then that Geralt realised how close he and Jaskier were to one another, shoulder to shoulder, their faces inches apart. Jaskier didn't move closer, but he didn't pull away either. He seemed to be waiting for Geralt to do something...and it was then that Geralt realised that he hadn't replied to Jaskier, that he'd just been sitting staring at him. Coming back to his senses, he shook his head clear and mumbled 'No problem' before turning away. Clearly, exhaustion was playing with his mind and his emotions. Or maybe it was this island? And this family.