They mop up the puddles splashed around the bath as best they can, hoping the water doesn't seep through to the room below. They take their time getting dressed, distracting each other with kisses and touches as they go, until the call for dinner comes and they have to hustle. Everyone is already outside, digging into the food laid out along the tables when Hero and John arrive, their hands entwined.

Antonio rises when he sees them, booming out a cheer, "Here they are, our harvest king and queen!"

The crowd applauds and Hero blushes, sure that everyone can tell what the two of them have been doing. As they settle at the table, she catches her cousin's gaze; Beatrice's mouth curves in a knowing smile, her hawk-like gaze darting from Hero to John and the marks hidden beneath his collar. She arches an eyebrow and bites the olives off her cocktail stick.

Hero's face heats, but her smile doesn't falter, glowing with happiness from all she has shared with John. Her insides lit with golden effervescence as her arm brushes his own, their bodies pressing together on the crowded bench, warmth radiating from him and curling in her stomach.

Across the table, her mother nudges her father. "Leo, pass the caponata to Hero and John." As the bowl is passed along, she addresses the latter. "What did you think of your first harvest?"

"Um…" his attention shifts between her and the mix of eggplants, tomatoes, olives, and other vegetables which he scoops onto his plate. "It was… wonderful… unforgettable. I'm glad I could be here for it."

Her mother smiles. "We are glad you could be as well. The first time is a special experience, but I hope all harvests will be as wonderful to you."

He stills. The tomato Hero is eating gets stuck in her throat and she coughs.

His hand flies to her back. "I… uh… look forward to it."

Hero swallows hard, feeling the tomato move painfully through to her stomach, where it sits like a lead weight.

"Is it tomorrow you leave us?" Her father inquires. "Now that the harvest is over, you must be eager to return to selling chocolates."

Hero's hand trembles as she reaches for her water cup, taking a sip.

"No," her mother protests, staring at John imploringly, "You can't consider leaving us so soon."

"I haven't… um…" he stumbles, glancing at Hero, "I… uh… don't have to leave right away."

Her father raises his eyebrows, "No? Your employer must be very generous to allow you all this time off from your responsibilities."

John's shoulders stiffen. "I have responsibilities… to my family."

Hero sucks in a breath, eyes darting to him. He is already looking back. Her heart squeezes.

"Besides," his mouth rises slyly, "I want to taste the wine I contributed to making."

Her father huffs. "Shows what you know. It will be months before that wine is ready. I assume," he arches an eyebrow, "You will have returned for a visit by then?"

John meets his stare, his face revealing nothing. "Of course."

Under the table, his fingers brush her own. She is unsure if it is deliberate or an accident.

"The harvest festival!" Her mother declares, clapping her hands together. "It will take place in three days' time. The whole community will be celebrating. You must come! We will be showcasing our wine from the last harvest."

John looks at Hero and she searches his face for an inclination of his thoughts. Is that a glimmer of wistfulness she spies in his gaze, a desire to stay, or is that her own longing reflected back at her.

Hope beats on feathered wings, a stammer in her voice. "I-It's a lot of f-fun. It would—would be a shame if y-you missed it."

His face shifts, his thigh pressing into hers. "Then I'll stay… for the festival."

She smiles, a catch in her breath. She feels the timeline extend before her, the golden sands shift. Until the festival, she has him until then. Only a handful of days, but all the more precious to have stolen a week from a night. She slips her hand into his and fumbles with her fork in her other. She doesn't want to waste another second not touching him.

If the last few nights had been merry, tonight's celebrations are even more raucous and it is just as well all their neighbours are here. There is still work to be done, but the hardest task is over. They feast and drink and laugh and cheer. The musicians gather their instruments and start to play, Baz among them on the piano. It is not long before people are dancing.

Hero leans into John, clapping along to the music. Beatrice plonks herself next to them, moving her hands around as she tells a tale that Hero has heard before but loves to listen to again. As she laughs, she feels John's own soft amusement reverberate through her. She is so warm, the stars shining above them. She never wants this night to end.

"Where does the name peach come from anyway?" John asks Beatrice.

Hero splutters around a slice of pistachio cake, pointing a sharp finger at her cousin. "Beatrice. Do NOT."

Beatrice's eyes gleam. "Well, when Hero was little…"

"Let's dance!" Hero snatches John's hands and pulls him amongst the dancers.

He grins at her, arms settling into position. "Now I'm even more curious."

Hero links her fingers behind his neck. "Too bad."

He chuckles, hand splaying across her waist, drawing her in. It wouldn't matter if he stood on her toes, as long as he kept holding her like this, their bodies pressed together. But, while John is no Fred Astaire, he proves a capable dancer, leading her without misstep, making her gasp in delight when he spins her out and then back into his arms.

The song turns slow and then it is just Baz on the piano, crooning out As Time Goes By.

"Your cousin has talent," John remarks.

Hero glances across at Baz, pride knotting with trepidation in her stomach. "He is… very talented… and stubborn. He can be very determined when he chooses to be."

"He'll need that fortitude if he wants a career in music."

She sighs, leaning her head on his shoulder. "I know it's his choice but… I worry about him."

"Of course you do. You love your family." She looks up. His smile is small but it illuminates his eyes. "Baz will be fine whatever he decides because he will have you looking out for him."

Hero has doubts about what her own future holds, but she won't let those fears ruin this moment. She hides her face in his collar, breathing in his musk. His thumb caresses her back.

"It's still the same old story, a fight for love and glory, a case of do or die."

The couples around them fade into the background, the music coils around them, and it is just the two of them swaying in the torchlight.

"The world will always welcome lovers, as time goes by."

Hero and John collapse into the bed, trading kisses. The day has been long and they are too exhausted for anything more than this gentle meeting of lips and fumbling of hands beneath the covers, their touches sweet and tender. No one has kissed her with such reverence before. At the back of her mind a voice whispers this can't last, this can't last, but she blocks it out and clutches on to John. He is here, right now, and she will make the most of whatever time they have left.

:-x-:

In the morning, their energies are renewed, and John stretches over Hero as she arches into his kiss, pawing at his bare shoulders and nipping at his lips like a playful kitten. His fingers pump between her thighs, glistening slick easing his entrance as he sinks his cock inside her, and Christ he could live here, her velvet heat all around him, welcoming him in. Her soft mews dizzying.

The cover slips down as he thrusts into her, again and again. He becomes conscious of his naked ass exposed to the air, bending his head to suck on her throat. "Your dolls are judging me."

She laughs — and he almost loses his head right there, feeling the vibrations around him. "They are enjoying the view." She drags a finger around his nipple. "I've never had a man in here before."

Pleasure jolts through him at the idea that he is the first to have her here in her girlhood bedroom. But even as her wet heat clenches around him and his blood turns to magma, he is conscious of all those glass eyes upon him and his movements stutter.

Hero's hands smooth over his abdomen. "Would it help if we switched positions?"

"Uh…"

Her smile is bright with understanding. Her knees bracket his hips, then the world tilts and he is on his back, gazing up at Hero. Her eyes flutter shut, mouth opening in an oh as the sudden change in position jostles him deeper inside her.

Her eyes snap open, pupils swallowing the green. She looks almost surprised to see him beneath her, perfect features staring wonderstruck. Then she flashes a coquettish smile and shifts forward.

He groans, propelled deeper inside her still.

Her fingers trace along his cheekbones. "Can you blame them for staring… looking as you do?"

His pulse stammers like a broken piano. He has been admired before, he is not oblivious to how he looks. Drill sergeants spat the word pretty at him, while women simpered over his handsomeness. But there is something different about Hero's attention. His breath catches in his lungs as her finger runs over his Adam's apple. He wants her approval, craves it.

She doesn't say anything more but grinds down on him drawing out a strangled moan. His hands clamp around her thighs, rising into her downward thrusts. Her breasts bounce above him. She makes such a beautiful sight as she fucks herself upon him. Her gasps become cries and he spares a thought to the occupants of the rooms next-door, the bedposts thumping against the wall, but it is dashed aside with the roll of her hips and there is nothing, nothing, but Hero, Hero, HERO—!

Afterwards, as they lie entangled, basking in the glow of each other, the words slip forth unaware from his bliss-addled brain. "I don't know how he had you... and let you go."

Hero's breathing stops.

She leaps out of bed. "We must get ready for breakfast. They will be wondering where we are."

His cum dribbles down her thighs but she doesn't notice, rushing around the room like a hurricane. Any complaints at the abrupt bereavement are swallowed as she bends over, showing off her perfect backside as she rummages through the dresser drawers. John's never been a morning person, but if all his days started like this, he would wake-up early just to have more time with her.

:-x-:

"Good morning," Hero chirps as they enter the dining room. Most of the family are already gathered for breakfast and she flits around the table bestowing a kiss on each of their cheeks. "Good morning, Mamma. Good morning, Aunt. Where is Uncle?"

"Still sleeping off last night's celebrations," is Ursula's amused response. "The same as our son."

Hero skips over to her father, wrapping her arms around him and pecking him on the cheek, "Good morning, Papà."

Leonato struggles to keep his composure, but it is evident to all how he melts under her embrace. "What has my daughter in such cheerful spirits this morning?"

"I wonder," Beatrice mutters, clutching her coffee cup and fixing John with a keen glance. Her appearance is haggard, her hair fizzing around her head in an unkempt halo.

John remembers that her bedroom is neighbour to theirs. His hand tightens around his napkin but he doesn't drop her gaze. Her mouth ticks up and she shoves the coffee pot towards him.

"Oh, I'm happy the harvest went so well," Hero answers her father, gliding around the table to John's side. "And it is looking to be such a beautiful day, perhaps we could go for a picnic on the hillside?"

The others sound their affirmation but Leonato interrupts. "Not today, there is far too much work to be done preparing the wine." Innogen clears her throat and he glances at his wife. "Uh… tomorrow though."

Hero beams. "That would be wonderful."

The conversation moves on, the atmosphere relaxed and pleasant. John knocks his knee against Hero's, winning a smile from her as she bites into a slice of toast.

"Antonio has always been a snorer but it's worse when he indulges in the wine," Ursula says, "Last night, he was so loud, I had to move to one of the guest bedrooms."

Beatrice gives a sympathetic hum, "It is annoying when other people disturb your sleep."

Neither John nor Hero acknowledges her glance in their direction. Baz stumbles in, pulling on his suspenders and asking for the coffee as soon as he is sat at the table.

"Hey," John leans across to him, "I was impressed by your performance last night."

It takes a moment for Baz's sleep-clogged brain to register the compliment, but when it does it is like a lightbulb turning on, eyes shining as he grins. "Thank you."

"He's always been talented. Ever since he was a little boy," Ursula says, gushing about the various performances and recitals over the years with a mother's pride while her son stammers and blushes.

Beatrice and Hero chime in with their own stories, teasing their younger cousin.

"Beatrice and Balthasar always fought for the spotlight," Innogen murmurs to John, "Poor Hero was so shy, she was always overshadowed."

He gazes at Hero, her soft curls rippling, holding her own amongst her cousins, and wonders how anyone could fail to notice her. Innogen smiles as if the thought has shown on his face and he hides behind his coffee mug.

Leonato stands. "John?"

A hush falls over the table. John tenses. Until that moment he had not realised how relaxed he had become. "Sir?"

"If you are not busy today, would you join the other vintners and I for the wine-making?"

From the quiet inhales around the room, John is not the only one shocked by this proposal. Hero squeezes his thigh.

"Um… yes… if I wouldn't be in your way. I… uh… I don't know anything about wine-making."

"I know. But you've proven to be a fast learner." Leonato's manner is matter-of-fact, his face impassive, showing no hostility. "It could be useful, if your current employer runs out of patience."

:-x-:

After breakfast, Leonato leads John out to the big barn, giving him a tour of the giant metal vats and various equipment, explaining the fermentation process while the other vintners monitor dials and stir the wine.

"You would think now is the easy part, but we must add the yeast then keep watch of the wine to ensure the fermentation takes place as it should. The grape skins will rise to the surface and we must push them back down to mingle with the juices and enfuse the flavour. The slightest change in temperature can have a significant impact on the taste."

John listens, choosing his questions carefully so that he appears engaged without seeming stupid. "Is this the volume you would usually expect?"

"We were unable to save all the grapes from the frost, but we preserved most of them and have been blessed with a bountiful harvest."

As they walk around, he spies Claudio amongst the vintners, scowling at him. John cocks his head, holding his stare until the other man drops it. Leonato leads John up a set of stairs, onto a wooden platform where they are able to survey the entire barn including the men on their ladders tending to the vats.

"Our family has been in the wine-making business for centuries, all the way back to Sicily. It is our whole history, it is in our very life's blood." He fixes John with a hard, assessing stare. "You may have married my daughter, but don't think that makes this yours."

John had anticipated some sort of confrontation and is not rattled by it. "Do you know your daughter?"

Leonato bristles, at the question. "Of course I know my daughter. I—"

"Then how can you believe the only reason I would marry her is for her inheritance?" The question stuns Leonato, his mouth clamping shut, and John seizes the chance to push on. "Don't you see how amazing she is? How alive? She is kind and strong and clever and deserves all the love this world can give. Can't you see that? How wonderful, how special she is?"

"Of course I see — You see this," Leonato gestures to the vats and then the vine rows through the window, "This is three-hundred and sixty-five days a year. Who do you think I do this for? For her! For them! All of them! I love my family!"

At his outburst, some of the workers glance up in their direction. Noticing their stares, Leonato purses his lips, turning his back to the railing.

"You should let them know it," John replies. Leonato glares at him, opening his mouth to retort, but John stops him before he can. "She is afraid of you."

The words land like a blow and Leonato reels. "What?"

"She was scared to come home. He is going to kill me, those were her words."

Leonato's face crumples and he turns to the window, his shoulders sagging as he leans on the sill. "I would never… I would never hurt her."

John doesn't point out that he already has. Observing how old and worn the other man looks, he decides it is best to take his leave.

"Thank you for the tour." He moves to the stairs.

"Do you think…" Leonato's voice croaks, "You are any more worthy of her?"

John pauses, looking back at him. "I know I'm not."

He hastens down the stairs before the other man can respond, hustling through the barn. Outside, he inhales the fresh air, unpolluted by the scent of wine, and walks from the building.

"Hey," someone shouts. "Hey, I want to talk to you!"

He keeps walking.

"HEY! JOHN SUTTON!"

He stops and turns, bracing for another fight. Claudio marches up to him, a scowl marring his face.

"It's Cliff, isn't it?"

Claudio falters, gawping like a fish for ten seconds before he recovers. "It's Claudio."

"Hm."

"I was named after my grandfather, who in turn was named after his grandfather. I come from a proud line of Claudio's."

God, there's more of them?.

"You see, for generations my family has worked this vineyard in partnership with the Messina's."

"Good for you." John turns to leave.

Claudio lurches after him. "You may have charmed your way into the family but we both know you don't belong here. You can never be the husband Hero deserves."

"And that's you is it?" John rounds on him, stepping into his space. "A man with his head so far up his own ass he never appreciated her until she was someone else's wife?"

Claudio's face flares red as a rash. "At least I love her for who she is and not her family's money."

"Everyone's quick to accuse me of being a gold-digger as if she is not worth more than the whole of this estate!"

Claudio's lips twist in a mocking sneer. "But it's nice to have, isn't it?"

John sucks the air in through his teeth. His shoulders tremble, blood boiling with the urge to throttle the smug ass. Then, he exhales, unclenching his fists, his stance slackening. It surprises Claudio, who had been readying for a fight.

John regards him, contempt burning like acid on his tongue. "You seem to think so."

He stalks from the other man before he can retaliate, putting power into his long strides — not running away, but wanting to gain some distance between them, lest the adrenaline pounding through his veins propel him back to strike the other man. He feels eyes on him as he goes, no doubt his and Claudio's exchange had attracted an audience, but he doesn't care what tales are spread. He is seething and he needs to clear his head before he interacts with another person. He turns off the path to the house, instead cutting through the rows, stripped of their fruits. He treks on through the vineyard, into the outskirts where everything is wilder, and climbs the slope, up and up and up, until he reaches the stone monument where the first root thrives.

He sits down on the grass and gazes out at the picturesque valley of Le Nuvole. Pillows of white clouds float on through the blue sky and his fingers twitch to brush one. It is the perfect setting, a slice of Heaven.

"...we both know you don't belong here…"

He inhales, fingers digging into the dirt.

"...you can never be the husband Hero deserves…"

He expels the breath. It doesn't matter. He is not Hero's husband and he is not staying.

Once more his fists unclench, fingers grazing the petals of a daisy. All around the hillside wildflowers grow. There is nothing like this in the city, nowhere this green. He considers the simple bud on its fine steam, fragile but persevering, holding its head to the sun. He lifts his own, feeling the warm rays upon his face.

His eyes fall again on the prized shrub, the root of all this splendour. Someone built this vineyard, found an unused stretch of land and planted a root far from its native soils, toiled and persisted until it flourished into this paradise. Le Nuvole may look like a fairytale but it was once just a dream someone made true.

When he was at war and the world was burning, John never imagined he would live to see somewhere this beautiful and abundant with life. But here he is… and all because of a chance encounter on a train.

He strokes the daisy stem, delicate but resilient.

He is giving too much weight to the words of an asshole. Hero is the only person here whose opinion he gives a damn about and if she will have him for a few more days then it is enough.

He lets go of the daisy. It is enough.