The streets of Matera were quieter than James expected, save for the faint hum of a vespa passing in the distance. In the soft light of early evening, the honeyed stone walls of the ancient town seemed to glow, the shadows of their past life chasing them around every corner. It felt right to be here, with her. A honeymoon. It was an absurd notion for a man like him, but James was learning to let the absurdities of normal life seep into his blood.

He glanced sideways at Madeleine as they walked hand in hand, her golden hair catching the last threads of sunlight. Her laugh came easily today, a low, melodic sound that felt like an answer to a question he hadn't realized he'd been asking for years.

"Do you think you'll ever relax enough to stop looking over your shoulder?" she teased, squeezing his hand lightly.

"Probably not," he admitted with a faint smirk. His free hand was stuffed in his trouser pocket, resting on the comforting weight of the PPK he never left behind. Old habits.

"It's beautiful here," Madeleine said, turning her head to take in the view. Her profile caught in the golden hour light was breathtaking—so much so that James almost missed her next words. "Peaceful, don't you think?"

James didn't answer right away. Peaceful wasn't something he'd ever been good at. Even now, there was a twinge of unease crawling up his spine. Maybe it was the stillness. He'd seen too much of the world's violence to trust a silence this pure. He let out a breath and forced himself to focus on her again.

"I think you're beautiful," he said finally, his voice softer than he'd intended.

Madeleine stopped mid-step and turned to face him fully. A hint of surprise flickered in her blue eyes, but then her smile widened. "Flatterer," she murmured, leaning up to brush a kiss against his mouth.

James let himself sink into the kiss, the warmth of her lips grounding him in a way nothing else ever had.

They continued their walk through the winding streets, eventually ending up on a stone terrace that overlooked the valley. Dinner was waiting for them back at the villa they'd rented, but neither of them were in a hurry to return.

"Have you ever thought about what you'd do if this was your life?" Madeleine asked suddenly, breaking the companionable silence.

James frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"

"This. A quiet life. No guns, no running, no enemies hiding in the shadows. Just us." Her tone was light, but he could hear the undercurrent of something deeper, more vulnerable.

"I'm not sure I'd know how," James admitted after a pause. "But if I could have it with you…" He trailed off, the thought too foreign, too fragile to say aloud.

Madeleine rested her head against his shoulder. For a moment, they just stood there, watching the sun dip below the hills.

"You deserve it, you know," she said quietly. "A life that's more than the things you've had to do."

He didn't answer. He wasn't sure he believed her. Madeleine's fingers intertwined with his, pulling him back to the present. She squeezed his hand gently, as if to anchor him in this moment, in this life they were trying to carve out for themselves. James tightened his grip in response, but his gaze drifted to the horizon. The sunset was magnificent, but even that brilliance wasn't enough to dull the sharp edges of his memories.

The past never truly stayed buried. He had learned that the hard way.

"I wonder if you even know what you deserve," Madeleine said softly, her voice tinged with something he couldn't quite place—sadness? Hope? Perhaps both.

He glanced at her, intending to brush off the comment with his usual cynicism, but the way she was looking at him stopped him short. There was no judgment in her gaze, only an unflinching tenderness that made him feel as though she could see straight through him, past every lie he'd ever told himself.

"It's not that simple," he said finally, his voice low.

"Maybe not. But it doesn't have to be complicated either," she replied, stepping closer until there was barely a breath of space between them. "You're not the man you were, James. You can choose to leave that behind."

"And what if it doesn't leave me behind?" His tone was sharper than he'd intended, the words slipping out before he could stop them. He felt her flinch, just barely, and immediately regretted it. "Madeleine…"

"I know," she said quickly, cutting him off. She smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "I know it's not easy for you."

He exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing just enough for him to pull her into his arms. Her body fit against his perfectly, as if she'd always been meant to be there. He kissed the top of her head, breathing in the faint scent of lavender and something uniquely hers.

"I'm trying," he murmured, the admission rough in his throat.

"I know you are," she said again, her voice muffled against his chest.

For a long moment, they stood there in silence, the world around them fading into the background. James tried to hold onto the feeling of her in his arms, the way her heartbeat seemed to steady his own. But a part of him couldn't help wondering how long this peace would last.

The villa they'd rented was perched on the outskirts of Matera, its stone façade blending seamlessly with the rugged landscape. It was beautiful in its simplicity—just a small kitchen, a bedroom with white linen curtains that fluttered in the evening breeze, and a terrace overlooking the valley.

When they returned, the scent of rosemary and lemon still lingered in the air from the dinner Madeleine had prepared earlier. James had offered to cook, but she'd waved him off with a smile and a reminder that it was supposed to be a honeymoon, not a mission.

As Madeleine moved through the villa, tidying up and humming softly under her breath, James found himself standing on the terrace once again, nursing a second glass of whisky. The night had fully settled in now, the stars scattered across the sky like shards of broken glass. The quiet was almost unnerving.

He leaned against the railing, his gaze fixed on the darkness below. He didn't hear Madeleine approach until her arms slipped around his waist, her cheek resting against his back.

"You always find your way out here," she said, her voice warm with amusement.

"Habit," he replied, setting the glass down on the stone ledge.

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

James turned in her embrace, his hands settling on her hips. "It is." But he wasn't looking at the view.

She caught the shift in his tone, her lips curving into a faint smile. "You're staring, Mr. Bond."

"Am I?"

"You are," she said, but her voice softened as she reached up to trace her fingers along the line of his jaw. "Not that I'm complaining."

James leaned down, capturing her lips in a kiss that started slow but deepened with every passing second. The warmth of her mouth, the way her hands slid up to tangle in his hair—it was intoxicating. For the first time in a long time, he let himself forget everything but the feel of her.

When they finally broke apart, her breath was uneven, her cheeks flushed. "You know," she said, her voice a little breathless, "I think you might be getting the hang of this whole 'honeymoon' thing."

James smirked, his hands tightening on her waist. "Practice makes perfect."

She laughed, and the sound was so light, so free, that James couldn't help but feel a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, they could make this work.

"Come inside," she said, tugging him gently toward the villa.

He followed without hesitation, letting her lead him back into the warmth of the small home they'd made theirs for these few fleeting days.

Inside the villa, the air felt warmer, more intimate, as if the stone walls themselves had absorbed the sun's heat and now radiated it back to them. Madeleine led him to the middle of the room before turning to face him, her hands resting lightly on his chest.

Her eyes lingered there for a moment, tracing the faint scars etched into his skin beneath the soft fabric of his shirt. Her fingertips brushed against the first button, and her gaze lifted to meet his. There was no rush in her movements, no urgency—just quiet intent.

James said nothing, his own hands resting at her waist as he let her work. The first button came undone, then the second. Each movement felt like a deliberate peeling away of his defenses, one layer at a time.

"You know," Madeleine murmured, her tone teasing but laced with affection, "I've seen you handle all kinds of dangerous situations, but you still look a little out of your depth right now."

He let out a low chuckle, the corner of his mouth lifting in a faint smirk. "I'm just trying not to get in the way of a professional at work."

She laughed softly, the sound vibrating between them as she undid the last button and pushed the shirt off his shoulders. It fell to the floor in a soft whisper, leaving him bare under her touch. Her hands smoothed over his chest, lingering on the places where old wounds had healed but never fully disappeared.

Her expression softened as she traced the jagged line of a scar near his ribs. "Does it still hurt?"

"Not anymore," he said, his voice low.

Her fingers paused for a moment, as if she were memorizing the feel of it, before she let them drift upward, settling at the base of his neck. Her thumbs brushed against his collarbone as she tilted her head, her lips curving into a small smile.

"You're beautiful," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

James blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity of her words. He wasn't sure he'd ever been described that way before—handsome, perhaps, or dangerous, but never this. And certainly never with such reverence.

He leaned down, closing the small distance between them, and kissed her. It wasn't slow this time—it was deeper, more insistent, his hands sliding up her back and pulling her flush against him. Madeleine responded in kind, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pressed herself closer.

The room around them seemed to fade away, leaving only the feel of her body against his, the warmth of her skin under his hands. Her dress was soft beneath his touch, but it was the barrier that he wanted gone.

His hands moved down to the small of her back, and with one fluid motion, he lifted her off the ground. She let out a soft gasp that turned into a laugh as her arms tightened around his neck.

"James—"

"Bedroom?" he asked, his voice a low rumble as he carried her toward the open doorway.

She nodded, her cheeks flushed, her smile wide.

Once inside, the pale moonlight streaming through the linen curtains cast a soft glow over the bed. James set her down gently, his hands never leaving her as she reached for the hem of her dress. The fabric slipped over her head in one smooth motion, leaving her bare beneath him.

For a moment, he just looked at her, his chest tightening with something he couldn't quite name. She was radiant, her hair spilling across her shoulders like golden threads, her skin glowing in the silver light.

"You're staring again," Madeleine said, her voice teasing but breathless.

"Can you blame me?"

She smiled, her hands reaching for him, pulling him down onto the bed with her. The weight of him against her sent a shiver down her spine, her legs wrapping around his waist as his lips found her neck, her collarbone, the hollow of her throat. James moved with a rare kind of deliberation, as though he wanted to savor every moment. His hands mapped her skin with an almost reverent touch, memorizing the curves of her waist and the way her breath hitched under his fingertips. His lips followed the trail of his hands, pressing soft kisses to the warm, silken expanse of her skin, each one drawing a quiet gasp or a sigh from her lips. Madeleine let herself sink into the sensation, her hands sliding down his back, nails grazing his skin lightly. His muscles tensed under her touch, and she couldn't help the way her lips curved into a small, knowing smile against his temple.

"Relax, James," she whispered, her voice low and teasing. "I think we're past the part where you need to impress me."

He let out a quiet laugh, the sound vibrating against her collarbone as he kissed her there. "Old habits die hard," he murmured, his voice rough with affection.

"Some habits aren't worth breaking," she replied, tilting her head to capture his lips again. The kiss was languid but consuming, a deliberate unspooling of tension.

James shifted slightly, his weight pressing her deeper into the softness of the bed as he let his lips wander lower. He kissed the delicate line of her collarbone, the curve of her shoulder, and the hollow at the base of her throat, pausing only to feel the way her pulse fluttered beneath his mouth.

Her hands were at his waist now, fumbling with the belt buckle in her eagerness. James smirked against her skin, his breath warm as he pulled back just enough to meet her gaze.

"Impatient?"

"Maybe," she shot back, her tone playful but edged with heat. "But you're not exactly making it easy to stay patient."

That earned her another quiet chuckle as he shifted to help her, his belt and trousers discarded in a few deft motions. The air between them thickened, charged with a tension that felt both intimate and electric.

As James settled back against her, his hands found her hips, pulling her closer with a kind of hunger he rarely let himself indulge. Madeleine responded in kind, her legs wrapping around him again, her fingers threading through his hair to pull his lips back to hers.

The kiss deepened, all traces of teasing replaced by an intensity that made the air between them feel almost electric. Madeleine arched into him, her breath hitching as James pressed closer, his hands roaming over her body like he was committing every curve, every detail, to memory.

She felt a shiver run through her as his lips trailed from her mouth to her jawline, then lower, leaving a path of warmth in their wake. He lingered at her collarbone, nipping lightly before soothing the spot with a kiss. Her nails dug into his shoulders in response, earning a low, rumbling groan from him that sent a thrill straight through her.

"James…" she breathed, her voice trembling with need.

Hearing his name like that—a mixture of a plea and a demand—only spurred him on. His hands slid to her thighs, guiding her legs to wrap around him again, his touch firm but reverent. Every movement, every kiss felt like a silent promise, one he wasn't sure how to put into words but hoped she could feel all the same.

Madeleine's fingers threaded through his hair, tugging gently as his lips found the sensitive spot just below her ear. "You're not playing fair," she managed, her voice breaking on a soft gasp.

James pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips. "I didn't know we were keeping score."

She laughed softly, her smile radiant in the dim light. "If we are, I think you're winning."

He leaned down, brushing his lips against hers in a kiss that was somehow softer and more consuming all at once. "Good," he murmured against her mouth. "Because I don't intend to stop anytime soon."

His hands moved again, this time sliding up her sides in a way that left her breathless, his touch leaving trails of heat on her skin. She clung to him, her body responding instinctively to every shift, every press of him against her.

Time seemed to blur, the world outside the villa forgotten entirely. There was only the sound of their breathing, the quiet murmur of his voice as he whispered her name like a prayer, and the way they moved together—slow at first, then with growing urgency as the moment consumed them both.

Madeleine felt her heart pounding in her chest, each beat syncing with the rhythm they'd created together. She wasn't sure where she ended and he began, and for once, she didn't care.

When they finally stilled, her body still wrapped around his, James rested his forehead against hers, his breath warm against her lips. For a long moment, neither of them spoke, the silence filled only with the sound of their slowing heartbeats.

Madeleine's fingers traced lazy circles on his back as she opened her eyes, meeting his gaze. There was something raw in the way he was looking at her—something vulnerable, as though he was baring not just his body, but a part of himself he rarely let anyone see.

"What are you thinking?" she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

James hesitated, his jaw tightening slightly before he let out a quiet sigh. "That I don't deserve this," he admitted. "Any of it. You."

Her heart ached at the honesty in his words, the way he couldn't quite meet her eyes as he said them. She reached up, cupping his face in her hands and forcing him to look at her.

"James," she said firmly, her thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. "You deserve this. You deserve to be happy. To be loved."

He didn't respond right away, his expression conflicted, but she could feel the way his body relaxed slightly under her touch. She kissed him softly, lingering just long enough to let him feel the truth in her words.

After a moment, he nodded, his forehead dropping to hers again. "I don't know what I did to deserve you," he murmured.

"You let me in," she replied simply, her voice steady. "That's all I ever needed."

They stayed like that for a while, tangled together in the moonlight, the world outside still and silent. And for the first time in what felt like forever, James let himself believe—if only for a moment—that maybe she was right. Maybe peace wasn't something he had to fight for.

Maybe it was something he could find here, with her.