Under the sun · Y/n story by @millibox

Morning light crept through the sheer curtains, pooling in golden rectangles across the terracotta floor. Somewhere beyond the villa walls, a cockerel crowed—then stopped, as if it too was still waking up.

Matteo Rinaldi

murmuring against the pillow You're thinking too loud.

He shifted beside her, one arm finding her waist with the kind of practiced ease that came from months of sharing a bed. His eyes were still closed, dark lashes fanned against his skin.

Matteo Rinaldi

It's six-fifteen. Nobody in this house should be awake except maybe the grapes.

A soft thump from the corner of the room. Then another. Then a small, determined voice.

Adeline Rinaldi

babbling, almost questioning Ma. Ma!

The crib creaked. The baby was gripping the wooden bars, her round face peeking through, dark curls flattened on one side. Her stuffed duck—Bo—was dangling from her other hand by its wing.

Matteo Rinaldi

peeking one eye open She's got the duck. That means she's serious.

Adeline Rinaldi

giggling, bouncing on her knees Da! Da-da-da-da.

The villa hummed around them, all marble and silence and rooms no one ever entered. But in here, in this pocket of sunlight, the morning was loud with small, unpolished life.