Leonardo stood near the railing, the sea breeze tugging lightly at the hem of his suit jacket as he listened to the photographer explain the next sequence.
He gave a small nod, eyes half-lidded, mind half on the words until a quiet shuffle of footsteps caught his ear.
He turned his head slightly.
And there she was.
Bella stepped onto the deck with two women trailing behind her, carefully helping her lift the delicate train of her gown so it wouldn’t brush the floor. The soft sunlight hit her veil first, turning the sheer fabric into a halo of white around her face. Her hair framed her cheeks in gentle curls, and the faint breeze made the lace along her sleeves flutter like tiny wings.
She looked breathtaking—like a fairytale girl stepping right out of a dream, so soft yet so dazzling it made the bright sea look dull behind her.
Leonardo’s breath caught in his throat for just half a heartbeat.
But his face—his face stayed perfectly still.
His sharp eyes narrowed just slightly, scanning her from head to toe, catching every detail. The subtle shimmer on her eyelids. The faint tremble in her fingertips. The tiny, hopeful curve at the corner of her lips.
Bella’s heart, which had been fluttering like a tiny bird trapped in her chest, slowly sank when she saw him just stand there—so quiet, so expressionsless.
She lowered her gaze, fingers brushing the lace at her waist as if to reassure herself it was all really there. The stylists behind her whispered small praises about how perfect she looked, but her ears barely caught them.
She had imagined—just for a moment that maybe he would look at her like the prince looked at the princess in her old storybooks.
But all he gave her was silence.
And the ocean breeze carried her tiny disappointment away into the salt-kissed air.
The photographer smiled at Bella, eyes bright with genuine praise. "Mrs. Moretti! Perfect. You look like a dream."
Bella’s cheeks turned the color of rose petals. She lowered her lashes, hands gently gripping the sheer lace at her sides. "Thank you..." she said shyly, her voice so soft the wind almost carried it away.
Leonardo’s eyes flicked to her as she stood there, framed by the ocean and the soft canopy overhead. Her dress seemed to catch every stray sunbeam, turning her into something he couldn’t quite look away from—even if his expression stayed unreadable.
"Let’s start," he said, his voice even but a shade lower than usual. He stepped closer, the quiet weight of him always somehow making the air feel heavier.
As he moved behind her, the softest whisper of her perfume drifted up—sweet, delicate, a faint hint of fresh flowers mixed with something warm and clean. His own scent—musk, subtle cologne, and a trace of the sea breeze felt almost rough next to hers.
He glanced down at the top of her head. She looked so small next to him. So soft and... different.
She smelled like warm sunlight, everything that made his own scent, all rough edges and sweat and steel, feel almost too musculine in comparison.
Bella peeked up at him once through her veil, searching for something in his eyes—anything.
But he just looked ahead at the photographer and gave a short nod.
The photographer clapped his hands once. "Alright, let’s warm up. We’ll start with something classic. Mrs. Moretti—please stand by the railing, facing the ocean. Sir, stand behind her, close enough that it looks natural. Hold her waist lightly... yes, like that."
Bella’s breath caught when she felt Leonardo step closer. The soft breeze caught the sheer edge of her veil, making it flutter against his arm.
She placed her hands gently on the polished railing, her fingers brushing the cool metal as she looked out over the glittering waves. The sea stretched endlessly into the horizon, the sun dancing on its ripples like spilled gold.
Leonardo stepped up behind her, his shoes silent on the deck. He paused for half a second—then his palm rested at her waist, the fabric of her gown delicate under his warm, steady touch.
She could feel every line of him behind her—his suit jacket brushing her back, his chest just close enough to sense the quiet heat radiating through the layers of silk and lace.
He leaned in slightly, just enough that she caught a hint of his cologne mixed with that faint ocean salt.
She didn’t dare breathe.
The photographer’s voice floated to her, warm and encouraging. "Mrs. Moretti, tilt your chin up a little—yes, perfect. Look like you’re lost in the moment... Sir, closer please. Bring your face down beside hers, but don’t block the light."
Leonardo shifted closer, so close that a lock of her soft hair brushed his jaw. His breath, faint and steady, ghosted across her ear.
He said nothing. His hand stayed at her waist, his grip steady—possessive yet gentle, as if he were making sure she didn’t lean too far over the railing.
Bella’s heart raced in her chest.
She could feel it all: the warmth of his palm through layers of silk, the firmness of his arm behind her, the ocean breeze wrapping around them like a secret.
And yet when she peeked at his reflection in the tinted glass beside them, his face remained unchanged—sharp, unreadable, eyes focused somewhere far beyond the lens.
Doesn’t he feel this too? she wondered, her lips parting softly as the camera clicked again and again.
But all she heard was the ocean’s hush, the photographer’s praise and her own heart beating wildly inside her chest.
The photographer gave a satisfied nod, lowering his camera for a beat. "Beautiful, Mrs. Moretti. Just perfect. Now—let’s move to something closer."
Bella’s fingers tightened a little on the railing, her cheeks already warm from standing so close to Leonardo. She stepped back when the photographer gestured for them to turn.
"Mr. Moretti," he said, "stand facing her. Mrs. Moretti—step forward, just one small step closer. Hands lightly resting on his chest, please. Sir, bring one hand up—cup her face, or tuck her hair behind her ear. Something soft, natural."
Bella’s eyes widened a fraction as she turned and found herself inches away from Leonardo’s broad chest. The faint scent of him—clean, expensive cologne with a trace of the sea—wrapped around her like a warm blanket.
She hesitated. Her small hands rose slowly, hovering in the air.