When in Rome

The hum of the engines droned steady and low like a lullaby as the jet soared eastward toward Rome, slicing through clouds heavy with the orange smear of a sinking sun. The cabin lights were dimmed to a soft amber glow, casting everyone in a honey-warm hue that made even stainless steel seem tender. Kiara sat nestled in her leather business class cubby—seat reclined slightly, window to her far right, Lucian Devereaux a presence she could feel more than see in the identical suite beside hers.

Her legs were crossed, smooth and effortless, draped in cream linen slacks tailored high at the waist to show off the delicate contour of her hips and the faint, purposeful indent of her tucked-in blouse. The shirt itself was silk—white, oversized but French-tucked in front, with two buttons undone just low enough to suggest soft cleavage beneath. A dainty gold chain dipped between her collarbones, and her skin, dewy and lit from within, smelled faintly of rosewater and warm vanilla.

Underneath, of course, was the usual armor: the sheer thong shapewear smoothing her silhouette tight against her body, hugging her like a second skin, with the delicate cage of her cock held snug beneath it—hidden, but always present. She’d barely registered the sensation anymore; her body, trained into a reflexive elegance, simply moved as it had been taught to: hips shifting with a sultry grace, posture fluid, wrist turns natural, every inch of her radiating womanhood.

Lucian was quiet beside her, occasionally flipping through something on his phone. She hadn’t looked at him directly since takeoff, but she felt him—his quiet confidence, his cologne, the heat of his body even through two separate pods. And despite her constant internal insistence that he was here for PR purposes—that this was all a strategic, optics-driven move to drown out the scent of corporate blood in the water after the board meeting—there was still that whisper of something else. Something soft. Romantic.

She shut the thought down with a blink.

She’d invited him along because it made sense. Because the best way to remind the world she was in control was to walk into Rome with a tall, beautiful man trailing behind her, eyes only for her. The speculation, the mystery, the charm—it was an image coup. Nothing more.

A soft click beside her interrupted the thought as the divider slid down.

Seraphina leaned over the shared barrier between their cubbies, her face already bright with a grin. “Okay wait,” she whispered conspiratorially, “I know we’re technically on a work trip but I am so excited about this trip I could literally scream.”

Kiara smiled, relaxing back into her seat. “Don’t tempt me,” she purred, resting her hand against her thigh. “We haven’t even landed yet and you’re already vibrating.”

Seraphina mock-clutched her pearls. She looked every inch the bubbly, feminine dream: high-waisted baby-pink trousers, a cropped white cashmere tank. Her makeup was playful and glowing, all pink blush and glossy lips, her brunette hair pulled back in a high ponytail with a silk ribbon that matched the lining of her purse.

“I am vibrating,” she whispered dramatically, eyes wide. “I’ve already been looking at the hotel’s spa menu and there’s this twenty-four karat gold body wrap I want us to do together. Like—hello? If we don’t look like glowing, oiled-up Roman goddesses, what is even the point?”

Kiara laughed under her breath, voice silky and low. “We’re here for a press tour, not a honeymoon.”

Seraphina slid her glossy pink nails under the armrest divider like she was grabbing her emotionally. “Sweetie. The press tour is the foreplay. The hotel room? The spa? The outfits? That’s the relationship.”

Kiara giggled. The sound was almost girlish, surprising even herself. “Speaking of hotel rooms…”

Seraphina gasped before she even finished the sentence. “Oh my god, I know.”

“Finally one room,” Kiara murmured, arching an eyebrow. “I mean, we ended up sharing last time anyway.”

“Exactly,” Seraphina said, practically bouncing in her seat. “So this time we just skipped the charade. One room. One wardrobe rack. One sacred space for girl time, wine, gossip, face masks, slutty clothes, and absolutely no Lucian Devereaux.”

Kiara’s lips curled into a smirk. “You say that like he won’t find a way to loiter outside the door just to eavesdrop.”

“He wishes.” Seraphina rolled her eyes. “Honestly, he is hot, I’ll give you that. But also like… ugh.”

Kiara tilted her head. “Ugh?”

Seraphina narrowed her eyes dramatically. “He gives trouble. Capital T. Not in a scary way, but in that ‘I-know-how-hot-I-am-and-I’m-gonna-weaponize-it’ way. Which, I mean, respect? But also, he's already yours.”

Kiara hummed. “Excuse me, I thought you liked trouble.”

“I like manageable trouble,” Seraphina said, pointing her nail at her. “You, Miss Laurent, are currently flirting with a full-blown tabloid headline. Which, I’m here for. But I will not hold your earrings if he breaks your heart. I’ll just hold your martini and talk shit with you while we stalk his Instagram.”

Kiara laughed again. She couldn’t help it. Her cheeks felt warm, her posture relaxed. She was curled up slightly, legs tucked toward the side of the seat, hips tilted just so—more out of trained reflex than conscious posing. Her hand slipped over Seraphina’s across the divider, palm resting over manicured fingers.

“You are,” Kiara said, voice a purr, “absolutely terrible.”

“I know,” Seraphina said with a delighted squeal, locking their fingers together. “And you love it.”

Their eyes met. And suddenly, they were both giggling. Giddy, high-energy, feminine chaos giggling, like they were teenagers at a sleepover whispering secrets in the dark. Kiara leaned forward against the divider and Seraphina mirrored her, shoulders brushing, perfume mixing—a heady cloud of rose, vanilla, and something sugary-sweet.

“Wait,” Seraphina said suddenly, “did I tell you what my wax girl said last week?”

“Oh my god, no, what?” Kiara’s eyes widened.

“She was like deadass—‘You’ve got a Brazilian date coming up, don’t you?’ And I was like ma’am.”

Kiara snorted. “She’s clairvoyant.”

“Right?!”

They collapsed into laughter again, breathless and fizzy, voices low but sharp with that specific sparkle only two women locked in a loop of shared girlish thrill could generate. Seraphina reached across and tucked a strand of hair behind Kiara’s ear like it was the most natural thing in the world. Kiara let her.

“I swear to god,” Seraphina whispered, “this is gonna be our Roman era. Like I can feel it. It’s giving goddess. It’s giving sex appeal. It’s giving main character in a perfume commercial.”

Kiara's eyes glittered. “Can we please throw a coin in the Trevi fountain and wish for spontaneous orgasms?”

“Girl I already packed the vibrator.”

“Oh my god.”

The giggles kept coming—louder, brighter, somehow louder than the plane’s engine. Kiara felt that bubble rise in her chest again: that intoxicating mix of girlhood, power, affection, and something too deep to name.

The sky outside their window was fast deepening into a violet dusk, the kind of rich, endless blue that seemed to stretch into eternity. Beneath it, the two girls were cocooned in their own little pocket of light and velvet whispers, laughter and perfume. Somewhere far away, beyond the cubby divider, Lucian Devereaux slept behind his closed door, unaware of the storm of feminine chaos unfolding just feet away.

Seraphina had her cheek resting against her folded arms, elbow perched on the edge of the open window divider, glossy pink lips curled into a grin as she gazed at Kiara like she was the most exciting book she’d ever read.

“So,” she began, dragging the syllable out like a tease, “what’s it like flying with your secret boyfriend?”

Kiara let out a scandalized little gasp, wide-eyed, lips parted in mock offense. “Lucian is not my boyfriend.”

Seraphina gave a wicked little smile. “Oh, okay. Right. So he’s just a very tall, very handsome, very broody accessory you bring along for... decor?”

Kiara rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth betrayed her—lifted just slightly, caught in a soft, amused smirk. Her posture was languid, her legs tucked beside her like she’d been born to lounge, wrists resting delicately, one manicured hand idly twirling a lock of hair around her finger. Every single motion was practiced, trained, internalized—her.

“I brought him because the press loves a narrative,” she said smoothly, adjusting the collar of her blouse like it was an afterthought. “A mysterious heiress and her maybe-boyfriend model escort? It practically writes itself.”

Seraphina raised a perfectly arched brow. “Mhm. But who gave him the invite?”

Kiara hesitated a second too long.

“Oh my god,” Seraphina squealed, sitting upright and practically bouncing in her seat. “You totally asked him.”

Kiara waved a hand in front of her, shushing her quickly and glancing toward Lucian’s cubby, even though it was sealed tight. “He’s asleep.”

“Oh please, that man is in a coma with that white noise machine on.” She leaned closer, lowering her voice. “So… you did invite him.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Kiara protested, but her voice had that slightly breathy lilt it always picked up when she was lying for strategic reasons. “It was just… tactical. Optics. A quick fix to redirect focus after that board review.”

Seraphina tilted her head slowly, eyes narrowing in faux seriousness. “So you strategically locked in your dick appointments for Rome, huh?”

Kiara gasped and nearly choked on her own laughter, slapping a hand across her lips to stifle the sound. “Shut up!” she hissed, giggling. “Seraphina, stop!”

Seraphina giggled right back, shoulders shaking. “Bestie, I’m just saying. You could’ve brought a PR intern or like... one of those weirdo French photographers. But no. You brought tall, dark, and keeps-touching-your-lower-back-in-public.”

“He does not—” Kiara started, but stopped, remembering that yes, Lucian absolutely did place a hand on her lower back. A lot. And that she definitely never asked him to stop.

Seraphina gave her a look so knowing, so teasing, that Kiara had to look away and pretend to find the little mood lamp above her seat very interesting.

“You’re so annoying,” Kiara muttered, failing to sound mad.

“I know,” Seraphina replied sweetly, reaching across and taking Kiara’s hand in hers again. Their fingers laced without effort, nails clicking faintly against each other’s rings. “But you love me.”

Kiara smiled down at their joined hands. “Unfortunately, yes.”

A small silence stretched between them—not awkward, just full. Full of lightness. Full of shared memories and present warmth and whatever was brewing in the space between that hadn’t quite become spoken.

Seraphina was still watching her.

“You know,” she said, voice softer now, “I think it was smart. Bringing him.”

Kiara looked up.

“For tactical reasons, sure. But like... also just for you. Like…” Seraphina trailed off, her voice dipping into genuine tenderness. “Maybe it’s not a thing. But if it is, I’m glad you didn’t leave it behind.”

Kiara blinked. Something soft and hard at once pulled at her chest. She squeezed Seraphina’s hand gently. “Thank you. I'm more glad about you being here, babe.”

They smiled at each other—real smiles, the kind that didn’t perform, didn’t seduce, didn’t charm. Just existed.

Seraphina’s eyes flicked down to Kiara’s lips for the briefest moment before she leaned forward and kissed her. Just a peck. Sweet. Quick. Like a butterfly landing on skin.

Kiara blinked in surprise as Seraphina immediately went red, hands flying to her cheeks.

“Oh my god,” Seraphina squeaked. “Wait, that wasn’t, like, romantic—I mean I just meant—like—bestie bonding—not like weird or anything, just—”

Kiara leaned forward and kissed her right back. A gentle press of lips, no deeper than the first. Her palm rested lightly against Seraphina’s jaw.

“You don’t have to explain,” Kiara murmured as she pulled away. “I totally get it.”

Seraphina exhaled a little laugh, relief blooming across her features, but the light in her eyes was electric.

A beat passed.

Kiara leaned back and looked toward the sealed cubby that housed Lucian.

“So bestie…” she said, turning back, tone sugary-sly. “I made out hard with Lucian the other day.”

Seraphina’s jaw dropped. “Bitch, WHAT?!”

Kiara only grinned and, with a teasing flutter of her lashes, reached for the divider control. The soft _click _of the sliding window echoed like a mic drop.

Kiara had never been more grateful to have Seraphina as a best friend.