Guestroom — 12:39 AM
Jake lay on his back in the guest bed, one arm slung over his forehead, eyes staring at the ceiling fan turning in slow, lazy circles. His phone buzzed quietly on his chest.
Ivory:
So how terrified were you exactly?
On a scale of 1 to "I peed a little."
Jake:
If your dad had stared at me for another 3 seconds I would've burst into flames.
Like. Just gone. Vaporized.
Tell me again how he makes scotch and not grenades??
Ivory:
HAHAHAHA
He's just a big softie with a permanent intimidation face.
Also, his bear hug?? Be honest. Spine still intact?
Jake:
Barely. But I think I love him now.
Like. "Please teach me how to grill steaks and threaten people with eye contact" love.
Also, your mom?? You look exactly like her. But your eyes... those are totally your dad's.
Ivory:
Aw.
That's what he always says.
"You got your mother's face and my stare. Which is why men run."
Jake:
Accurate. I sprinted emotionally.
Ivory:
HAHA stop.
Jake:
Your brother too. He's like your clone. Always on his phone and laptop. I swear you three are like an action-thriller family.
Ivory:
And somehow my mom is still alive and sane. That woman deserves a shrine.
Jake:
She really does.
But... Really, I felt welcomed. Even with the intimidation and laptop slaps and cream war.
I haven't felt that in a long time. A home.
So... thanks for bringing me here. Really.
Ivory:
Then, maybe, let's go to your home next.
Let's meet your parents.
Jake:
My mother would love that.
There was a pause. The screen remained still.
He waited.
Then waited a little longer.
Jake:
You fell asleep didn't you.
Wow. Historic moment. Ivory fell asleep first.
He grinned to himself, rolling over with a soft chuckle.
Knock knock.
His head popped up.
Another knock.
He padded over to the door and opened it—only to find Ivory standing there, oversized tee and fuzzy socks, holding up two steaming cups of ramen with the most innocent expression.
"I got hungry," she shrugged, biting back a grin.
Jake blinked. "You—what?"
"I said I got hungry," she repeated. "Midnight ramen hits different."
He stared at her.
Then down at the ramen.
Then back up at her.
"You ghosted me for noodles?"
"I ghosted you to bring you noodles."
He laughed, stepping aside to let her in. "You're lucky I love you."
"I know," she smirked, already heading to sit cross-legged on the bed. "Now grab some chopsticks, Mr. Hallway Prince. I'm not sharing mine."
Jake sat cross-legged beside Ivory on the bed, cradling the warm cup of ramen in his hands. The spicy aroma filled the quiet guestroom, broken only by the soft slurp of noodles and the occasional chuckle when one of them nearly burned their tongue.
After a while, Jake nudged her gently with his shoulder.
"So... serious question."
Ivory raised a brow, mid-bite.
"How'd you end up in Iceland?" he asked, voice low, genuinely curious. "And your parents stayed here in Italy?"
Ivory set her ramen down on the nightstand, wiping her fingers on a napkin. Her gaze turned thoughtful, a little distant, but not sad.
"When my parents were buried deep into building the wine company," she started, twirling the noodles absentmindedly with her chopsticks, "they decided to leave me and my brother with my grandparents. It was supposed to be temporary. But you know how business gets... years go by."
Jake listened silently, his ramen forgotten in his hands.
"My grandfather — my dad's father — he was Italian through and through. But he married an Icelandic woman. My grandmother." Ivory smiled softly, the fondness in her voice unmistakable. "They settled in Iceland. Bought an estate with vineyards and wine cellars tucked between the mountains and seas. It was my childhood. Ice, snow, grapes... all tangled together."
Jake blinked. "So that huge mansion you live in now—?"
"My grandfather's estate," she said, nodding. "When they passed away, me and Marco inherited it. But Marco..." She laughed a little, shaking her head. "He thinks Iceland's the corner of the world. Too quiet. Too slow. He moved to the UK after college."
Jake tucked his leg under him, leaning closer, drawn in like a moth to her story.
"My parents stayed here in Italy to run the main branch of the wine company. And me..." She shrugged, but there was a fierce glint of pride in her eyes. "I couldn't leave. Not the vineyards. Not the cellar. Not everything they built. So I started my own brand under Skírra Wines, based in Iceland."
She reached out and traced a lazy pattern along the rim of her ramen cup.
"It's not just a company to me, Jake. It's... it's their legacy. Their love story. Their stubbornness. Their dreams. It's home."
Jake's chest tightened painfully in the best way. He finally understood. Not just her strength. Not just her success. But her roots. The blood and sacrifice and loyalty running deep in her veins.
"I get it now," he whispered.
Ivory smiled sideways at him, warmth tucked behind her teasing voice. "Took you long enough."
He chuckled under his breath, setting his ramen aside too. "You're incredible, you know that?"
She bumped his shoulder with hers. "You're biased."
"Damn right I am."
They sat in companionable silence after that, the guestroom filled with the low hum of their breathing, the faint creaks of the old house settling in the night. Somewhere down the hall, the scent of her mother's cooking still lingered — garlic, olive oil, fresh bread.
Jake leaned his head back against the wall, glancing sideways at Ivory, who was fiddling with her chopsticks, eyelids drooping slightly.
"Hey," he said, voice barely above a whisper.
She hummed in response, almost half-asleep.
"I'm really glad you ghosted me tonight for ramen."
Ivory smiled without opening her eyes. "Me too."
Jake watched Ivory as she slowly drifted to sleep, her hand still resting on her half-finished ramen cup like she planned to wake up and keep eating. Her lashes fluttered slightly, her lips parted in soft breaths, and her hair cascaded across the blanket like spilled ink.
He didn't move her.
Didn't have the heart to.
Instead, he reached behind the couch, grabbed a throw blanket, and carefully tucked it around her shoulders. She mumbled something incoherent in her sleep and leaned slightly toward him, cheek pressing against his arm for a second before settling again.
Jake stilled.
And smiled.
He stayed like that a moment longer before quietly easing off the bed. The night had cooled down, and he figured he could grab a glass of water before heading back. With quiet steps, he padded down the hallway, the mansion still and dimly lit by warm sconces on the walls.
As he turned into the kitchen, he stopped.
Marco was already there, holding a fork between his teeth and a plate of strawberry cake in one hand. He had his phone wedged between his shoulder and cheek, his laptop balanced on the counter, and was mumbling something about shipment invoices while texting with his free thumb.
Jake blinked.
Marco blinked back.
Then slowly took the fork out of his mouth and smirked. "Midnight snack?"
Jake raised his glass and grinned. "Just water. You?"
Marco casually waved the plate of cake. "Fuel. Girlfriend drama."
Jake chuckled, walking to the sink.
Then Marco set the cake down, leaned against the counter, and said with zero pretense, "I won't tell Dad about the sleepover if you give me your hoodie merch."
Jake nearly choked on his water, snorting. "You went through my stuff?"
Marco shrugged, looking unapologetic. "Girlfriend's a big fan. Also, you left it unzipped. Rookie move."
Jake laughed, wiping his mouth. "Deal. Want me to add her name on a signed poster?"
"Hell yes."
They both grinned, and something in Jake finally relaxed. The tension he'd been carrying since the plane ride, since seeing her dad square up, melted away.
"You know..." Jake said, leaning against the sink. "I thought you were terrifying at first."
Marco snorted. "Because I was typing?"
"You looked like you were about to hack into the Pentagon."
Marco shrugged again, a wicked smirk tugging at his lips. "I like efficiency."
Jake gave a knowing nod. "You and Ivory are cut from the same cloth."
Marco grinned, biting into the cake. "Sarcasm, multitasking, the need to be right. It's a gift."
They shared a quiet laugh, just two brothers-in-chaos bonding over cake and chaos in the middle of the night.
Marco raised his fork in a mock toast. "Welcome to the madness, man."
Jake smiled, sincerely, eyes drifting toward the hallway that led back to the guestroom. "Wouldn't have it any other way."