"Love in the In-Between"

Prompt: Chapter 13 — “While We’re Apart” ⸻ ✧ Esme in Motion After landing in Los Angeles, Esme wasted no time. Within 48 hours, she had already taken care of the financial work her father had left disorganized for their production. Spreadsheets, contracts, calls with lawyers — she’d powered through them like a storm in silk. Then she packed her suitcase again, slipped into sunglasses and a long coat, and boarded a flight to Amsterdam — the first stop in a whirlwind month of seeing the people who made her feel rooted. ⸻ ✧ Amsterdam — Old Friends, New Flashbulbs Her first night back in her childhood city, Esme met a group of friends at a canal-side bar. People she had known since she was ten. The air was cool, thick with spring. They drank beer and shared bitterballen, laughter echoing under string lights. “You’re glowing,” one friend said as they walked across a narrow bridge later that night. “Is it love?” Esme smiled, cheeks pink. “Maybe. Or the weather.” They stopped to take pictures. Someone took one of her and her best friend, Leo — an old ballet classmate turned fashion designer. He hugged her waist from behind in the photo, both of them laughing. What they didn’t notice? A paparazzo, crouched behind a canal railing across the street. The photo would be online the next day. ⸻ ✧ Brussels — A Slower Pace Next, she traveled south to Brussels, staying in a cozy apartment with two of her university friends. They’d studied together in Paris years ago, and now worked in tech and architecture. Esme was quiet with them — wine nights, gallery visits, walks through the Marolles. For a few days, she was just another face in a café. No cameras. No speculation. Just Esme. ⸻ ✧ Ibiza — The Sea Calls From Brussels, she flew to Ibiza, where a few old friends were docked for the summer, working on luxury yachts. They greeted her barefoot on a pier, arms full of sunblock and cocktails. Esme spent four days there — sun-drenched, barefoot, braid loose down her back. She slept on a catamaran, swam before breakfast, laughed until her stomach hurt at sea. For the first time in a long while, she didn’t check her phone much. Pedro’s name in her texts remained her anchor. ⸻ ✧ Nice — A Mother’s Wisdom The final leg of her trip was Nice, where her mother lived in a sun-warmed villa with shutters the color of faded denim. They hadn’t seen each other in months, and her mother enveloped her in a tight hug that lingered. “Tell me everything,” her mother said that night over grilled fish and rosé. Esme hesitated, then began — about Pedro, the film, the press, the soft part of their relationship that lived only off-camera. Her mother listened quietly, eyes warm but sharp. “Do you love him?” she asked. “Yes,” Esme answered without pause. “I think I knew the moment I met him.” Her mother smiled gently. “Then I hope I get to meet him soon. I want to see the man who makes your eyes look like that.” Later that night, they talked about the past — her parents’ divorce, her father’s constant absence, the way love can stretch and fracture under pressure. The next day, Esme had lunch in Cannes with her best French friend, Maxime — effortlessly stylish, charming, and devastatingly handsome. He wore linen and smelled like orange blossom and tobacco. They laughed in the sun at a cafe overlooking the water. Maxime fed her bites of peach tart, teasing her about her “mystery movie star.” When she ducked her head to hide her smile, a camera clicked somewhere behind them. ⸻ ✧ Pedro — Malta, Stillness, and Shadows Back in Malta, Pedro worked 14-hour days on set. The days were blisteringly hot and chaotic, full of sand, leather, fake blood. Between takes, he collapsed into a canvas chair, sweat clinging to the back of his neck. Esme texted often — photos of beaches, quick videos of Maxime’s dramatic monologues, a screenshot of a playlist she’d made for him. But her absence left a quiet ache, even when surrounded by friends and family. Henry kept him focused on work. Xavier kept him laughing. Still, some nights, Pedro lay awake in their shared bed at the Airbnb, scrolling. One night, Xavier came over after shooting to drink beer and eat whatever they could find in the fridge. Pedro was flipping through a gossip site on his phone while Xavier told a story about Denzel falling asleep during blocking. “What is that face?” Xavier asked, mouth full of mozzarella. Pedro turned the phone toward him. Photos from Amsterdam. And now, Cannes. Esme in two different countries with two different men — both attractive, one with his arm slung around her shoulder, the other feeding her dessert. Pedro’s jaw tightened. “Relax,” Xavier said, not even pausing. “That’s Leo — literally married with twins — and Maxime is the gayest man in France. You’ve got nothing to worry about.” Pedro set the phone down slowly, sighing. “I know. It’s just… she’s out there, being beautiful. And I’m here. Covered in fake blood and sunburnt to hell.” Xavier smirked. “You’re insecure because she’s hotter than you.” “Exactly.” They both laughed, but Pedro’s heart was quieter. Not jealous, really. Just missing her. Longing, in the truest sense of the word. CONTINUE NEXT CHAPTWR WITH ESME AREIVING IN MALTA AND THEM SPENDING TIME ALONE IN AIRBNB AFTER 1.5 MONTHS APART. EXPLICIT. SMUT. LONG AND DETAILED CHAPTER. Have sex multipule times. AT FIRST PEDRO IS DOMINANT. HAVING MISSED HER DEEPLY