The car ride from the airstrip to the villa was a blur of twinkling city lights, winding roads, and Bruce’s hand tangled with yours in the backseat. You leaned into him, head resting against his shoulder, and he kissed your hair as you stared out at the centuries-old buildings and bustling streets.

Then you arrived.

The villa looked like something from a dream—cobblestone steps, ivy curling up old brick walls, and warm fairy lights strung along the arched entrance. A private chef greeted you at the door, already preparing your welcome dinner, and a butler whisked away your bags as if this were all completely normal.

Bruce led you inside and straight to the rooftop terrace. The view stretched over the rooftops of Rome, dotted with glowing windows and distant domes, with the Colosseum rising in the background like a stone guardian of the city’s heart.

There was a candlelit table set for two.

“I wanted you to see this first,” Bruce said, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. “Before dinner. Before anything else.”

You tilted your head back to look up at him. “You planned all of this?”

He nodded once. “Down to the wine.”

You turned in his arms and kissed him soft and slow, tasting the warmth of his lips and the cool night air. “Bruce Wayne, you hopeless romantic,” you teased.

“I’m only like this for you,” he said.