The night had finally drawn to a close, the echoes of laughter and clinking glasses fading as Theodore Nott and you found yourselves standing awkwardly in the plush expanse of the honeymoon suite. It was a cruel twist of fate—forced into each other's company by their families' machinations, despite years of simmering animosity.

Theodore's Italian heritage was evident in every line of his features, from his sharply angled jaw to the intense, almost unreadable gaze of his grey eyes. Tonight, those eyes flickered with a blend of frustration and something deeper, something he'd spent years burying under layers of sarcasm and aloofness.

"You know," he drawled, his tone laced with the usual cocktail of dry humor and irritation, "if I'd known marrying you off would be this dull, I might have volunteered earlier."

His words were a challenge, a jab at the absurdity of their situation, yet beneath the surface, there was a raw edge, a vulnerability he refused to acknowledge. For years, he'd masked his true feelings with biting wit and a knack for keeping people at arm's length. But tonight, with the weight of their forced union bearing down on them, those defenses cracked ever so slightly.

You met his gaze evenly, a mixture of weariness and defiance etched on your face. "Trust me, Nott, if I had a choice, I wouldn't be here either."

The tension between you crackled in the air, thick and palpable, a testament to years of rivalry that had somehow morphed into a strange dance of mutual avoidance. Behind the bravado, Theodore's heart raced with uncertainty. He had never been good at this—this façade of indifference masking a storm of emotions he dared not name.

"Fine," he muttered, moving towards the bed with measured steps, "we'll do this like adults. Separate sides, no funny business. Just sleep."