The drive back to the hotel had been quiet, but comfortable — the kind of silence that spoke of promises understood rather than words needing to be said.
When they reached their suite, Lance gently nudged Lily toward the bedroom with a small, mischievous smile. "Go get ready," he said, pulling a garment bag from his luggage and holding it up. "You'll need this."
She arched an eyebrow at him, curious, but when she unzipped the bag, she let out a soft gasp. Nestled inside was a stunning dress — elegant yet playful, flowing but fitted in a way that promised to make her feel like she belonged among the stars. The heels he'd paired with it defied gravity, yet somehow, she knew she'd wear them proudly.
"You planned this?" she asked, voice touched with wonder.
Lance chuckled, loosening his own tie. "I found a place by accident before we flew in. Figured we deserved something a little... magical."
And so, dressed like a dream and carried by anticipation, they were whisked away in a private car, the streets of Florence slipping by in a blur of gold-lit windows and the scent of evening flowers.
The car pulled up at a sprawling resort just at the edge of the city. Staff met them at the entrance, leading them with quiet deference through the grand lobby, up a private elevator, and onto the rooftop.
Lily's breath caught.
Fairy lights were strung delicately along the railings, weaving a warm, intimate glow across the open rooftop. Tables dressed in crisp white linens dotted the rooftop, spaced far enough apart that it felt like their own private world. Beyond the edge, Florence unfurled in a tapestry of soft, dusky lights, the last rays of sunset melting into the horizon. Above it all, the stars began to appear, one by one, as if even the heavens were reluctant to miss this night.
Lily thought back to her experience with rooftops. She had experienced a fair share of sad moments in rooftops. There was something poetic about rooftops, Lily thought — as if all the most important moments in her life kept finding their way closer to the stars.
Lance's hand found hers, squeezing gently.
"You like it?" he asked, his voice low.
She turned to him, her heart full, her dress catching the faint breeze like something out of a fairytale.
"I love it," Lily whispered.
Their table was tucked into a corner of the rooftop, offering a panoramic view of the city and sky blending into one endless canvas. A bottle of sparkling water — and a discreet offer of wine they both gently declined — was already chilling in a silver bucket beside them.
The waiter approached with a respectful nod, presenting menus handwritten in elegant cursive. But Lance shook his head gently.
"I asked the chef to surprise us," he murmured to Lily with a small smile. "He's preparing a five-course tasting menu. I hope you're hungry."
Her eyes sparkled. "You really don't do anything halfway, do you?"
The first course arrived moments later: a delicate amuse-bouche — a wafer-thin crostino topped with whipped goat cheese, truffle honey, and a sliver of pear. It melted on her tongue, a perfect balance of sweet and savory.
As the courses unfolded, so did the conversation; slow, meandering, like a familiar song rediscovered. They spoke of nothing and everything: books and music, strange dreams and favorite childhood memories. Between bites of saffron risotto dotted with tender lobster and paper-thin ravioli filled with ricotta and herbs, Lily found herself leaning in closer, her laughter carried on the breeze.
A shared silence settled during the third course — a seared duck breast with a balsamic glaze and roasted figs — not awkward, but intimate. Lance's gaze lingered on her longer than necessary, and Lily found herself flushing under it, her fingers brushing the stem of her glass.
"It's surreal," she said softly, breaking the silence. "This… us. A part of me keeps waiting to wake up."
"You're not dreaming," Lance said, his voice velvet-smooth beneath the rooftop stars. "But if you were… I'd stay in it with you."
Dessert arrived in a flourish — a trio of miniature sweets: tiramisu in a crystal glass, a warm chocolate tart with a liquid center, and gelato infused with lavender and honey. Lily took one bite and laughed softly.
"I feel like I should be writing this down for a novel."
Lance leaned in, propping his elbow on the table. "Just give the male lead some credit this time."
"Oh, he'll be charming," she teased, "but definitely insufferable."
He grinned. "Sounds familiar."
They lingered long after the plates were cleared, reluctant to let the evening end. Overhead, the stars glittered brighter now, the moon rising like a silent witness to something blooming between them — not loud or dramatic, but steady and sure.
Lily traced her finger around the rim of her glass, eyes thoughtful. "I have been wondering…" she began, her voice playful but curious, "what you did after I left in the past lives?"
Lance blinked, caught off guard by the question. But her tone wasn't sad. She looked genuinely curious, eyes reflecting the soft light of the stars above.
He set down his cup with a thoughtful hum. "Depends on the life," he said, a lopsided smile forming. "Sometimes I did noble things. Sometimes... not so much."
Lily leaned in, elbow on the table, chin in her hand. "Start with the dramatic ones."
He obliged with mock gravity. "Once, I wandered the earth like a ghost. Didn't speak for years. Grew a beard so long it trailed behind me like a bridal veil. People left soup outside their doors for me."
She laughed. "Soup?"
"Apparently, I gave off 'mournful hobo prophet' energy."
She grinned. "Okay, next."
"In one particularly peaceful life, I think I was a baker," he said, eyes twinkling.
She laughed. "A baker?"
"Yup. Made cinnamon rolls so good people wept."
"I need to meet that version of you."
"He wore aprons and sang to dough. Very charming. No emotional damage whatsoever."
Lily giggled, clutching her sides. "Okay, but tell me—were you ever bald?"
"Yes, I became a monk."
"Completely. Smooth as a polished stone. I thought if I couldn't have love, maybe I could have peace."
"Did it work?"
"For a while. Until I started crying during meditation and got exiled for emotional disruption."
She cackled. "You got kicked out of monkhood?"
"They said I was too attached to worldly suffering. But I kept the tea recipes."
Lily raised an eyebrow. "Is there a bald version of you again?"
He took a slow sip of sparkling water, then began, as if reciting a grand epic. "Well, I did in fact become a monk again in another life. Gave up everything—riches, speech, love, even cheese."
Lily gasped. "Not cheese."
He nodded gravely. "For forty years, I meditated in a mountain cave until I achieved peace… then promptly slipped on wet moss during a storm and died."
She snorted. "That's so anticlimactic."
He grinned. "Tragic, really. In another life, I joined the war. I was young, angry. Thought maybe if I fought hard enough, I'd feel something other than the hollow space where you used to be." He looked out over the city, the humour in his tone dimming just slightly. "Didn't last long. Took a bullet to the chest. Didn't even duck."
Lily reached out, brushing his hand gently. "That sounds like a painful way to go."
He met her eyes with a softer smile. "Not as painful as losing you."
Her smile faltered just slightly, a flicker of emotion passing through her gaze. "That sounds… lonely. Were there any lives where you just... gave up?"
Lance hesitated. "Yeah. Early on. When I was still a young soul. I didn't know how to carry the grief, so I let it carry me. Walked into the sea once. Didn't even feel the cold."
She reached for his hand again, this time holding it firmly. "I'm sorry."
He met her eyes gently. "But I didn't stay that way."
"Why?" she whispered.
"Because of the hope of you," he said. "Eventually, I stopped running from the pain and started preparing."
"Preparing?" she echoed.
"For the day I might find you again." His thumb brushed over her knuckles. "Studied medicine in so many lifetimes. Anatomy, pharmacology, ancient healing. I even tried alchemy once. One life I studied the heart so I could understand how mine broke. Another, I focused on the brain—hoping I could find the secret to memory. A third, I think I just spent perfecting the way to hold a scalpel."
"So, you decided to study medicine for a few centuries? That explains the overachieving surgeon thing."
Lance chuckled.
"You've been through a lot," she said softly.
"I'd go through it all again," Lance replied, "if it led me back to this table."
She looked at him, heart full. "Well... this time, maybe don't let me go so easily."
He squeezed her hand. "Not a chance."
"Whatever lives we've had," she said, "I'm glad this one brought us here."
Lance squeezed her hand. "Me too."
Lance rose slowly and offered his hand to Lily. "Come," he said softly. "Let's look at the stars a while."
She slipped her hand into his, and he led her to the edge of the rooftop where the view opened wide — Florence laid out below them in all her golden, breathing beauty. They stood at the railing, the cool breeze brushing her hair against his shoulder. For a moment, they said nothing, simply letting the night wrap around them like silk.
Then Lance spoke, his voice lower now, more serious.
"We've lived through the rise and fall of civilizations," he said, gaze fixed on the night sky. "Watched empires burn, kingdoms bloom and crumble, lived through so many countries. We've been rich and poor, saints and sinners. Lived in deserts, forests, warzones, and palaces. And through it all, the one constant…"
He turned to look at her, his eyes searching hers.
"…was you."
Lily's lips parted slightly, her breath catching in her throat.
"You've died in my arms as the world turned to ash. You've slipped away beneath monsoon skies. You've smiled at me across candlelit halls in lifetimes so far gone, I can barely grasp their names. And every time…" His voice trembled. "You left too soon."
Her hand found his, fingers interlacing without thought.
"In some lives," he continued, "I only caught a glimpse of you. A short moment. I'd read your name in a newspaper after a tragic accident. I'd search, desperate to find you again, only to realize I was already too late. Your name etched in stone, the only reminder that once again I was late."
She said nothing, but her grip on the railing tightened.
"And in the lives where we did find each other," he went on, "I tried to save you. I trained, I studied, I fought against fate with everything I had. I became a doctor. Again, and again. Thinking maybe, just maybe, I could stop the wheel from turning. I memorized anatomy, learned the pulse of every organ, the rhythm of healing. But no matter how skilled I became, no matter how much I knew… I always failed. Disease. Accidents. War. Something always took you from me."
He drew in a breath, steadying himself.
She didn't speak, didn't dare move. Her eyes shimmered under the starlight.
"And what I regret most," Lance continued, his voice barely above a whisper, "is that in all those lives, I never told you enough. Never told you what an incredible woman you were in every single one. How deeply you loved, how brightly you shined. How madly in love I was with you — in every version of you I was lucky enough to know. How deeply I loved you— endlessly—and how much of that love stayed trapped behind fear or time or circumstance."
Lily turned to him, the tenderness in his tone pulling her gaze.
Lance paused, his voice breaking ever so slightly. "And every time, I was left standing in the quiet afterward, realizing I never told you enough. Never told you what an extraordinary woman you were in each life"
Lily's breath caught in her throat. Her eyes shone with unshed tears.
He turned to face her fully now, both hands cradling hers.
"What I mean to say is… I've loved you from the lives long passed. And each time, I thought it would be enough to remember. That it would carry forward like some divine inheritance."
He took a small breath, stepped closer and then smiled softly.
"But the truth is, every time I found you, I couldn't help myself falling in love all over again. With the way your laugh bubbles up like spring water, with your stubborn heart, with your stories, with your fire, with your voice, with every little detail that made this new you just as unforgettable as the last. Every version of you felt like the first and the last."
The stars above them seemed to lean in, the whole night holding its breath.
"And tonight, beneath this Florence sky, I don't want to leave it unsaid. Not again."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. Opened it to reveal a ring — elegant and timeless, a soft glint of starlight caught in its curve.
"I love you, Lily Storm. I always have. And I want to spend every moment of this life — and every one that comes after — loving you, learning you, discovering all this world and every other has to offer… with you by my side."
He dropped to one knee, eyes never leaving hers.
"Will you marry me?"
Tears spilled freely down Lily's cheeks, her lips trembling with a smile that reached into every inch of her soul. She laughed, choked and breathless, full of light.
"Yes," she whispered. "Yes, Lance. A thousand times, yes."
He slid the ring onto her finger, hands trembling with joy. And when he stood and kissed her, the world seemed to still around them — the wind, the city, the stars seemed to flare just a little brighter — as if all of time itself bowed in reverence to their love, as if they, too, had been waiting lifetimes for this moment.
They didn't rush. There was no need to. After the applause of the stars and the hush of the universe, Lily clung to Lance with laughter still trembling in her chest, her tears damp against his collarbone.
Neither of them spoke for a long time. Words had already done their part.
Eventually, the rooftop began to clear. The waitstaff, moving quietly and respectfully, packed away what was left of the evening. But Lily and Lance stayed at the railing, watching the city below—its narrow alleys, its domed cathedrals, its glowing river that carried history like a secret beneath the bridges.
She turned the ring on her finger slowly, still half in disbelief.
"I thought I was dreaming," Lily murmured. "Until you said my full name like that."
Lance smiled. "I've whispered your name in a hundred languages. But I've never said it quite like this."
Eventually, they made their way back to the car waiting at the base of the resort. The air was cool, filled with the scent of flowers and old stone, the kind of air that remembered history. Inside the car, Lily curled up slightly, her head resting on Lance's shoulder, their hands intertwined in her lap.
The silence was easy, full of meaning.
Lance turned to her; eyes warm with something more than just love—something older.
"Ik hou van jou," he murmured.
Lily blinked, a small amused smile tugging at her lips. "What?"
"Ya lyublyu tebya," he said next, the Russian curling softly off his tongue.
She tilted her head. "Still not helping."
"Wǒ ài nǐ."
"Lance…"
He laughed under his breath, then leaned closer, brushing his lips near her ear.
"Ti amo."
She exhaled a breath of realization, and her voice was soft, almost shy. "I love you too."
His smile was slow and full, and he didn't say anything more—he didn't need to.
When they reached their suite, the door clicked shut behind them and the city disappeared.
Lance helped her out of her coat, then his own. His hands brushed her shoulders as he did, lingering just a moment longer. She turned toward him, her eyes soft.
"I feel like if I close my eyes, I'll wake up in another life," she said with a smile both wistful and shy.
"Then don't close them," he whispered, pressing his forehead to hers.
They moved through the space like a dance they already knew—slow, reverent, and full of awe. Lance was careful, always careful, as though part of him still couldn't believe she was real. Lily, in turn, touched him like someone tracing constellations she'd long memorized.
They didn't need to rush. Their kisses were slow, lingering. There was no urgency, only gratitude. Hands explored, not out of desire alone, but reverence. After centuries of trying, they were here. Together. In this moment. The night folded around them like velvet as they curled into each other beneath crisp sheets, the window left open so the sounds of the city could drift in like lullabies.
Lance held her close, his fingers absentmindedly brushing her hair, her back, the curve of her shoulder.
"I still remember one life," he murmured. "We were farmers. I'm going to be honest; I fell in love with you because of the bread you used to bake. And your laugh… It was the only thing that made the days feel like more than just survival."
Lily chuckled softly; eyes already heavy with sleep. "I'd probably burn toast now."
"I'd still eat it," he said, kissing her hair. "Even if it killed me."
She laughed again, quietly, and nestled deeper into his chest.
Outside, Florence settled into stillness. The stars continued their watch overhead. And within the warmth of a room high above the world, two souls—tired from time, healed by love—finally rested.
Together.