"Bruce, now is really not a good time. What do you want?"

He laughed down the line and Carla let out a begrudged breath, "It's so nice to hear from you too, Carla. How was your flight?"

"I wouldn't know," she grumbled, pulling her suitcase back out through the departure lounge, "I didn't get on it because it was cancelled. The next flight out isn't until Wednesday so I'm heading back into the city."

"Huh," Bruce clicked his tongue, "It's a shame you don't know anyone with a private jet, isn't it?"

She stopped dead in her tracks, eyes narrowing in contemplation of his comment. It was clear to her now that Bruce Wayne already knew about her flight being cancelled, and it wouldn't have shocked her to find out if somehow he had something to do with it in the first place, though that was a little farther fetched than she was willing to believe.

His playful tone invoked interest, "Alright Bruce, just say what you called me to say."

He grinned and pulled his feet off the couch, sitting upright instead of lying down with one hand behind his head admiring the sunshine over the city like he had been for the last hour.

His Monday had been pretty quiet after a rather hectic weekend beating criminals to a pulp across Gotham and all of its crevices, but he'd never planned on staying put in his penthouse whether Carla's flight got cancelled or not - that just happened to be a stroke of good luck.

"I can get you there, take off in an hour and a half. What do you say?"

Carla pursed her lips in consideration. She'd been desperate to get out of Gotham and spend a week back in Sicily since she'd stepped foot on the island, the thought of some innocent sunshine and clear water being her only will to get out of bed some days.

That, and she'd promised the people back at home that she'd be there. There was no special occasion or reason for her to arrive that week, but a promise was a promise all the same.

"What do you get out of this?"

"Have you ever joined the mile high-"

"I'm hanging up."

"Wait- I'm joking, Carla," Bruce laughed and raised his voice urgently, jumping to his feet at the same time, "Just let me help you. I want to do something nice, that's all. I swear."

Carmine Falcone's threat rang loudly in her ears, but the sound of Bruce's low moans were louder, and one of them was far easier to dismiss than the other.

She'd had almost two days to think about telling Carmine to go and fuck himself to redeem her purity when she took the stand in court, but it dawned on her incredibly quickly that if it wasn't Bruce he was threatening her with, it would be Harvey. And if it wasn't Harvey, it would be Rachel, and if it wasn't Rachel...well, he would find somebody else.

Carla glanced over her shoulder and glared at the departure board, honing in on her flight number and the red flashing word cancelled beside it.

"Fine."

Forty-five minutes later and Carla was greeted with another Rolls Royce pulling up by her feet, a license plate reading BW 2 on that particular day.

The driver door opened and a familiar face smiled at her warmly, genuine happiness behind his lived-in eyes, "Doctor Fiori, it's a pleasure. Let me take your bag."

"It's so nice to see you too, Alfred. Thank you."

He took her suitcase and lifted it into the trunk before opening the door for her, nodding as she thanked him after sliding into the backseat, her face switching as soon as she turned to face Bruce.

"Could you not have lifted my suitcase yourself? Alfred is old."

Bruce scoffed, "You just got into the car and you already have a problem?"

Carla just stared at him, her silence a clear yes.

"He wouldn't have it any other way, trust me," Bruce nodded with a half smile, eyes skimming her leisure attire that was different to her usual uniform.

"Am I not dressed appropriately for a private jet?" She said blankly, raising a brow.

Bruce was only in jeans and a quarter-zip, hair perfectly swept back and jaw freshly shaved, but it was still a step up from the black Lululemon unitard, trench coat and sneakers that Carla had opted for that day.

He shrugged, "I'm just wondering how I'm supposed to get you out of that thing."

She kicked his shin and clicked her tongue, turning her head away from him in disgust as soon as Alfred got behind the wheel again, Bruce laughing quietly to himself as they headed across to the private terminal.

Much quieter than the departure lounge Carla had been sat waiting in for half of her day, the private terminal was practically empty besides a few men in suits and young children dressed in more wealth than their parents.

They bid goodbye to Alfred after he unloaded their cases and then, only then, did Bruce grab the handles himself and wheel them inside the terminal.

The all-black jet was parked on the tarmac with the engine running, no name or logo etched onto the side like some of the others, just a simple, midnight black paint job that somehow screamed Bruce Wayne more than anything else probably could.

Their cases were scanned and Carla followed Bruce outside, the pilot and co-pilot standing at the steps with smiles to greet them. Bruce was quick to shake their hands and introduce her and before she knew it, she was buckled into a cream leather chair with more padding and legroom than she'd ever had on an aircraft in her life.

"You want a drink? There's a full bar," Bruce said once they'd reached cruising altitude, undoing his seatbelt and strolling towards the back of the cabin.

Carla peered down the aisle and sure enough, watched as he pulled open two cabinets and revealed a stack of liquor and glasses.

"Do you have any champagne?"

He scoffed and pulled open a cabinet beneath him with his foot, revealing a small refrigerator full of vintage Veuve Clicquot, "As if you had to ask."

Carla held back a smile as she watched Bruce pop the cork from the bottle, sticking it in a bucket full of ice after pouring two glasses and setting them down on the table.

He sat down opposite her again, admiring the way she looked so dark against the cream interior, always seeming to stand out. She wore her hair straight and concealed beneath her eyes, bronzed her skin and curled her lashes, though she wasn't made up even half as much as usual.

Still, she looked beautiful. Carla's features were just as sharp as Bruce's, if not more. Some people probably would've thought her intimidating rather than gorgeous, but that wasn't the case for Bruce. He liked the way her eyes were narrowed and sleek, her nose strong and her jaw prominent. He'd had enough of the soft, pinkly pretty women that seemed to make up his past, finding much more excitement and enticement in their polar opposite.

"Cheers," he said, raising his glass.

Carla mirrored his actions and clinked hers against it, "Cheers."

The taste was as refreshing and crisp as it was coming from cocktail lounges and bars in the city, though Carla wasn't sure why she ever thought Bruce Wayne would settle for anything less.

"So," he cleared his throat and relaxed into the wide chair, arms resting on the side and the champagne flute twirling mindlessly between his fingers, "Where are we staying in Sicily?"

"We?"

"Oh come on," he chuckled, "Just for tonight, you can't expect me to go around asking if there's any room at the inn on such short notice?"

Carla rolled her eyes, "The house where I grew up. My aunt is still there, it's her I'm visiting."

He vaguely remembered her mentioning an aunt - or rather someone that she was told was her aunt - raised her after she left Gotham somewhere around six or seven years old. Bruce had never asked about her family, mother or father, any siblings or cousins she might've had.

It wasn't that he wasn't interested, he simply understood the weight that sometimes came with a family, knowing that if she wanted to talk about them, she would. He never normally had any problem prying, but he empathised with that topic in particular and so, kept his curiosity to a minimum.

"Where does she live? I'm imagining a quaint little townhouse or something, colourful shutters and terrace that overlooks the ocean."

Carla shrugged, "Well, you got the last part right."

Situated on the east coat of Sicily, Taormina was a town situated at the top of a mountain with cascading cliffs that did overlook the Ionian Sea, a small string of white sand bays that locals lounged on beneath the hot sun.

An ancient Roman theatre drew in tourists that admired the rich architecture and lived to breathe in the culture of the stones and the sand. There was a marbled town square with pale stone buildings and family-run restaurants, the most delicious authentic food and Sicilian wine from the surrounding towns.

The home in which Carla spent the majority of her life was anything but quaint. Bruce was impressed when the car powered up towering hillsides before cutting through the cobbled streets, eventually winding up driving through large iron gates that led down a long driveway towards a sprawling white villa on the edge of the cliff side.

The grass was perfectly green and bursts of colour from beautiful flowers lined the hedges, the sun low over the edge of the cliff as it started to set beyond the horizon for the evening. The home itself was warm with yellow lights glowing from inside, doors and windows all open despite the cooler evening temperature, though a fire pit was burning bright on a red and black patio next to a thin infinity pool.

"Carla? Carla, oh amore mio."

Carla said nothing to Bruce before opening the car door and stepping out into the mild air. She rushed straight over to a narrow, short woman with jet black hair tied up out of her face, a blue dress reaching her calves and a white apron tied around her waist.

Bruce had never seen Carla show anyone so much affection, outside of her bedroom towards him at least, but he watched through the open car door as she sprinted into the older woman's arms and embraced her with so much power and warmth that he thought she might crush her bones to dust.

"Mi sei mancato così tanto," the woman said, holding Carla's face in her hands.

"I missed you too, more than you know," Carla replied firmly, smiling as her cheeks were kissed.

The cab driver slammed the trunk of the car closed and Bruce quickly jumped out, pulling out a stack of Euros and handing them to him, pulling the cases towards the house without hanging around for any change.

The wheels on the stone pathway caught their attention and paused the conversation, Carla turning around when she watched her aunt's eyes look past her shoulder instead of at her face.

"This is my friend Bruce, he'll be staying with us, at least for a little while. Bruce, this is my aunt Giulia."

Bruce's face turned red and he let go of the cases when Giulia walked towards him, her arms open and smile warm and comforting. She had slightly weathered skin though couldn't have been much older than sixty-three, huge green eyes and sun kissed freckles, her hands tarnished with gold rings and leather bracelets threaded with seashells.

She reached up and placed her hands on his shoulders, lips kissing each of his cheeks while a rich scent of jasmine and lavender poured through his senses, her hands sliding down his arms to grip his fingers as she looked up at him with sincerity.

"Welcome, Bruce. It's nice to meet you, please make yourself at home. What's mine is yours."

He smiled, "It's a pleasure to meet you too, Mrs..."

"Just Giulia, please."

He nodded and relaxed a little, feeling calmed by the way her soft hands held his own and how she looked like perhaps the kindest person he'd ever set eyes on.

"Thank you, Giulia. That's very kind."

"Come inside," she said as she walked towards the house, "Make a drink, supper is almost ready."

After insisting she needed no help with the cooking, Giulia continued stirring whatever was inside the huge pot on the stove with a wooden spoon while Carla poured two glasses of wine and headed back out onto the patio.

The fire was hot and there were two red heat lamps hanging from the veranda, making the spring chill a little more tolerable. She and Bruce sat adjacent at the cast iron table, tarnished white chairs made comfortable with maroon cushions and knitted blankets.

"She seems nice, your aunt."

Carla glanced at Bruce as he drank his wine. They hadn't spoken much on the flight over since the four glasses of champagne were enough to send Carla into a deep sleep. She was more than happy to take advantage of the fact there was a hugely comfortable seat available to her instead of being crushed up in economy, reclining into a dreamland with a thick fur throw and pillow.

Bruce didn't mind, spending the rest of the flight working while she slept. They hadn't spoken since spending the night together and while he knew that she was never going to get in touch with him first, he still waited a few days before giving her a call.

Things didn't feel awkward, in fact quite the opposite, though there was a lingering sense of what now? Where were they supposed to go from there? Neither of them were sure, but they had both thought about little else besides their time together in the darkness of Carla's bedroom since it happened.

"She is," Carla nodded and pulled a blanket across her shoulders, "She's the most selfless person I know, genuine down to her core."

Bruce raised a brow and smiled, "Yeah? That clearly didn't rub off on you."

She just glared at him before looking back out at the sunset. The colour was quickly draining from the sky, leaving stars scattered against the black and a crescent moon peeked through the dark clouds that floated across the mountain tops.

Carla seemed happier there. She was noticeably more relaxed and her face wasn't holding that usual permanent frown. Although her lips were far from a smile still, Bruce had noticed a difference.

The three of them enjoyed a delicious home cooked meal, perhaps the nicest red prawn linguine Bruce had ever had the luxury of tasting. Giulia wasn't shy from asking him questions as they ate under the warmth of the heaters, offering him more wine while he explained exactly what it was that Wayne Enterprises did.

A place like Gotham couldn't have been more different to the cliff side of Sicily and the longer he admired the view and listened to the soft trickling of water from a stone fountain by the grass, Bruce began to wonder why Carla would ever want to trade in one life there for another in Gotham.

"You can have this room," Carla said, pushing open the door to a room with white walls and gold artwork, a four-poster bed with a window that overlooked the garden below, "There's a bathroom through that door but it's the same one connected to my room, so make sure to knock."

He wandered over to the window and peered out, being able to just about make out some small boats floating up and down on the waves in the light of a harbour below.

"If you need anything, just ask. I'll probably wake up early in the morning though so I'll be around," Carla continued.

Bruce turned and nodded, "Thanks. I'll look for a hotel tomorrow."

Carla stared at him from the doorway, watching the soft light fall across his face and how his hair had tousled from the breeze. He looked tired and Carla realised then that he probably hadn't slept on the flight like she had, but even with the darkness pulling down on his eyes, he still looked handsome.

Her eyes traced his shoulders and his arms - now bare after discarding the quarter zip and leaving just a white t-shirt. His hands were sunk casually into the pockets of his jeans but Carla remembered how his touch had sent a shiver across her skin, the thought provoking the same reaction as she got lost in her own thoughts for a brief moment.

"It's fine," she said, "We have all this space, it's no problem."

She left him to unpack, heading into her own bedroom to do the same thing. Although her return to Sicily wasn't exactly how she'd planned it, Carla didn't entirely detest the fact that Bruce was there. She still wasn't sure whether she was interested in dating him, or dating anybody at all, but she'd found it almost impossible to not slowly start to enjoy his company, with and without clothes.

After hanging up her dresses in the wardrobe and folding t-shirts neatly into drawers, Carla slipped out of her clothes and pulled on a black lace nightdress; a delicate little sheet of satin with a white lace trim that came just above her thigh.

Wash bag in hand, she knocked once on the bathroom door that was already open ajar, pausing with her eyes to the floor until Bruce called out that she was fine to go in.

The bathroom was grand with black and white checked tiles on the floor, a vanity on each side of the room with huge gold mirrors and a chandelier hanging from the middle of the ceiling. There was a marble shower and clawfoot bathtub by the window too, the entire place spotlessly clean and smelling like fresh bergamot and cedar from a diffuser sitting prettily next to a vase of flowers on the windowsill.

Bruce was stood in his boxers by his sink, toothbrush in hand when Carla walked in. She glanced at him quickly before turning to her own vanity and pulling her hair back with a claw clip. She cleansed her face and brushed her teeth, Bruce staring at her reflection in the mirror as she pulled out endless little jars full of expensive creams and serums that made her skin glow.

"Do you have everything you need?" She said, turning to face him.

He looked up from the sink and turned around too, shaking his hands dry and combing his fingers through his hair, "Just a towel."

Carla opened the doors to an antique wooden wardrobe in the corner, pushing up onto her tiptoes and reaching for a towel on the top shelf. Bruce watched as the hem of her nightdress shifted higher up her legs, unable to keep his eyes from wandering across the length of her body and recalling how soft her skin was in his hands and against his lips.

She handed it to him, not being ashamed in her gaze crawling up past his chest and across his shoulders before meeting his eyes. Bruce liked the way she looked at him. He was no stranger to women spending a lifetime looking his way, but there was something electrifying about her eyes, how she was unreadable yet feverishly transparent with her thoughts at the same time.

"Anything else?" She said.

The list of other things Bruce wanted from Carla was endless right then, and the way he watched her admire his body like it was a work of art made it obvious that their thoughts were one and the same.

Regardless, something about the new surroundings and not being entirely alone made Bruce decided that that night, and perhaps only that night, the towel was all he needed.

"That's it," he said quietly, swallowing as he stole a glance at the low plunge of her nightdress and the sheer lace that left nothing to the imagination.

Carla noticed, though chose not to comment, instead nodding and walking towards the door, pausing with fingertips on the handle and taking one last look at Bruce as he stood in the bathroom, bathed in white moonlight with carved muscle and stone definition across every inch of his body.

"Goodnight, Bruce."

He smiled when she did, sighing gently at the sight of her walking away, "Goodnight, Carla."