Marshall’s POV

The next morning, I woke up to the sound of water running from the sink.

Francesco was already up he was standing by the sink, shirtless, wiping his face with a small towel. The light from the barred window hit his back, showing faint scars across his shoulders. He moved quietly, like he didn’t want to disturb me.

“Morning,” he said, voice calm and low.

I mumbled something back, “morning.” My mouth felt dry. I wasn’t used to talking so early, and definitely not to a celebrity like him.

He rinsed the towel again, squeezed it, and looked at me. “You sleep alright?”

“Yeah.” I paused, then added,...