Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Morning light crept through Brianna’s curtains in long, soft bands of gold, warming the room and settling across the tangled sheets beside me. For a moment, I wasn’t sure where I was, only that my body felt pleasantly sore, my heartbeat slow and heavy, and my mind impossibly light.
Then I looked over.
Brianna lay facing me, hair tousled across the pillow, freckles softened by the morning glow, lips still faintly swollen from all the ways we’d forgotten how to stop touching each other last night. She looked peaceful, real in a way that made my chest tighten.
And the memories came back in slow waves.
The kiss under the snow. Her hand in mine as we walked to her flat.
The tremble in her breath when I touched her face upstairs, the way she’d pulled me closer, again and again, as if letting go would’ve broken something vital in both of us.
And then everything else that followed afterwards.
I hadn’t meant for any of it to happen. I hadn’t meant to fall asleep with her in my arms or to wake up in the same position hours later.
But God, I didn’t regret a single moment.
She shifted slightly, drawing the sheets higher, and her eyelids fluttered open. For a heartbeat, she just blinked at me, dazed and sleepy and unbearably beautiful.
“Morning,” I murmured.
Her cheeks warmed instantly, the shyest smile tugging at her lips. “Good morning.”
Silence stretched between us, it wasn’t awkward, it felt tender and fragile.
A new kind of silence. One that told me everything had changed without either of us needing to say it aloud.
She sat up a little, holding the sheet to her chest, brushing her thumb along my knuckles where our hands still rested together.
“Do you, um… need to shower?” she asked, voice soft, still husky from sleep.
I almost laughed at how ridiculously fond I felt at that moment. “Probably,” I admitted. “Though I don’t exactly have fresh clothes.”
“I can loan you a towel. And… maybe I can help with the clothes later.” She gave me a small smile.
Something warm and dangerous curled in my chest. “I’ll take you up on that.”
She slipped out of bed, gathering her dressing gown around her, cheeks still rosy as she tied the fabric tight. She didn’t look away when she passed me, her eyes lingered just long enough to make my pulse jump and then she disappeared into the hallway.
I exhaled slowly. Last night hadn’t been accidental. It had been inevitable. And now the morning had arrived, stark and clear, reminding me that choices were looming, pressing, unavoidable.
I gathered myself and headed for the bathroom. Steam filled the air as I stepped behind the curtain, letting the hot water ease the ache from my muscles and wash away the cold that still clung to my skin from the night before.
But even as the warmth spread through me, guilt pricked at the edges.
Because I knew what I was fighting, what I had been fighting from the moment I arrived.
And now that I had touched her, held her close and kissed her until neither of us could breathe.
Leaving felt impossible, but staying felt just as complicated.
When I stepped out of the shower a few minutes later, towel around my waist, the air outside the bathroom felt cooler.
The faint smell of coffee drifted from the kitchen; she must have gone to start the pot.
Then I heard it. A soft chime from my phone.
A notification. Most likely another email.
Maybe a news alert or some meaningless London chatter.
But Brianna’s voice carried down the hall, startled and quiet.
I stepped into the hallway, still damp, hair dripping onto my shoulders. My stomach tightened when I saw her standing near the small table by the door, my phone in her hand, face turned slightly away as if she feared she’d seen something she shouldn’t have.
Her voice was barely above a whisper.
“Someone umm, texted. Sorry, I didn’t mean to pick it up, I thought it was mine.”
My heart thudded sharply. She swallowed, eyes lifting to meet mine, wide, wounded, already bracing for the worst.
“The flights are back on,” she said, almost choking on the words.
The world stood still for a beat. The heat from the shower vanished from my skin, the morning light felt suddenly colder, and in Brianna’s eyes, I saw the flicker of something breaking. Not anger but neither surprise. It was hurt, deep and quiet. Our sudden bubble had burst.
She placed the phone back on the table with trembling fingers.
“So that’s it then,” she whispered. “You’re leaving.”
My breath stilled in my throat. Not because she was wrong, but because she might now believe it meant last night meant nothing.