The morning light crept gently through the curtains, brushing over the edges of the room. The fire from the night before had long gone out, leaving behind only the faint scent of smoke and warmth.
Alexander woke first. For a few seconds, he didn't move. He simply listened — the soft rhythm of her breathing beside him, the fragile peace of a world still asleep.
Amelia lay curled against him, her hand resting lightly over his chest, her hair a quiet tangle of gold and brown against the pillow.
He looked at her for a long moment, his heart tightening with something he couldn't name — reverence, maybe. Gratitude. Love.
He thought of everything that had led them here — the months of silence, the hesitation, the fear. And now this quiet morning that felt like the start of something sacred.
When she stirred, blinking sleepily, he smiled.
"Good morning," he whispered.
"Hi," she murmured, her voice still soft from sleep. "What time is it?"
"Early," he said. "Stay a little longer."
She smiled faintly and did — resting her head back on his shoulder, closing her eyes again for a few seconds of peace.
But soon, reality returned. The world outside their cocoon still existed.
"I should shower," she said softly, pulling herself up. "We've got to drive back later."
He nodded, though a part of him wanted to stop time right there.
"Go on. I'll make coffee."
When she disappeared into the bathroom, he stayed still for a moment, letting the quiet stretch.
Then, as he began to straighten the sheets, his eyes fell on the bed — on the small, undeniable reminder of what the night had meant.
He froze.
It wasn't shock that filled him, nor confusion. It was understanding.
The kind that hits all at once and leaves a man completely still.
He sat down slowly, his hand pressing to his mouth, eyes closing.
He'd known she was pure-hearted, careful with her world. But he hadn't known how much she'd trusted him.
And now that he did, it felt like something inside him shifted — permanently.
For years he'd believed love was something fleeting, something beautiful but short-lived. He'd seen it fall apart in others, and he'd learned to protect himself.
But this — this quiet, breathtaking trust — it undid him.
He ran a hand through his hair, trying to breathe through the weight of what he felt.
When she stepped out moments later, wrapped in a towel, her cheeks flushed from the warmth of the shower, he stood instinctively.
Her eyes met his, uncertain. "What's wrong?"
He crossed the room in two strides and stopped just before touching her. His voice was low, trembling slightly.
"Nothing's wrong. Everything's… more right than I've ever known."
She frowned gently, confused by the emotion in his tone. "Alexander?"
He lifted his hand, brushing her damp hair away from her face. "I just realised how extraordinary you are."
She blinked. "I'm not."
"You are," he said softly. "You have no idea what you've given me. What you've trusted me with."
Her expression softened then, the tension fading from her shoulders. "I trust you," she whispered.
"And I'll never give you a reason to regret that."
He kissed her forehead gently — not like before, not urgent, but full of quiet devotion.
Later, they sat by the window, the morning sun spilling across the floor.
She wore one of his shirts, too big for her, sleeves rolled up past her wrists; he couldn't stop smiling at the sight.
They had breakfast slowly — coffee, toast, fruit. Simple, domestic, perfect.
Every now and then, she caught him watching her with that same look, half wonder, half disbelief.
Finally, she laughed. "You're staring."
"I'm memorising," he said. "You have this way of making the world quieter."
She smiled, looking out at the lake. "Do you ever get scared?"
He nodded. "All the time. Especially now."
"Why now?"
"Because I've never wanted something to last this much."
Her smile faded into something softer, almost vulnerable. "You think it will?"
He reached across the table, taking her hand. "Only if we both keep choosing it."
She looked down at their joined hands — his large, steady; hers small and trembling slightly.
"I don't know how to do this," she admitted. "I've never… had anything like this before."
He squeezed her hand gently. "Neither have I. But maybe we learn together."
They spent the day walking around the grounds, talking about everything they'd avoided saying before — their childhoods, the loneliness that came with ambition, the strange fear of being seen too clearly.
When evening came, the car was packed, and the world outside their sanctuary began to call them back.
Driving toward Manchester, the road long and dark, she leaned her head against his shoulder. "You know Monday's going to be hard," she said quietly.
"I know."
"You're my boss again tomorrow."
He smiled faintly. "Then I'll try to be the kind of boss who keeps your secrets safe."
She laughed softly. "You're impossible."
"And you," he said, glancing at her with warmth, "are unforgettable."
When they reached her building, she hesitated before opening the door.
"Thank you," she said simply.
"For what?"
"For everything."
He leaned over, brushing a kiss against her cheek. "Get some sleep."
She smiled, her voice barely a whisper. "You too."
And when she finally stepped out, disappearing up the stairs, Alexander sat in the quiet car for a long time, staring at the empty seat beside him — knowing, without question, that he'd just left behind the woman who had changed everything.