The next morning crept in quietly, the sunlight filtered soft through Nicholas's blackout curtains, casting pale gold halos along the hardwood floors. Ella stirred first. She was curled into his side, one leg tangled over his, her cheek pressed against the steady rise and fall of his chest. His arm was around her like he'd forgotten he was even holding her, his hand still resting possessively against her lower back.
She didn't move at first.
She just stayed there, warm and still, her fingers ghosting the curve of his collarbone as she listened to the faint sound of his breathing. She could still feel the weight of yesterday trailing her—her father's face, the ugly words, the steel in her spine she didn't even know she had until it came spilling out.
But Nicholas had held her after. Said nothing too sweet or too heavy. Just held her in silence like he knew that love, in moments like those, didn't need to be spoken.
