The clock struck midnight, yet Aurélie lay wide awake in her room, the pale moonlight sneaking through the delicate curtains and spilling across the floor. The gentle hum of Paris at night was usually a comfort to her — the distant chatter of pedestrians, the soft rumble of cars, the occasional bark of a dog. But tonight, there was something disquieting. Her mind refused to rest.
She turned over in bed and reached for her phone. No new messages.
Aurélie sighed and whispered to herself, "Why am I even expecting a text?"
She had spent the evening with Elio — just like many other evenings in the past two weeks. Dinner had been pleasant. Not forced, not awkward — in fact, a little too natural. They had laughed. She had caught herself watching him as he spoke, her eyes lingering longer than they should have.
She pulled the covers up to her chest.
"It's just part of the contract," she murmured.
But she didn't believe her own words.
---
Earlier that evening, Elio had walked her to the door of her apartment after dinner at a quiet rooftop restaurant. He hadn't touched her — not even a hand on the back or a polite kiss on the cheek. Just a soft, lingering gaze before saying, "Goodnight, Aurélie. I'll see you tomorrow."
She had smiled and nodded. "Goodnight, Elio."
But as the door closed behind her, she had stood there for a long moment, her hand still on the doorknob, her heart inexplicably heavy.
---
The next morning, Aurélie walked into the kitchen to find her cousin Cécile making coffee.
"You look like you didn't sleep at all," Cécile remarked, handing her a cup.
Aurélie took it with a faint smile. "I guess I didn't."
Cécile narrowed her eyes. "Is it the gallery? Or... the contract?"
Aurélie hesitated. "It's nothing. Just tired."
"Hmm," Cécile said, clearly unconvinced. "You've been spending a lot of time with Elio lately."
"Well, that's the point, isn't it?" Aurélie replied, trying to sound casual. "We're supposed to be a couple."
"But you weren't supposed to enjoy it," Cécile teased.
Aurélie gave a weak laugh. "I don't. I mean... I don't know."
Cécile raised a brow. "Careful, cousin. Feelings are tricky things. They slip in when you least expect them."
---
Later that day, Elio found himself in his office at the architecture firm, sketching mindlessly on his pad. He was supposed to be reviewing blueprints, but instead he was thinking about the way Aurélie had looked under the fairy lights the night before. The way she had smiled when he told a silly story about his childhood in Florence. The way she had looked slightly sad when they said goodnight.
He tapped his pen against the desk and sighed.
This wasn't supposed to happen. The contract was clear — appearances, companionship, attending events. That was all. No emotions. No real intimacy. No risks.
But Elio was starting to notice little things. How he listened more closely when she spoke. How he tried to make her laugh. How her silences made him uneasy.
He picked up his phone and typed a message:
"Did you sleep well?"
Then he deleted it.
Typed again:
"Would you like to have lunch tomorrow?"
Deleted.
Finally, he placed the phone face down and stood up. Get a grip, Elio, he told himself. This is temporary. You're doing this for the merger. For your family's company. For security. Not for love.
But the truth whispered otherwise.
---
That evening, they met again at a gallery opening. Aurélie wore a long emerald dress, her hair swept back elegantly. Elio couldn't take his eyes off her when she entered the room. She greeted people with her usual poise, but he noticed the way her eyes flicked toward him, like she was searching for something familiar — or someone.
"Bonsoir," he said when she finally reached him.
"Bonsoir, Elio," she replied, her voice smooth and calm. "You look... formal tonight."
He glanced down at his black suit. "I was told it was a formal event."
Aurélie smiled. "It is."
They stood silently for a moment before she asked, "How was your day?"
"Productive," Elio lied. "Yours?"
"Restless," she admitted.
Their eyes met. Neither said anything for a beat too long. Then Elio gently offered his arm. "Shall we?"
Aurélie nodded and took it.
---
The gallery was crowded with collectors and critics, murmurs of appreciation bouncing off the white walls. Aurélie led Elio toward one of the quieter corners, near a painting of a foggy Paris morning.
"I used to come here with my mother," she said softly.
Elio glanced at her. "This gallery?"
She nodded. "Before it became trendy. Back when it was small and a little dusty. We would sit on that bench over there and pretend we owned all the art."
There was a hint of longing in her tone that made Elio's chest tighten.
"I would have loved to meet her," he said.
Aurélie turned to him slowly. "She would have liked you, I think."
Elio's voice lowered. "Would she have approved of... this arrangement?"
Aurélie didn't answer immediately. "She would've told me to guard my heart. But she also believed in giving people a chance."
There it was — an opening, an unspoken possibility.
Elio's voice grew quieter. "Aurélie… can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"Do you ever wonder what would've happened if we met under different circumstances?"
Aurélie looked at him for a long moment. "Sometimes. But I also wonder if we would've noticed each other at all."
Elio tilted his head. "Why do you say that?"
"Because we're very good at pretending," she said. "Maybe too good."
---
As the night wore on, the gallery thinned out. Aurélie and Elio remained, sitting on the same bench she had once shared with her mother. They didn't talk much. They didn't need to. The silence between them had changed — no longer cold or cautious, but thoughtful. Tentative.
When Elio finally stood to leave, he offered her his coat, though she hadn't said she was cold.
"Merci," she whispered.
He nodded, and then — without planning it — reached out and gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
Her breath caught, but she didn't pull away.
"I'll see you tomorrow," Elio said softly.
Aurélie's voice trembled just slightly. "Yes... tomorrow."
---
That night, Aurélie sat on her bed again, staring at the phone.
This time, there was a message.
From Elio:
"Thank you for the evening. It meant more than I expected."
She read it twice. Then again.
And replied:
"Me too."
And for the first time in days, she slept soundly.