The moment I woke, sunlight filtered gently through the sheer curtains, warming the ivory-colored sheets wrapped around our tangled legs. Dust danced in golden streaks across the room, catching the curves of the furniture and painting lazy lines across Andreis' bare back.
His breathing was soft beside me—slow, steady, peaceful. The tension he always wore on his brow had melted away in sleep, and for the first time, I saw him unguarded. Vulnerable. Beautiful.
My body still hummed with the memory of last night—every touch, every breath, every kiss that had led us here. I'd never felt anything like it before. Not just the rush or the heat, but the feeling of being seen, wholly and fully. As though every part of me belonged to him, and his to me.
I turned slightly, careful not to wake him, and smiled.
Then, as if he could sense the shift, his arm slid around my waist and pulled me closer. His lips brushed my temple.
"Morning," he murmured sleepily.
I smiled, resting my head against his chest. "Morning."
He tilted my chin gently and kissed my forehead, then looked at me with something like wonder in his eyes. "You okay?"
I nodded. "I think… more than okay."
He smiled back, then rolled onto his back, arms behind his head. "I need to get ready. You get ready too. Let's have breakfast outside, I prepared something for you."
He stretched, stood up, and kissed my forehead again before disappearing into the bathroom.
I lay there for a moment longer, still lost in the memories of last night. The way he looked at me—first into my eyes, then slowly down to my lips, and back again. The way my chest had tightened, breath caught somewhere between nerves and anticipation. And then, when he kissed me…
It wasn't just a kiss. It was a claim, a promise, a confession. Soft at first, hesitant, his lips coaxing mine until I responded. Our hands found each other—needy, curious, reverent. I had never been kissed like that. Never been touched like that. It was like falling and flying all at once.
I remembered how his voice trembled just a little when he whispered, "You sure?" And I had nodded, cheeks flushed, whispering, "It's my first time."
He had paused, cupped my cheek, and kissed my forehead. "It's okay, Mia. I've got you. I won't let anything happen to you. Not now. Not ever."
Even when things moved faster—our breath catching, clothes slipping off like secrets—we never broke eye contact. Every second was shared. Felt. Remembered.
And when he was finally above me, kissing me slowly, deeply, I had clung to him like he was the only real thing in the world. Because in that moment, he was.
We made love like it was the first and last time.
I finally rose from bed and headed to the bathroom. After a quick shower, I stood in front of my wardrobe.
What should I wear?
I chose a light blush pink blouse with flared sleeves and a delicate bow at the collar, tucked into a high-waisted white pencil skirt. It felt feminine but professional—polished, but still me. I paired it with nude heels and subtle gold earrings.
When I descended the stairs, the smell of brewed coffee and toast greeted me. I paused at the kitchen entrance.
Mom and Dad were seated at the table, talking quietly. Marco leaned against the fridge, sipping from a mug. And Andreis—he was there, standing beside my usual seat, leaning slightly against the chair like he'd been waiting.
He wore a crisp black suit with a white button-down shirt underneath, the collar open just enough to hint at the lines of his neck. No tie. Just power and ease wrapped in a sinful silhouette. His watch gleamed silver on his wrist, and his dark hair was tousled just enough to look intentional.
He was the embodiment of a CEO—confident, commanding, dangerous. And yet, when his eyes found me, they softened.
"We'll get breakfast outside," he told my parents with a warm smile.
They nodded in approval.
I stepped forward and kissed Mom and Dad on the cheek, wrapping them both in quick hugs. "Bye, Mom. Bye, Dad."
I turned to Marco, who raised a brow.
"Don't start," I teased, tapping his shoulder.
He rolled his eyes and reached as if to flick my ear, but I was already walking away.
Andreis opened the car door for me like a gentleman. The moment I stepped inside, his cologne enveloped me—warm and clean with a hint of spice and something woodsy underneath. Like amber and cedar and the memory of something forbidden.
God, he smelled good.
We drove in companionable silence until he pulled into a quaint little place tucked on the edge of town—The Morning Finch Café. The sign was shaped like a teacup with wings. Cute. Cozy. Totally unexpected.
A waitress greeted us by name—apparently, he'd reserved ahead. We were led to a corner booth where the table was already set: plates of buttery croissants, scrambled eggs with herbs, crispy bacon, a small bowl of fresh strawberries, and two steaming cups of coffee.
I raised a brow. "You planned this?"
He shrugged with a smirk. "You deserve a proper morning after."
Heat bloomed in my cheeks. "You're ridiculous."
"Maybe. But you're smiling."
I bit my lip. "I can't help it."
He reached across the table and took my hand. "Mia… Last night meant everything to me. You mean everything to me."
My heart did a slow, aching somersault.
"You have this way," he continued, voice low, "of looking at the world like it's still worth saving. Like people can be good. Like I can be good. That… does something to me."
I looked down, breath catching.
He tilted his head to meet my gaze. "I know we come from two different worlds. And maybe everything's messy right now. But if you'll let me… I want to be the man who makes you feel safe. Desired. Loved."
I stared at him, heart racing. "You already are."
And for once, the future didn't feel so uncertain. Not with him. Not with us.
And over buttered croissants and stolen glances, the world, for a moment, felt perfect.