Elena woke to the weight and warmth of an arm draped across her waist.
For a moment, she forgot — forgot the stolen life, forgot the questions, forgot the gnawing fear that none of this was real. All she felt was Marcus behind her, his chest pressed to her back, his steady breathing against her hair.
She opened her eyes slowly, expecting her familiar lemon-yellow curtains. Instead, the drapes here were a deep, elegant blue, the morning sun slipping through them in soft ribbons.
His fingers flexed lightly against her stomach, pulling her closer in his sleep. She could feel the heat of his skin through the thin fabric of her nightshirt.
She should move. She knew she should. But when his lips grazed her bare shoulder — a lazy, unconscious kiss — her breath caught.
"You're awake," he murmured, voice rough from sleep.
"Yeah," she whispered.
He rolled her gently onto her back so he could see her face, his hair falling across his forehead. His eyes — that impossible shade of blue — studied her like he was memorizing every detail.
"You're beautiful in the morning," he said simply.
She wanted to argue, to put a wall between them, but the sincerity in his tone melted her defenses. When he bent down and kissed her, slow and unhurried, she felt herself respond before her mind could catch up.
The kiss deepened. His hand slid from her waist up to her ribcage, his thumb brushing along her side in a way that sent shivers down her spine. She curled her fingers into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer without realizing it.
They stayed like that for a long time, tangled in each other, the sheets warm and twisted around them. It wasn't rushed. Marcus seemed content to simply touch her — to trail his hands along the slope of her hip, the curve of her back, the line of her jaw — as if reminding her she was his.
When they finally got out of bed, the air between them hummed with something unspoken. Marcus made coffee while Elena sat at the kitchen island, still feeling the ghost of his touch on her skin.
He slid a mug toward her and leaned in, his mouth brushing her ear. "You taste better than coffee," he murmured with a grin. She swatted at him, but her cheeks burned.
The day passed in a blur. She worked from home, but her concentration was useless — her thoughts kept drifting back to him. His smile. His touch. The way he looked at her like she'd always been his whole world.
But the cracks came back in the evening.
While setting the table for dinner, she noticed a small box on the sideboard. It was silver, engraved with an intricate design she didn't recognize. When she picked it up, her fingers tingled — an odd, almost electric sensation.
"Elena?" Marcus's voice pulled her back. He was standing in the doorway, watching her.
"What is this?" she asked, holding the box up.
His expression flickered, just for a moment, before he smiled. "A keepsake. Don't worry about it."
Something in his tone made her uneasy.
But later that night, when Marcus kissed her goodnight — his hands warm on her hips, his mouth lingering on hers — the box slipped from her thoughts.
At least for now....