Morning After the Storm
1071 Words
The storm had softened by morning.
Rain still touched the windows, but gently now, like it was tired from fighting all night. A pale gray light filled the room, slipping through the curtains and resting quietly on the two beds.
Matteo was already awake.
He wasn’t a heavy sleeper. Years of responsibility had trained his body to rise early, no matter where he was. For a moment, he forgot where he was. Then he heard the soft sound of breathing across the room.
Isabella.
He turned his head slightly.
She was still asleep.
The blanket he had placed over her during the night was wrapped around her shoulders, but one arm had slipped out. A few strands of her hair rested across her face. Without her sharp gaze and confident posture, she looked softer. Younger. Peaceful.
And vulnerable.
Matteo frowned slightly at that word.
Vulnerable didn’t suit her. She didn’t seem like the type who allowed herself to be.
As if sensing his gaze, Isabella shifted. A quiet cough escaped her lips.
Matteo sat up straighter.
Another soft cough followed.
She slowly opened her eyes, blinking against the morning light. For a second, she looked confused. Then memory returned.
The airport.
The storm.
The shared room.
Matteo.
Her eyes landed on him immediately.
“You’re staring,” she said softly, her voice slightly hoarse.
Matteo didn’t look away. “You’re coughing.”
She cleared her throat, trying to sit up. “It’s nothing.”
It didn’t sound like nothing.
Her voice was rough, and there was a faint redness around her nose. The room had grown colder overnight despite the heater humming quietly.
Matteo stood up without another word.
Isabella watched him carefully. “What are you doing?”
“I’ll be back.”
Before she could argue, he walked toward the small kitchenette. He poured water into the kettle and turned it on. The simple act felt strange to him. He wasn’t used to doing things like this himself. Usually, someone else handled small needs.
But right now, there was no assistant. No staff.
Just him.
And her.
He opened the small cabinet and found tea bags. Nothing fancy. Just basic hotel tea.
Isabella slowly pushed herself into a sitting position. “You don’t have to do that.”
Matteo glanced at her. “You’re sick.”
“I am not sick.”
“You were shivering last night.”
She paused.
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “How would you know that?”
He held her gaze calmly. “You weren’t covered.”
Realization flickered across her face.
“You covered me?”
“It was cold.”
The answer was simple. Almost careless. But something about it made the air between them shift.
Isabella looked down at the blanket wrapped around her. She hadn’t done that. She remembered falling asleep without it.
A strange warmth spread through her chest that had nothing to do with temperature.
The kettle clicked softly, signaling it was ready. Matteo poured the hot water into a cup and placed the tea bag inside. He carried it over to her and set it gently on the nightstand.
“Drink.”
She looked at the cup, then at him.
“You’re very commanding,” she said.
“And you’re very stubborn.”
For a brief second, silence filled the room again.
Then Isabella gave a small smile.
It was the first real one.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
Matteo nodded once and returned to his bed, picking up his tablet as if nothing important had just happened.
But everything felt different.
Isabella wrapped both hands around the warm cup. The heat felt comforting against her slightly cold fingers. She took a careful sip and sighed softly.
Outside, the rain continued to fall, but lighter now. The worst of the storm had passed.
Inside the room, however, something else had started.
After a few minutes, Isabella spoke again.
“So,” she said, her voice still soft but stronger now, “what takes you to New York?”
Matteo didn’t look up immediately. “Business.”
She rolled her eyes slightly. “That tells me nothing.”
He glanced at her. “That’s intentional.”
She studied him for a moment.
“You don’t trust easily,” she said.
“No.”
“And you like control.”
“Yes.”
She tilted her head. “That must be exhausting.”
Matteo paused.
No one usually said things like that to him. People either admired his control or feared it. They didn’t question it.
“It’s necessary,” he replied calmly.
“For you,” she said. “Not for everyone.”
Their eyes locked again.
There it was.
That spark.
Not anger. Not dislike.
Challenge.
Matteo slowly set his tablet down. “And what about you, Isabella? Why New York?”
She hesitated.
“For a meeting,” she said finally.
“What kind of meeting?”
“One that could change a lot of things.”
He studied her expression carefully. She wasn’t lying. But she wasn’t telling everything either.
Interesting.
Before he could press further, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen and stood up to take the call near the window.
Isabella watched him quietly as he spoke in low, controlled tones. Even without hearing the conversation, she could tell it was important. His posture shifted—more commanding, more distant.
This was the real Matteo.
Powerful. Untouchable.
But last night, he had quietly covered her with a blanket.
That version felt… different.
When he ended the call, his jaw was tight.
“Problem?” she asked.
“My flight has been rescheduled for tonight.”
Her stomach tightened unexpectedly.
“That’s good,” she said carefully.
“Yes.”
“But…”
He looked at her.
“There’s still severe weather warnings,” he continued. “It might be delayed again.”
A strange silence followed.
They both understood what that meant.
Another night.
Together.
Isabella tried to ignore the way her heart reacted to that thought.
“Well,” she said lightly, placing the empty tea cup aside, “let’s hope the storm makes up its mind.”
Matteo allowed the smallest smile.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “Let’s hope.”
Outside, the rain tapped softly against the glass.
The storm might have weakened outside.
But between Matteo Rossi and Isabella Moreau…
It was only beginning.
- Writer
