Morning After
683 Words
Amelia woke before her alarm.
That alone told her something was wrong.
She lay still beneath the crisp hotel sheets, staring at the ceiling as fragments of the previous night replayed in her mind—Ethan’s hand at her waist, the weight of his gaze, the way his voice had dipped when he said pretending is becoming complicated.
Her chest tightened.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
The arrangement had been clear: dates, appearances, charm. No emotions. No confusion. No lingering thoughts the morning after.
And yet here she was, heart racing like she’d crossed a line she couldn’t uncross.
She sat up, rubbing her temples. The early sunlight streamed through the curtains, soft and deceptive, as if the world hadn’t shifted slightly off its axis overnight.
A knock sounded at the door.
Her pulse spiked instantly.
She checked the time—8:17 a.m.
Another knock, gentler this time.
“Amelia,” Ethan’s voice called quietly. “It’s me.”
She hesitated, then swung her legs off the bed and opened the door.
Ethan stood there holding two cups of coffee and a small paper bag. He looked different in the morning—less polished, more real. His hair was slightly tousled, his sleeves rolled up, no jacket in sight.
Her heart did something inconvenient.
“I thought you might need this,” he said, lifting the coffee slightly. “Strong. No sugar.”
She blinked. “How did you—”
“You mentioned it yesterday,” he replied simply.
She stepped aside to let him in, suddenly aware of how intimate the moment felt. He placed the coffee on the table, the silence between them stretching—not awkward, just heavy.
“Did you sleep?” she asked.
He shook his head slightly. “Not much.”
Something in his tone made her look at him more closely. There were faint shadows beneath his eyes. The man who had been effortlessly charming the night before now seemed… exposed.
“Me neither,” she admitted.
They shared a look—an unspoken acknowledgment that last night had left its mark on both of them.
⸻
They sat across from each other, cups in hand.
“This weekend,” Amelia began carefully, “it’s starting to feel less like an act.”
Ethan leaned back slightly, studying her. “Does that scare you?”
“Yes,” she said without hesitation. Then, softer, “Does it scare you?”
He didn’t answer immediately. His fingers tightened briefly around the coffee cup before relaxing again.
“I don’t usually let things get personal,” he said finally.
“Because of the job?”
“Because of everything.”
The way he said it—quiet, layered—made her chest ache.
“You don’t have to tell me,” she said gently. “I just… need to know where the line is.”
His gaze lifted to hers, steady and intense. “The line,” he said slowly, “is still there.”
Relief flickered through her—quickly followed by disappointment she hadn’t expected.
“But,” he continued, “I’d be lying if I said it hasn’t blurred.”
Her breath caught.
Before she could respond, a buzz came from Ethan’s phone. He glanced at the screen, jaw tightening almost imperceptibly.
“Something wrong?” she asked.
“No,” he said too quickly. Then he stood. “Just… work.”
Work.
The word felt strange coming from him. She watched as he slipped the phone back into his pocket, the walls sliding back into place around him.
“I should go,” he added. “Your family will start asking questions if I’m not around.”
Of course they would.
He moved toward the door, then paused.
“Amelia,” he said quietly. “Whatever happens this weekend… I don’t regret last night.”
Neither did she.
As the door closed behind him, Amelia sank onto the edge of the bed, her coffee forgotten.
She had hired a boyfriend to survive a wedding.
She hadn’t planned on wanting him to stay after.
- Writer
