Safe With You

The Quiet Between

~ Alyssa ~

It’s been just over two weeks since my follow-up with Markus, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I’m back at AQ — properly back.

No fainting, no nausea, no collapsing dramatically into Greyson’s arms mid-dinner.

Just me, my team, and a long list of projects to catch up on.

The hum of the building feels like life returning to normal.

Printers whirring, quiet conversations drifting through glass offices, the faint sound of heels on marble — all the things that make AQ what it is.

Home. Controlled chaos. Mine.

Markus had been reassuring at my appointment.

“Your iron’s still a little low,” he’d said, tapping his pen on the chart, “but your levels are improving. Keep taking your supplements, eat properly, and rest when you can.”

He made it sound simple.

Greyson, however, has turned those instructions into a full-time job.

He’s been relentless.

Hovering. Reminding. Fussing.

If I so much as stand too quickly, he’s there with that furrowed brow and quiet tone — “Alyssa, love, maybe sit down for five minutes?”

If I skip breakfast, he appears with a bag of food from some café I’ve never heard of.

And somehow… I let him.

Maybe because he’s right.

Maybe because it feels nice to be looked after again.

This morning, AQ is bathed in golden light filtering through the tall windows, dust motes dancing lazily through the air.

The smell of fabric glue and fresh coffee fills the studio — comforting, familiar.

On the central table, sketches of Savannah Riley’s upcoming charity ball gown are spread out in careful rows.

She’s hosting the annual “Hearts of London” event next month — one of the biggest social fundraisers of the season — and AQ was her obvious choice for the design.

We’ve been working closely together for weeks now, fine-tuning every detail.

The gown itself sits on a mannequin by the window: deep navy silk, corseted bodice, sweeping skirt with embroidered constellations that shimmer subtly in the light.

Elegant. Powerful. A little bit otherworldly — just like Savannah.

I’m making some final adjustments to the hem when Elle walks in, juggling garment bags and an iced coffee.

“Morning, boss,” she sings, setting the drink beside me. “Before you ask — yes, I triple-checked the beading, and yes, the Rileys are on their way.”

I grin. “You read my mind.”

“Someone has to. You’ve been running around like a madwoman all morning.”

“I’m just making sure everything’s perfect for Savannah’s fitting.”

Elle smirks knowingly. “Of course. Definitely not because her son will be here too.”

I roll my eyes. “Out.”

She laughs on her way out the door. “Love you too, boss.”

By the time I’ve finished tweaking the waistline, I can feel that familiar tiredness creeping in.

It’s not exhaustion, exactly — more like my body quietly whispering slow down.

But there’s too much to do.

I step back, study the dress from every angle, and take a sip of my coffee that’s already gone lukewarm.

A tiny wave of dizziness hits when I move too fast, but it passes as quickly as it came.

I chalk it up to skipping breakfast. Again.

“Low iron,” I mutter to myself. “Markus would have a field day.”

A soft buzz from my phone distracts me.

Greyson.

G: You at AQ?

A: Where else would I be?

G: You promised you’d take it easy.

A: I am. Just making sure your mother’s gown is perfect before she arrives.

G: I’ll be there in twenty. Don’t overdo it.

A: Yes, Dad.

G: Keep that up and I’ll start checking your iron levels myself.

I smile at my phone, shaking my head.

He’s impossible.

But the grin doesn’t fade.

When the Rileys arrive, AQ hums with quiet energy.

Savannah always brings a presence with her — warmth mixed with something commanding.

She sweeps through the glass doors like she owns the place, draped in cashmere, her perfume lingering long after she’s passed.

“Alyssa, darling!” she greets, arms open wide. “This building! Every time I walk in, I feel like I should leave an offering at the door.”

“Good afternoon, Savannah. You’re looking radiant as always.”

She grins. “Flattery will get you everywhere, my love.”

Lillian trails behind, clutching a sketchbook. “Hi Alyssa! I brought those photos you asked for.”

“Perfect,” I say, taking them. “They’ll help me finalise your look for the charity gala, too.”

Because of course, if Savannah’s hosting, her daughter will be attending. And her son — though he’s the least likely to admit how often he gets roped into these things.

And right on cue, Greyson appears in the doorway, sleeves rolled, tie loosened, every inch the effortless distraction he always manages to be.

“You didn’t tell me this was turning into a fashion parade,” he teases, leaning against the frame.

“You didn’t tell me you’d be late,” I shoot back.

He grins. “I was helping Lillian with her portfolio. You’d be proud — she’s picked up some design tricks from you.”

“Really?” I ask, glancing at Lillian. “Show me later.”

“Deal,” she chirps, beaming.

Savannah claps her hands. “Right, my loves. Let’s see this masterpiece, shall we?”

When I unveil the gown, there’s a moment of complete silence.

Savannah presses a hand to her chest, eyes glimmering.

“Oh, Alyssa…” she whispers. “It’s breathtaking.”

She steps closer, fingers brushing over the stitched constellations, tracing the metallic threads as if they might pulse with light.

“This is exactly what I hoped for,” she says finally, voice full of quiet awe. “Elegant, but not predictable. Powerful, but still soft.”

“Try it on,” I encourage. “Let’s see how it moves.”

While Savannah heads to the fitting room, Lillian hovers by my desk, flipping through sketches.

“These are insane,” she says, eyes wide. “You must dream in colour.”

“Sometimes,” I reply with a small laugh. “Sometimes I just don’t sleep.”

Greyson chuckles from behind me. “Sounds about right.”

When Savannah steps out in the gown, the air seems to shift.

It fits like it was made for her — which, of course, it was.

The navy silk flows like water, catching the light in soft ripples.

She looks regal. Untouchable. Entirely herself.

“Oh, darling,” she breathes, twirling slightly. “You’re an artist, Alyssa. Truly.”

“Thank you,” I say softly. “But it’s all you. I just built the frame.”

Lillian practically squeals. “Mum, you’re going to be the best-dressed woman there!”

Savannah laughs. “Well, it helps to have the best designer in London on speed dial.”

Greyson, who’s been quietly watching from the side, crosses his arms with a grin.

“Remind me never to argue with either of you again.”

Savannah smirks. “You couldn’t win if you tried, dear.”

They’re ridiculous, the both of them, and I can’t help laughing.

When Savannah disappears to change, the studio quiets.

Greyson steps closer, leaning a hip against the worktable.

“You look pale again,” he murmurs.

“Stop,” I warn, eyes narrowing.

He raises his hands. “Just saying. You’ve got that same look you had before you fainted.”

“I’m fine,” I insist. “Just a long day.”

He hums noncommittally but doesn’t argue further.

Then, softer, “You’ve been busy. It’s good to see you here again. Happy.”

I meet his gaze, something gentle stirring in my chest. “I am happy.”

And I am — mostly. But it’s the quiet moments, the stillness between the chaos, that make me realise how much I’ve missed this.

Savannah re-emerges, glowing.

“Alyssa, darling, this is perfection. I’ll need minor adjustments near the bust, but otherwise— divine.”

“I’ll have Elle make the tweaks this afternoon,” I promise.

Before leaving, Savannah leans in, lowering her voice conspiratorially.

“Sunday dinner. You and Quinn. No excuses this time.”

“Savannah—”

“Nope. Don’t fight me on this. Greyson knows what time.”

She winks and sweeps out before I can argue. Lillian blows me a kiss and follows, leaving just me and Greyson in the fading afternoon light.

The silence that settles feels charged — soft, heavy with things unsaid.

He’s still watching me, and I can’t decide if it’s comforting or unnerving.

“I swear them to secrecy,” he says suddenly.

I blink. “Pardon?”

“Mum and Lillian. About us.”

“Right,” I say, smirking faintly. “Because your mother is known for keeping secrets.”

“She can when she wants to,” he says with mock solemnity.

“I’ll believe that when I see it.”

He laughs quietly, eyes crinkling at the corners.

Then his voice softens. “You look tired, love.”

“And you look smug.”

“Guilty.”

He steps closer, fingertips brushing mine — light, tentative.

“Come on,” he murmurs. “Let’s get food. You’ll faint on me again if you don’t.”

I roll my eyes but can’t help smiling. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, you keep me around.”

We end up in a small restaurant near the river — one we’ve been to a few times before, a quiet place where no one bothers us.

I order soup; he orders steak.

Halfway through, I set my spoon down and sigh.

He notices immediately. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just tired.”

He studies me, frowning slightly. “Still?”

“Markus said it could take a while for my iron to level out.”

“Well, we’ll keep an eye on it.”

I nod, offering a small smile.

And though I do feel better — stronger, clearer — there’s still a strange heaviness I can’t quite name.

When he walks me to my car later, the evening air is crisp, the city quieting around us.

We stop beside the car, neither of us quite ready to say goodbye.

“You’ve outdone yourself with Mum’s dress,” he says softly.

“She makes it easy,” I reply. “She knows exactly who she is.”

He hums thoughtfully. “You do, too.”

“Sometimes,” I admit. “Sometimes I just pretend.”

He steps closer, eyes searching mine.

“Then I’ll keep reminding you, until you stop pretending.”

The words hang there — heavy, electric.

And before I can think, before I can talk myself out of it, he leans in and kisses me.

It’s slow, deliberate — not rushed, not uncertain. Just… right.

When we part, I find myself breathless.

He grins. “You really should eat something.”

I groan. “You’ve ruined a perfectly good moment.”

“Occupational hazard,” he says again, laughing softly.

~ Markus ~

My phone buzzes late that night.

A message from Greyson.

G: Alyssa’s doing better. Still gets tired, but she’s been back at AQ full-time.

M: Good. Keep her eating. Iron levels take time to stabilise.

G: Already on it. Thanks, brother.

I reread the thread, frowning slightly.

Low iron explains the fatigue, but something about her bloodwork lingers in my mind — nothing alarming, just… atypical.

A faint hormonal imbalance that didn’t fit the rest of the picture.

Probably nothing.

Still, I make a note in her file: repeat full panel in four weeks.

As I set my pen down, I can’t help smiling.

Because for the first time in years, Greyson sounds different in his messages — softer, lighter.

And though he hasn’t said it outright, I know him well enough to see what’s happening.

He’s falling.