Sunrise and Secrets
880 Words
Sunrise came far too soon.
Zara Bennett woke to the sound of soft waves and the faint knock on the suite door. She sat up, groaning.
“Tell me that’s room service and not another stylist with matching outfits.”
Julian’s muffled voice answered from the other room.
“Bad news, sweetheart. They’ve brought a wardrobe. And a drone.”
Zara dragged herself out of bed. “A drone? For what— aerial evidence that we like each other?”
He grinned as she entered the main room, hair messy, wearing one of his oversized shirts. “If it helps, you look photogenic before coffee.”
She rolled her eyes. “If it helps, you look like trouble before sunrise.”
He laughed quietly, handing her a cup. “Then we match.”
By the time the sun started bleeding gold across the horizon, the terrace had been transformed into a cinematic dream: white curtains, flower petals, a breakfast table stocked with croissants no one would eat, and a crew of photographers whispering about “capturing genuine emotion.”
Julian leaned against the railing, adjusting his cuff-links. “We’ve officially reached peak insanity.”
Zara joined him, adjusting the strap of her sundress. “Smile, darling,” she teased, mimicking his mother’s voice. “Remember, love sells.”
He turned to look at her—and stopped. For a heartbeat, he forgot the crew, the flashes, everything. She was radiant in the first light, the wind catching her curls, eyes still sleepy but bright.
She noticed him staring. “What?”
He shook his head slowly. “Nothing. Just… real enough to fool me.”
“Okay, Zara, Julian—just natural chemistry,” the photographer called out. “Laugh. Lean in. Look at each other like you mean it.”
Zara forced a laugh. “You’re joking, right?”
Julian reached for her hand, his voice low. “Let’s give them what they want.”
She hesitated, then let him pull her close. His hand settled at her waist. The warmth of his palm made her heartbeat quicken, but she kept smiling for the cameras.
“Now—closer!” the photographer called.
Julian leaned in, eyes locked on hers.
“This close enough?” he murmured.
“Barely,” she said, too quietly for anyone else to hear.
The photographer’s voice cut through the tension. “Perfect! That’s love!”
Zara turned her face away, flustered. “We deserve an award for acting.”
Julian’s expression softened. “Who said I’m acting?”
When the shoot wrapped, they finally escaped to the hotel garden for a breath of quiet.
Or at least, they tried.
A tall, dark-haired man with a familiar smile appeared near the fountain.
“Zara Bennett? Wow, it’s been years.”
Zara blinked. “Ethan? Ethan Carter?”
Julian’s brow furrowed. Of course, he thought. The ex-boyfriend.
Ethan grinned. “Didn’t expect to see you in a magazine spread! Congratulations, by the way.”
“Thanks,” she said quickly, feeling Julian’s stare on her shoulder.
Julian stepped forward, smiled tight. “Julian Hayes. Fiancé.”
Ethan offered a polite nod. “Right. Lucky guy.”
Julian’s tone was calm, but the edge in it was sharp. “I know.”
Zara cleared her throat. “Okay, testosterone patrol—let’s not start a competition in front of the koi pond.”
When Ethan finally walked away, Julian turned to her.
“So that’s him.”
She folded her arms. “You mean my college boyfriend, who still owes me a sweater? Yeah.”
He stared at her for a long moment. “He looked happy to see you.”
She arched a brow. “Is that jealousy I’m hearing?”
He hesitated. “Maybe. I’m not great at watching other people touch what I—” He stopped himself.
“What do you want, Julian?” she asked softly.
He looked away, exhaling. “Never mind.”
She stepped closer. “You were going to say something.”
“I was going to say,” he said slowly, “that pretending not to care about you is getting harder every day.”
Her breath hitched. “Julian…”
He met her eyes. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”
For a moment, she wanted to tell him the truth—that she felt the same pull, the same ache. But the thought of saying it aloud terrified her. If she did, their whole fragile arrangement could crumble.
So she smiled instead, soft but distant. “Let’s not ruin the photos with honesty.”
He gave a quiet laugh, though his eyes didn’t match it. “Fine. Pretending it is.”
As he walked ahead, she whispered under her breath,
“Then why does it hurt so much?”
That night, when the magazine released the photos, the internet went wild again.
But no one saw the picture the photographer hadn’t submitted—the one where Julian was looking at Zara, not for the camera, but like he couldn’t look anywhere else.
The one that looked less like performance and more like confession.
And if anyone had asked either of them why that image was hidden, neither would’ve been able to answer.
- Writer
