The Weekend Together
766 Words
The weekend unfolded like a secret. Soft, unhurried. Rare.
For the first time in what felt like months, the estate had fallen into a hush—no demanding calls, no boardroom battles, no clinking glasses of high society. Just stillness. And for once, Marie didn’t fight it.
She embraced it.
Because this time, she wasn’t alone.
Francis had been in her life for weeks now, quietly grounding her in ways she hadn’t expected. What began as tension—electric and uncertain—had bloomed into something steadier, quieter. Trusting. Real.
And that terrified her.
On Friday evening, as the sun dipped behind the distant hills, painting the sky in violet and fire, Marie stepped into the drawing room and paused. There he was—Francis—seated by the window, the golden light tracing his profile like it had been waiting all day to find him.
“You ready?” she asked softly.
He turned, eyes meeting hers. His smile was slow, genuine. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
Marie crossed the room, standing beside him. Outside, the estate's grounds glowed under the dying light. For a moment, they didn’t speak. The silence between them felt whole.
“It’s strange,” she said, her voice barely more than a breath. “How quiet it gets here. Like the world’s holding its breath.”
“I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to it,” Francis replied. “It feels like we’re not even in the same timeline as everyone else.”
Marie smiled, brushing a stray curl behind her ear. “That’s why I love it. It’s the only place that doesn’t ask me to perform.”
Francis’s gaze lingered on her then—serious, contemplative. “You don’t have to perform with me.”
“I know,” she said, more honestly than she intended. “That’s why I wanted this weekend. Just us. No distractions.”
He nodded. “Then let’s disappear.”
---
They did.
By sunset, they were on the road, the city falling away behind them like a memory best left unspoken. Marie had reserved a cabin in the countryside—remote, beautiful, untouched by the world they usually lived in.
It was rustic but elegant. Exposed wood beams. A crackling fireplace. Oversized windows that opened onto nothing but forest and sky.
Francis stepped inside and let out a slow breath. “This place doesn’t feel real.”
Marie chuckled. “That’s the point.”
They cooked together that night. Laughed. She showed him how to stir risotto the way her grandmother used to—one direction only. He spilled broth. She rolled her eyes. He kissed her temple. She forgot the rice.
And it felt like a life neither of them had ever dared to believe they could have.
Later, curled together by the fire, Marie traced slow circles on the back of his hand.
“You ever just... let it all go?” she asked quietly.
Francis shook his head. “Not until now.”
---
The next morning, they hiked into the forest—just the two of them, surrounded by towering trees and the smell of damp pine. At the summit, they found a clearing and lay side by side in the grass.
“I used to think peace was a myth,” he said, staring up at the sky. “But this... this feels like something I never knew I needed.”
Marie smiled, reaching for his hand. “We all need it. Most of us just forget how to find it.”
He turned to look at her. “I don’t want to forget this.”
“You won’t,” she promised. “Neither will I.”
---
The weekend passed like a whisper: quiet meals, long talks, shared silences. They didn't talk about the future—not directly—but it was there, heavy and warm between them.
By the time they packed up to leave, something unspoken had shifted. Not a promise. But something close.
They drove back in companionable quiet, the estate gates slowly coming into view as dusk settled over the horizon.
Francis glanced sideways, his heart unexpectedly light. “I think we should do this again.”
Marie smiled. “We will.”
But just as they pulled up to the gate, **his phone buzzed** on the console.
One message.
**Unknown Number.**
> *We need to talk. It’s about Marie.*
Francis’s expression darkened.
Marie noticed. “What is it?”
He didn’t answer right away.
Because something about the message didn’t feel like gossip.
It felt like a warning.
- Writer
