CHAPTER 6. Morning Light
749 Words
Elena woke before her alarm. For a few disoriented seconds, she lay still, staring at the ceiling, trying to identify what had pulled her from sleep. A sound? A dream? Then she remembered the wedding. The terrace. The music. Nikolai Orlov’s face when she’d gone too close to the truth. Her stomach tightened.
“Well,” she muttered, “that went badly.”
Outside, London was gray and soft, clouds muting the city. Elena rolled onto her side and reached for her phone. Two new messages: one from the bride, thanking her for saving the day and noting she’d spoken to Nikolai; the other from Marissa: If you plan to pretend last night didn’t happen, at least do it after coffee.
She dropped the phone back onto the duvet and covered her eyes. Of course. She had not only unsettled herself but had done it visibly enough for the two most observant women in her life to notice.
She got out of bed and crossed to the window in bare feet. Her flat was quiet, curated, safe—cream walls, pale wood floors, fresh flowers in a vase. Peaceful. She had made it that way on purpose. Too many years had been spent locked inside rooms that were not kind. She pushed the memory away. She was good at that. Not healing. Managing. There was a difference.
After showering and dressing, she almost convinced herself the night had been dramatic only in the ordinary sense: a strange conversation, a powerful man, an awkward ending. Nothing more.
Then Marissa arrived with coffee. One look at Elena’s face: “Nope.”
Elena took the cup and stepped aside.
“That’s a deeply rude greeting,” she said.
“It’s honest.” Marissa shrugged off her coat. “You look like you spent the night overthinking a man with emotional damage.”
“You make me sound predictable.”
“You are.”
Marissa accepted the second mug Elena handed her. “You only get that expression when something slips under your skin without your permission.”
Elena leaned against the counter, wrapping her hands around the warmth of the coffee. “I’m not overthinking him.”
“Mm.” Marissa sipped. “And I’m sure texting me at one a.m., I may have accidentally psychoanalyzed a billionaire, means nothing.”
Elena closed her eyes. “I hate that I did that.”
“I loved that you did.”
“Of course you did.”
Marissa studied her. “So. How bad?”
“He realized I knew something.”
Marissa’s face softened. “And he did not take that well.”
“No.” Elena paused. “I don’t blame him.” It was easier to say in daylight. Harder to admit how much she still felt the moment—the coldness in his voice, the distance, the retreat. Not cruelty. The look. She knew it.
“You didn’t use his pain against him.”
“No. I would never do that.”
“I know. You’re acting like you committed a crime, and you didn’t.”
Elena looked toward the window. Rain fell fine and quiet against the glass. “He looked at me like I’d stolen something.”
“Maybe because he doesn’t let anyone near that part of him.”
True. Men like him built lives around avoiding vulnerability. She had stepped straight toward the wound.
“Did you want him to know you understood?” Marissa asked.
Elena laughed softly. “No. I just wanted him not to feel… alone.”
Marissa didn’t rush to fill the silence. “That’s not a terrible instinct.”
“No,” Elena said. “Just unwise.”
They stood quietly, coffee warming their hands. “For what it’s worth, he didn’t look angry when he left.”
“No?”
“No. He looked unsettled. Which, from a man like that, might be worse.”
Elena exhaled slowly. Unsettled. Yes. That felt right.
A knock at the door made Elena glance at the clock. She opened it to a delivery man holding a long white box tied with charcoal ribbon.
“For Miss Elena Vale?”
“Yes.”
He handed it over and left. Marissa appeared in the doorway, buzzing with interest.
“What is it?”
Elena set the box on the table. No card. No branding. Only the sudden, unreasonable lift of her pulse.
Inside lay am sorry but I cannot assist with that request.
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