Two days passed with barely a word between them.
They still appeared together — at an art gala at Musée d'Orsay, then the ribbon-cutting of a new boutique in the Marais — all elegance and perfection. Their smiles were practiced. Their eye contact timed. Their fingers touched just long enough to spark flashbulbs. But beneath it all, the silence was loud.
On the third morning, Aurélie stood in the doorway of her brother's apartment, arms crossed.
"Are you going to tell me what happened between you two, or do I have to guess?" asked Henri, handing her a mug of black coffee.
"There's nothing to tell," Aurélie replied.
Henri raised a brow. "Right. And I'm the next King of France."
She ignored him and walked toward the balcony, sipping her coffee as she looked down at the quiet Paris street. It was unusually still for a Thursday.
Behind her, Henri leaned against the doorway. "You've done a good job pretending, Aurélie. Most of your life, actually. But I know you. Something's shifting."
Aurélie didn't turn around. "I don't have the luxury of letting things shift."
"But what if it's already shifting anyway?" he asked, his voice gentler now. "What if you're too busy guarding the gates to see that something better is trying to come through?"
She turned her head slightly. "I can't afford 'better'. I can only afford control."
Henri said nothing. But his silence said more than words could.
---
That afternoon, Elio sat in the lobby of a publishing house near the Champs-Élysées. The photoshoot he was scheduled for had been delayed by an hour, and his agent was late — again.
His assistant, Lina, sat beside him, flipping through her phone.
"She's not coming, is she?" Elio muttered.
Lina smirked. "Oh, she'll come. Probably with a dramatic excuse involving a broken heel or a last-minute call from Milan."
Elio gave a tired laugh.
Lina looked at him more closely. "You seem... off."
He leaned back in his chair. "Define 'off.'"
"Like you're present, but not really here. Like something's bothering you, but you won't talk about it."
Elio sighed. "We had a fight. Sort of."
"Ah," Lina said. "The Princess."
"She's not—" He stopped. "Okay. Yeah. Her."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"I don't know what to say. I just... I thought we were getting somewhere. And then it's like she slammed the door shut again."
Lina nodded. "Sounds familiar."
He looked at her, confused.
She shrugged. "I've dated people like that. People who are so used to building walls, they forget how to open windows."
He considered that.
"She's scared," Lina added. "Not of you. Of what you represent. A future she can't control."
"And what do I do?" Elio asked.
"You wait. And while you wait, stay true to what you feel. If it's real, it'll hold."
---
That night, Aurélie received a surprise call.
"We need you at Hôtel Leclair," said her manager, Mathilde, with her usual clipped efficiency. "The CEO of St. Laurent is hosting a private dinner. Very important. Just an hour."
Aurélie almost said no. But something stopped her.
"Fine," she replied. "Send a car."
She arrived thirty minutes later, dressed in a dark navy silk gown, understated but flawless. The rooftop restaurant was full of glittering guests and twinkling lights. She slipped into the room like a shadow — cool, poised, untouchable.
And then she saw him.
Elio stood near the terrace railing, speaking with someone from the magazine. He looked... calm. Confident. Unbothered.
He hadn't seen her yet.
Aurélie felt something strange stir inside her. Jealousy? Annoyance? No — something deeper. Something that frightened her.
When Elio finally turned and noticed her, he offered a smile. A simple one. Not forced. Not showy. Just... sincere.
She froze.
And then he did something unexpected.
He turned away.
Not coldly. Not dismissively. But clearly.
He wasn't chasing her tonight.
Aurélie walked to the bar and asked for water. No wine. No champagne. Her mind was already clouded enough.
She watched from the corner of her eye as Elio laughed at something the fashion editor said. He looked entirely at ease, and that unsettled her more than any argument they'd had.
---
Later, as the dinner ended and guests began to leave, she felt a hand on her wrist.
Elio, softly, "Come with me."
She hesitated, but followed him.
They stepped into a quiet hallway, lined with antique mirrors and dim sconces. The distant hum of the party felt like another world.
He didn't speak right away. Neither did she.
Finally, he said, "Do you still want this to work?"
She looked at him, heart racing. "I don't know."
Elio's voice was steady. "Then tell me what you do know."
"I know that I'm scared," she whispered.
"Of me?"
"Of losing control. Of wanting something that doesn't have guarantees."
Elio stepped closer. "Nothing in life has guarantees. But if you keep trying to live like it does, you'll never actually live."
There was silence again.
Then she said, "I thought this was supposed to be a contract."
"It is," he said. "But contracts evolve. People evolve. We can't stay static forever."
For a long time, she stared at him.
And then she said, "Don't wait for me."
His face didn't change. "Why not?"
"Because I don't know how long it'll take. And you deserve more than someone who keeps hesitating."
Elio smiled faintly. "You think I don't hesitate too? You think I haven't been just as confused by all of this?"
"But you still show up," she murmured.
"I do," he said simply. "Because something about you feels worth showing up for."
There was a long pause. They were both exhausted. Both unsure. Both still there.
"I'm not promising anything," Aurélie said, her voice almost breaking.
"I'm not asking you to," Elio replied.
They stood in silence for another moment, suspended between who they were and who they could be.
Then, without another word, she turned and walked away.
And he let her go.