Morning arrived too gently.
Soft light slipped through the curtains like liquid gold, warming the edges of the room and painting the ceiling in pale amber. The estate was quiet, almost reverent, as though the world itself understood something precious had departed with the dawn.
I stayed like that for a few more minutes, flat on my back, staring up at the pale canopy above my bed as it swayed faintly with the morning breeze slipping through the cracked window.
The room was quiet, too quiet, the kind of silence that felt heavy rather than peaceful. For one fragile, blissful moment, my mind remained empty, suspended between sleep and waking, untouched by memory.
Then everything came rushing back at once.
The outing. His hand in mine. The sweets. The carriage. The courtyard.
The kiss.
My eyes opened slowly, and heat flooded my face so fast it almost hurt. My fingers rose before I could stop them, brushing lightly against my lips as if confirming it had really happened.
Warm.
