They didn't fall into bed right away.
Instead, they walked.
Paris, slick with rain, unfolded around them in silence. Cobblestones glittered under streetlamps, cafes buzzed with quiet conversations, and every turn felt like it had been waiting for them—Amelia and Daniel, together in a city that didn't speak their language, yet somehow understood them.
She led him past the river, down narrow alleys lined with shuttered bookstores, to a little café still serving late.
They sat close, not touching, knees brushing under the table.
He stirred sugar into his coffee slowly. "You've changed," he said softly.
Her heart beat harder. "Do you mean that in a good way?"
Daniel met her gaze. "I mean you're becoming more you. It's terrifying. And beautiful."
She swallowed, eyes glinting in the candlelight. "I was afraid coming here would make me lose something."
"You didn't," he said. "You found something."
She leaned back, watching him. "You always see the best version of me."
"No," he replied. "I see the real one."
---
Back in the apartment, the city hummed below them.
She peeled off her coat. His followed.
The silence between them thickened—not with distance, but with tension. Anticipation. A different kind than before. There was no rush in it. No need to prove anything.
He stepped toward her slowly, cupped her face.
"I didn't come here for a moment," he said. "I came because I don't want to keep loving you in pieces."
She closed her eyes, his breath brushing her skin. "Then stay whole with me. Just tonight."
---
Their lovemaking was quieter than before—like a melody remembered, not composed. She led him to the bed, pulled his shirt off inch by inch. Every touch was unhurried, a conversation.
He kissed her shoulder.
Her stomach.
The curve of her hip.
And when he entered her, it wasn't fire. It was gravity. Deep and anchoring, as if the earth itself had shifted to make room for them.
She whispered his name like a vow.
He held her like he'd never put her down.
Afterward, wrapped in sheets and shadows, she pressed her fingers to his chest. Felt his heartbeat.
"I don't know how to do this," she whispered.
"Do what?"
"Be two people at once—the artist who needs the world, and the woman who just wants you."
He didn't flinch. "Then be both. I'll hold what the world can't."
She buried her face in his shoulder, her voice almost lost: "What if I ask you to stay?"
He kissed the top of her head. "Then I'll stay."
---