Listen to Snooze by Sza

I tossed the last of the diner's trash into the bin, the clatter of the bag echoing through the empty space. I glanced down at my phone, the screen casting a soft glow in the dimness. Almost nine p.m. We'd closed early today—too many supplies had run out, leaving the place emptier than usual.

The muscles in my back ached from the long shift, begging for rest as I walked toward the counter to grab my bag and the keys. I scanned the room one last time, checking for anything I might've missed. I reached the door, my hand resting on the cold metal of the handle to lock up for the night. But then I saw Tristan when I turned around.

My heart skipped, and I was sure it wasn't from just the sudden surprise. No, there was something deeper in that involuntary thump, something that made the breath catch in my chest. My fingers froze, the key still halfway in my bag, as my eyes collided with his. He was leaning casually against his car, arms folded across his chest in that way of his—effortlessly confident, like he owned the whole world. The crisp lines of his suit seemed to slice through the air, cutting through the faint light from the streetlamp, leaving him almost too perfect, too impossible to ignore. His hair—disheveled in that deliberately messy way—caught the light just enough to make him look like something dangerous, something unattainable. 

But then he moved.

He pushed off from the car with that easy, confident stride, and every step he took toward me seemed to pull me in closer, like a force I couldn't resist. 

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, his gaze never leaving mine.

I didn't even have time to process the words before he was right there in front of me, his arms around my waist, pulling me into his chest with the kind of force that left my feet off the ground.

I giggled—giggled—like I hadn't done in so long. It was a sound that surprised even me, light and free, like the weight of the world had been lifted off my shoulders in that single moment. His hold was firm, his warmth surrounding me as he lifted me effortlessly, and I couldn't help but melt into him, my breath catching in my throat.

"I missed you," he whispered, the words raw, vulnerable, and drenched with a longing that made my heart skip a beat.

I bit my lip, the sudden wave of warmth flooding my cheeks betraying the calm I tried to hold onto. My breath caught in my chest as I looked up at him, my voice barely a breath, "I missed you too." The words felt almost shy, but the grin tugging at my lips was wide, uncontainable—like I was a lovestruck teenager, caught up in something I couldn't quite explain. Something that felt both terrifying and inevitable.

His body relaxed at the sound of my words, a weight lifting from his shoulders, as if hearing them had been the missing piece he'd been dying to hear. His hands, which had been so steady and sure, now trembled slightly, and he pulled back just enough to look at me, his dark eyes searching mine.

"Ready?" he asked, his voice a little softer now.

I nodded, not trusting my words, too lost in the way he made me feel—seen, wanted, alive.

He took my hand in his, his grip warm and steady, like he'd been waiting for this touch. 

As he opened the door for me, I couldn't help but glance back at him. "I was expecting Eduardo to pick me up," I said, a teasing edge to my voice, trying to hold onto the casualness of the moment.

Tristan's lips curled into a half-smile, his eyes never leaving mine as he responded, "Well, I finished at the office early. And I decided I couldn't wait that long to see you." His words were simple, but the way he said them—like I was the one thing worth rushing for—sent a wave of warmth through me, settling deep in my chest.

He shut the door gently, the sound of it echoing in the stillness of the night. And as we drove, the car became a cocoon, the world outside fading into oblivion. The rhythm of the road, the hum of the engine, was soothing, almost meditative. And in that quiet, I couldn't help but feel a small, soft smile tug at my lips.

"I know we've already talked about this, but I hate seeing you work at that diner," Tristan's voice broke the stillness of the car, his words low, but insistent—the kind of quiet intensity that made the air feel heavier.

I felt my stomach tighten at the familiar subject, the one I knew was coming but didn't want to face. He glanced at me for a brief moment, the way his gaze flickered between my face and the road, as if weighing something he couldn't quite put into words. The silence stretched out between us, thick with unspoken things.

He had been asking me to quit for days now—his voice calm, but persistent. I'll take care of you, he'd said, you won't have to work a day in your life. The promise had been tempting, like a whisper of something I could never have imagined for myself. But it was still too soon. Our relationship was too new, the ground still too shaky beneath me. Things between us were finally starting to make sense, but I wasn't ready to surrender the one thing that felt like solid ground.

"I just need some time," I said. "I've been working there for so long. The people... I'm used to it. I wanna ease into the transition, not just drop it all at once." I tried to make it sound reasonable, even though part of me felt like I was making excuses.

He didn't answer right away. His eyes stayed on the road, his hands tightening slightly around the steering wheel. I could see the way his jaw clenched, his muscles flexing beneath the expensive fabric of his shirt, but he said nothing. "Okay," he finally muttered, but the word hung in the air, sharp and unsatisfied. I knew he wasn't impressed, but I also knew he wouldn't push me too hard. 

"So, today... you wouldn't believe the day I had," I said, forcing a little lightness into my voice, hoping to break the weight that hung between us. "I had a table of drunk tourists who didn't know the difference between a latte and a cappuccino. Then, two of my coworkers got into a fistfight over whose turn it was to clean the damn coffee machine."

Tristan's lips twitched, and before I could even finish, a soft laugh broke from him, warm and genuine. He shook his head, clearly amused by the absurdity of it all. But that laugh... it melted the tension, like a warm breeze pushing through a storm. 

His laugh faded, but his smile lingered, and I found myself grinning too. It felt like a tiny victory, a reminder that we could find humor even in the messiness of life. Even in the messiness of us.

The car slowed, and I glanced out the window just in time to see the gates of slide open. The smooth hum of the engine came to a stop as we pulled into the driveway. We walked slowly up the steps to the porch. 

He punched in the code with a swift, practiced motion, and I stood behind him, my eyes tracing the sharp angles of his back as he worked. The door clicked open, and without a word, he stepped aside, holding it open for me. 

I stepped inside, the dimness swallowing me whole.I reached out instinctively, my fingers searching for the light switch, but instead of the cold plastic of the switch, my hand landed on something warm, solid, and unexpectedly familiar. My fingers brushed against his chest—a hard, steady wall of muscle beneath the fabric of his shirt.

I froze, my breath catching in my throat, but before I could pull my hand away, Tristan's fingers closed around mine, gentle yet unyielding. His touch was like fire, scorching me in ways I didn't know I needed.

"I didn't get to kiss you tonight," he said, his voice a low rasp that seemed to resonate in the dark, vibrating through the air between us.

His words sent a jolt through me, something deep in my chest that made my pulse stutter. I couldn't see him, but I could feel him—his presence was overwhelming, a quiet storm pulling me in. Without giving me a chance to respond, he pulled me closer, and I found myself pressed against him, my body flush against the warmth and hardness of his body.

The heat of him radiated through my clothes, the steady thrum of his heartbeat matching my own. His breath was warm against my ear, his scent—something rich and intoxicating—surrounding me, clouding my senses. I could feel every inch of him, the tension in his body, the way he held me like he was afraid I might slip away.

His hand found my neck in the dark, the cells in my body went off like a firework as he leaned in and took my lips in a soft kiss. I responded almost immediately, my fingers skimming up his chest. I tugged his suit jacket off, he pulled away and tossed it to the floor. Our lips connected again, his fingers undid the buttons on my dress and slid them down my shoulders till it was around my waist.

He had my back to the door, fingers brushing through my hair and removing the hairband holding it in a messy bun. I ripped the buttons off his dress shirt in urgency, desperate to feel his bare skin against mine. He grabbed my thighs and hoisted me up against the door, our lips not breaking away from each other. I grind against him wanting any kind of friction to soothe the ache between my legs. 

The lights flickered on with a suddenness that stole the breath from my lungs. I gasped, blinking against the harsh brightness. In an instant, Tristan grunted, his grip loosening as he gently set me down.

Standing there in the doorway to the living room was his mother, her eyes wide in shock, her mouth slightly agape as she took in the scene before her. The air seemed to thicken with the weight of her gaze, the awkwardness of the moment pressing down on us. I felt my cheeks burn, my heart thundering in my chest as I instinctively moved closer to Tristan, using his solid frame as a shield.

With trembling fingers, I hastily adjusted my sleeves, fumbling with the buttons on my dress, trying to cover up the vulnerability of the moment. Tristan, on the other hand, didn't seem to care about the state of his bare chest or the expensive suit jacket crumpled on the floor. His jaw clenched, the muscles in his shoulders tight as he met his mother's shocked stare, an unmistakable flicker of annoyance in his eyes.

"Oh, um... I'm so sorry," his mother's voice broke through the tension, a nervous laugh bubbling up as she fidgeted in the doorway. "I thought it was the dog," she continued, her words trailing off awkwardly, as if trying to find some kind of excuse for interrupting us.

When I dared to look at her, the expression on her face was... not what I expected. She was smiling. Grinning, actually, her expression so wide it crinkled the skin around her eyes, creating laugh lines that arced from her nose to the corners of her mouth. My face flushed a deeper shade of red as she turned her gaze toward me, her smile widening.

"I—I'll just leave," she stammered, stepping back slowly as if she were trying to collect herself. "I was getting my night tea... I'll be on my way now." Her voice took on a teasing quality, though she was still trying to bite back the grin that was playing on her lips. "You can... you can return to whatever it was you were doing."

Her words were practically dripping with amusement. I could tell she was enjoying this far too much. But before I could find something to say, she added, "Oh, should I leave the lights on, or do you want me to turn them off? It seems..." She trailed off, clearly aware that her attempt at casualness was failing miserably.

The tension snapped when Tristan's voice cut through the air, low and dangerous. "Go to bed, Mom." His words were sharp, carrying an edge that made it clear this little interruption had gone on long enough.

His mother didn't miss a beat, her eyes twinkling with mischief as she nodded, barely able to suppress the squeal that escaped her lips. "Sure, sure, goodnight," she said, retreating toward the stairs, still smiling that knowing smile as she disappeared up the steps.

 As soon as she was out of earshot, Tristan turned to me, the edge of irritation in his features softening into something closer to sheepishness. He gave me a smile that was equal parts embarrassed and amused, a quiet apology flickering in his eyes.

I couldn't help it—I burst out laughing, the ridiculousness of the situation hitting me all at once. I bent down to gather my bag from the floor, along with his discarded suit jacket, my laughter still bubbling in my chest.

"Thanks," he murmured when I handed it to him.

We walked side by side up the stairs, the quiet hum of the house settling around us. But with each step I took beside him, I felt a warmth spread through me, a lightheadedness from the mix of the laughter still floating in the air and the memory of what had just passed between us. 

We reached the twins' room, and Tristan stepped aside as I bent down to kiss both of them softly on the head, my heart swelling with the soft, unspoken love that filled the room. The quiet rhythm of their breaths was a balm to the frantic pulse that still beat in my chest.

"Uhm... goodnight," I whispered as we stepped out of the twins' room. I turned to leave, needing a moment to collect myself, but his voice stopped me cold.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" Tristan's tone was gruff, a teasing challenge laced with something deeper.

Before I could process his question, his arms shot out, and within a heartbeat, he lifted me off the ground, throwing me effortlessly over his shoulder. The sudden motion took me by surprise, my stomach flipping with the rush of it.

"You're coming with me," he said smacking my ass, his voice husky with determination.

A laugh escaped me before I could stop it, the absurdity of the situation too much to contain. But even as I laughed, I couldn't deny the way my body reacted—how safe I felt in his arms.

Tristan had my back against the shower glass wall as soon as we stepped under the shower, his hands and lips exploring every part of me. I prayed the shower walls and sprinkling water blocked out the uncontrollable moans leaving my lips. I lost cont of many times I came before we went to sleep naked and nestled in each other arms. 

∆

I was tangled in the warmth of the sheets, but it was Tristan's arms around me that kept me tethered to the moment. His chest rose and fell in steady rhythm beneath me, the subtle beat of his heart a quiet, comforting presence. I shifted slightly, stretching into his embrace, the weight of sleep still heavy on my limbs.

"Are you free today?" His voice broke through the drowsy haze, low and familiar, vibrating in the air between us.

The faint ache in my muscles reminded me of last night. I yawned, the exhaustion from the night before lingering.

"I think so," I mumbled, my voice thick with sleep, but there was an undercurrent of curiosity, a question wrapped in the simple words.

"I wanna take you somewhere." He whispered, placing soft kisses on my thighs.

"Where?" I asked as his lips trailed lower.

"Somewhere," he replied before he pulled me closer and buried his face between my legs. I didn't bother asking more questions. I just grind my hips against his tongue, gasping for air as I knotted my fingers in his hair, my back arching from intense pleasure.

 I had no idea what time it was. The hours had melted into each other, indistinguishable, like a dream I couldn't quite wake up from. The past few days had been a haze—moments blurred together in a tangle of sheets, the air thick with the scent of sweat and sex, the sharp, intoxicating ache of desire that clung to my skin like a second layer.

We were a mess. A beautiful, chaotic mess.

After our shower, I stepped out of the steam, still feeling the lingering warmth of Tristan's touch on my skin. The bathroom smelled of fresh soap and him—an intoxicating mix of wood and musk. He gave me space, as if sensing I needed a moment to gather myself. But even as I dried off and wrapped myself in a towel, my thoughts kept circling back to him, to the way he made me feel like the world was at my feet and yet, at the same time, like I was lost in him.

I had no idea where he was taking me, and for some reason, that made everything feel heavier. Every choice seemed more important than the last—every detail amplified. My heart beat a little faster, my breath a little shallower, as I stood in front of the closet, trying to decide what to wear. 

I settled on a sleek black dress, simple yet undeniably elegant, and paired it with a pair of Hermes sandals—gifts from Mrs. Sanchester, though they felt like more than just an item of clothing now. They felt like armor, or maybe an offering. I glanced at my reflection in the mirror as I applied just a bit of mascara and a layer of lip gloss, letting my natural features speak for themselves. I combed through my waves of hair.

Then, a knock at the door.

I paused, my heart skipping in my chest. I knew it was him. I could feel his presence even through the closed door. I took a deep breath to steady myself, trying to ignore the rush of anticipation that fluttered in my stomach. My fingers shook slightly as I searched for a small bag. I grabbed a few essentials and tossed them inside before jogging to the door, a sheepish smile tugging at the corners of my lips as I opened it.

Tristan stood there, framed in the doorway like a figure carved from a dream. His crisp pants hugged him in all the right places, and his white Henley seemed to catch the light in a way that made everything else in the room feel dull in comparison. 

"You look stunning," he said, and his voice—low, gravelly, sincere—sent a wave of heat rushing to my cheeks.

I didn't know what to say. I couldn't speak for a moment, too caught up in the way he was looking at me, as if I were the only person in the room—no, the only person in the world. He reached for my hand, his fingers warm as they intertwined with mine, and we walked down the stairs together. The twins were zooming around the living room in their toy car, their laughter echoing like a distant memory of innocence.

Before we reached the door, I stopped to give a quick word to one of the maids. "Call me if anything comes up," I told her, my voice steady, but my mind already elsewhere.

Tristan didn't say much, only a quiet "Wait for me outside," as he disappeared to get the car. I nodded, heart in my throat, and stepped out onto the porch, where I waited, my eyes scanning the driveway, my anticipation growing with every passing second.

Then, the soft rumble of an engine. The black Rolls Royce rolled up to the curb, its gleaming surface catching the sunlight like a jewel. My breath caught in my chest as I slid into the plush interior, the warm brown leather seats wrapping around me like a second skin. As Tristan settled behind the wheel, I caught a fleeting glance of his smile—a small thing, but it made my pulse quicken, and for a moment, everything else disappeared.

"So, are you going to tell me where we're going?" I asked, my voice betraying the nerves I was trying to suppress. "I don't even know if I'm wearing the right outfit."

Tristan's smile deepened, and he turned his gaze to me, his eyes lingering just a moment too long before he spoke. "We'll be there in a few minutes," he said, his tone rich with something I couldn't place. "And you look perfect."

He reached out, his hand sliding down my thigh in a slow, deliberate motion that left a trail of heat in its wake. The brief contact sent a shock of electricity through me, and I tried to steady my breath, fighting the flush that crept across my skin as his fingers pulled away.

I shifted in my seat, focusing on the car's dashboard. My fingers hovered over the touch screen, looking for music—anything to fill the space that felt suddenly too small. 

The car's interior hummed with the soft rhythm of the playlist Belvina had made for me. I let myself get lost in the music, belting out lyrics with a kind of reckless abandon as Tristan shook his head at my failed attempt to hit a high note. 

Fifteen minutes of our playful banter passed in a haze of laughter and forgotten lyrics, but then the car slowed, and I noticed the change in the air. The atmosphere shifted, became heavier, quieter. My mind wandered from the music to the strange stillness that had settled around us.

When the car stopped, I blinked, unsure of what I was seeing. A cemetery. The gravel crunching under the tires, the long shadows stretching over rows of graves. 

I turned to Tristan, my gaze searching for any sign of reassurance. His expression was unreadable at first, but then something softened in his eyes. A tenderness I hadn't expected. He held my gaze, the silence between us stretched thin with unspoken questions.

"Are we at the right place?" I asked, the words leaving my lips with an edge of uncertainty. I wasn't sure if I was asking because I didn't want to be here, or if I just needed him to tell me everything was okay.

He didn't answer immediately. Instead, there was a flicker of something—nervousness, maybe? He stepped out of the car, his movements deliberate, almost measured, and I watched him walk to my door, the familiar sense of calm in his posture in stark contrast to the tension that coiled around me. The door clicked open, and he stood there, waiting. His eyes met mine, and his voice was softer than I'd ever heard it.

"Do you trust me?"

It was such a simple question. But the way he asked it—almost vulnerable, like he was exposing a piece of himself in the asking. Without hesitation, I nodded. The answer was instinctive, unshakeable.

"Yes," I whispered, my voice barely audible but full of certainty.

His expression softened just a little, and he held out his hand. I placed my hand in his, stepping out of the car, feeling the cool air of the morning kiss my skin as I followed him.

The moment my feet touched the ground, I realized how different everything felt. The weight of the place—the grave markers, the solemnity of the land—pressed against me. But Tristan's hand, steady and warm, was the only thing anchoring me, guiding me through the thickening silence.

We walked through the rows of graves, and I tightened my grip on his hand, my pulse quickening with each step. The sound of our footsteps seemed too loud in the quiet, the air thick with history and loss. I could feel the questions rising in my chest, the uncertainty about what I was walking into, but I kept my focus on him—on the way his fingers held mine with an intensity that was almost painful.

We stopped in front of two marble tombstones, gleaming white in the soft light of the day. Fresh flowers sat at their bases, vibrant against the stone, as if life was still flourishing here. Tristan didn't let go of my hand. In fact, his grip tightened slightly, as if holding me was the only thing keeping him grounded in this moment. I felt the weight of it—the trust, the unspoken invitation.

I brushed my thumb over his fingers, a small gesture, but one that seemed to comfort him, or at least, that's what I hoped. He looked down at me, a weak smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

I didn't know what to do, or what to say. This was a place so clearly meant for him, a space where he could remember, reflect, connect. And yet, here I was, standing next to him in a world that wasn't mine. It felt almost wrong to be here, intruding on this intimate part of his life.

But even in that discomfort, there was something else—a deep, undeniable sense of privilege. To be here, with him, in this space where he had opened up enough to let me in. 

I stood frozen, staring at the two tombstones before me, the weight of the moment pressing down on my chest like a slow, suffocating tide. The first one, shaped like a delicate butterfly, carried the name Nadia Roseline Sanchester etched into its marble surface. Next to it was the heart-shaped stone that bore the name Fiona Dyani Sanchester. The two markers seemed to whisper stories of lives lost too soon, of memories and moments frozen in time.

A deep sense of sadness washed over me, a quiet grief that I couldn't quite explain, as if I had inherited some of their sorrow simply by being here. I let go of Tristan's hand, my fingers trembling as I knelt by the tombstones. I gently brushed away the dirt and the dry leaves that had accumulated over time, my movements soft and slow, as though I could somehow erase the distance between the present and the past.

 I stood up slowly, glancing over at him. He was still, his posture rigid, his gaze locked on the stones. His face, usually composed, now bore the quiet strain of something deeper. I knew the pain of losing them would never truly fade. Fiona and Nadia were more than just memories to him; they were the heartbeats of his past, his first love.

I loved that he wasn't afraid to feel, to let go of the façade of control. He wasn't trying to hide his emotions from me. 

I felt his grip tighten, his fingers pressing into my back, as though trying to anchor himself to something real. Something solid. I held him tighter, offering him what little comfort I could.

When he finally pulled away, there was a softness in his eyes, a kind of quiet gratitude. He held my hand, his fingers brushing over mine with a tenderness that spoke volumes.

"Um...Chloe, meet Fiona and Nadia," he said, his voice rough, as if speaking their names took more effort than he cared to admit. "Fiona, this is the woman I talk about all day when I come here. She saved me from myself. And I want to spend my whole life with her."

The words came out easy, like he was introducing me to old friends, but there was an intimacy in them that made me ache with tenderness. I could feel the sincerity in his voice, the truth behind every syllable, even though he wasn't looking at me. 

I swallowed hard, a wave of emotion rising in my throat. I had always wondered if I'd ever be able to fill the space they left behind in his heart, but hearing him speak of me to them—like I belonged there, like I mattered as much as they did—made something inside me soften.

But then, just as quickly as the moment had settled, Tristan stood up and faced me, a wide smile spreading across his face. "Let's go," he said, his voice light, almost like the weight of the moment had lifted with that simple command.

I hesitated. "Um...can you give me a minute?"

Tristan looked at me, confused for a second, then nodded, silently agreeing to give me the time I needed. He turned and walked a few paces away, leaving me alone with the two stones.

I stood there for a long moment, my heart beating in time with the distant whispers of the wind, and I whispered softly to the two of them, my voice barely audible above the rustling of the leaves.

"You can watch over him from heaven," I said, the words carrying the weight of a promise. "And I'll watch over him from here."

I placed my palm gently against Fiona's tombstone, feeling the cool marble against my skin.

I pulled my hand away, offering one last look at the graves before turning and walking toward the car where Tristan waited, standing with his hands tucked into his pockets, his eyes on me. I gave him a small smile.

As I settled into the car, something within me had shifted—something I couldn't quite name but knew deep in my bones. There was a weightlessness to my thoughts, a sense of clarity as if I had needed to come here, needed to experience this moment to fully understand. The air around me seemed thicker, more real somehow, and I could feel Tristan's gaze on me, steady and searching, even without looking at him.

"Are you okay?" His voice was quiet, laced with concern, yet there was an edge to it, a fragility that hadn't been there before.

I nodded, forcing a smile despite the tears that still clung to my lashes. "Yeah."

He hesitated, unsure, before speaking again. "I'm sorry if it was..."

"Don't apologize," I cut him off, my voice firm, but soft. I turned to face him, my heart swelling as I struggled to put the depth of my feelings into words. "Actually, thank you for bringing me here. I can't describe what it means to me... but thank you," I said, smiling through the ache, through the tears that threatened to spill once more.

Tristan's expression softened, a quiet understanding in his eyes. Then, without a word, he opened his arms, and without hesitation, I crawled into his lap, straddling him as he wrapped me in the warmth of his embrace. His hands moved instinctively, pulling me close, pressing me against him as his body became my anchor, his presence the only thing I could focus on. I buried my face in the crook of his neck, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath my ear. His palm cupped the back of my head, his fingers threading through my hair as he held me tighter.

In that moment, I felt as though everything—every pain, every struggle, every loss—had led us here, to this place of quiet refuge. Maybe this was how we found each other again, how we stitched the pieces of ourselves together after all the heartache. I didn't know what tomorrow would bring, but right now, in his arms, I felt more whole than I ever had.

When I finally pulled away, his thumb wiped away a stray tear that had escaped. As he tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear, I realized, for the first time, that my feelings for him were something that couldn't be ignored or denied any longer.

I beamed at him, a mixture of happiness and relief flooding my chest. And in that moment, with the sound of his laughter filling the space between us, something inside me clicked into place.

I loved him.

The realization was so simple, yet so overwhelming. Not maybe, not someday—but right now. Right here, in this car.

I wanted to tell him, wanted to let the words spill out of my mouth, but they caught in my throat, tangled in the emotions that surged through me like a storm.

Before I could find the courage to speak, Tristan snapped me out of my trance with his usual grounded presence. "We better get going."

I nodded, forcing myself to look away, my heart still pounding in my chest. With a deep breath, I moved back into my seat, the space between us suddenly feeling too large, though his words, his presence, still lingered like the warmth of the sun on my skin.

Tristan's voice broke through the quiet hum of the car. "We're taking off in a few seconds," he said, his tone light, but I could sense the undercurrent of anticipation in it.

 "Where are we going?" I asked, my voice distant, as though I couldn't quite catch up with the moment.

He glanced at me briefly, his lips curving into that same easy smile that always seemed to make everything feel lighter. "On a date."

I furrowed my brows. "A date?"

"Yeah." He shrugged.

 "So why are we taking a flight?" I asked, my confusion still evident, a small laugh threatening to break through the knot in my chest.

His hands were steady on the wheel as he pulled the car out of the cemetery and onto the road. "Cause it's in Paris." He said it so casually, as if flying to another country was a mere footnote in the grand scheme of things. "You've always wanted to go to Paris."

My heart stuttered. Paris. Paris—the city I'd only ever dreamed of visiting, the city of lights, of romance, of new beginnings. I swallowed hard, trying to steady my breathing, trying to grasp the enormity of what he was saying.

Before I could process any further, Tristan gave me a reassuring glance. "Don't worry. Vina packed you a bag, and we'll be back in 48 hours." He spoke as if it were the most natural thing in the world. And for him, maybe it was.

But for me, it felt surreal. Paris. A date. Him. 

I stared at him, trying to make sense of it all. His eyes were on the road, but his fingers danced across his phone, effortlessly texting with one hand while the other remained steady on the wheel. There was a confidence in the way he navigated the world, in the way he moved through the chaos with such casual grace.

But I was drowning in it. Drowning in the quiet intimacy between us, in the love I could no longer hide, in the fact that he was offering me everything I'd ever wanted, without hesitation, without doubt.

"Tristan..." I said his name softly, barely above a whisper. He glanced at me, his eyes flicking to mine for a brief moment before he returned his attention to the road, his lips curving just slightly.

But this time, I didn't wait for him to say anything more. I couldn't. Not when the words were fighting to escape, fighting to break free.

"I love you."

The words felt foreign on my tongue, yet they fit in the space between us like they had always belonged there. They left me exposed, raw, vulnerable, but I couldn't hold them back anymore. 

And still, there was a part of me—deep down—that wanted to scream the words again, louder, to make sure he understood, to make sure he knew how much he meant to me.