The laughter downstairs sounded foreign, like echoes from someone else's happiness. It clawed its way up the stairs and into my room, pulling me from a restless haze. My lips still tingled from last night—Miles's kiss, brief but scorching, branded into my memory.
I sat up, clutching the sheet as if it could shield me from the weight of my thoughts. A mistake. That's what he'd called it. Yet, every second of that moment played on a loop in my mind, a mix of heat, regret, and something I wasn't ready to name.
The chatter grew louder, joined by the clinking of dishes. My mother's laugh rose above the rest, light and musical, completely at odds with the heaviness pressing against my chest.
The wedding was over, but the chaos wasn't. Not for me.
Downstairs, the kitchen was a scene from a magazine: sunlight spilling through the windows, fresh flowers on the counter, and my mother glowing as she stirred something on the stove. Her happiness was palpable, almost suffocating.
"Morning, sweetheart," she chirped, turning to me with a smile so bright it felt like an accusation. "Did you sleep well?"
I forced a nod. "Fine."
Her eyes scanned my face, searching for something. Concern? Guilt? It didn't matter. Whatever she was looking for, I wasn't giving it to her.
"You should eat. There's plenty left from last night's feast." She gestured to the table, her words brimming with satisfaction. "Wasn't it beautiful? Everything went perfectly."
Perfectly. Except for the kiss that shattered my sense of control. Except for the man who now haunted my thoughts.
"It was fine," I said, my voice clipped.
Her smile faltered, just for a second, before she plastered it back on. "Well, it's a new beginning for all of us. You'll see."
A new beginning. For her and Richard. For the picture-perfect life they were building. But for me? Last night was the beginning of something far more complicated.
I grabbed a mug of coffee, needing the warmth to steady my hands. The laughter in the next room shifted, growing sharper. My chest tightened as I recognized the voice—Miles.
He stood near the door, his posture casual but his gaze restless. He was talking to Richard, their conversation punctuated by Richard's hearty laugh. Miles caught sight of me, and for a moment, the air between us crackled. His expression flickered—guilt, longing, something raw that mirrored my own turmoil.
Then he turned away.
It shouldn't have stung, but it did. I busied myself with my coffee, pretending not to care, but every nerve in my body was attuned to his presence.
Richard's voice carried over. "Miles, stay for lunch. We've got plenty."
Miles shook his head, his tone polite but firm. "I can't. Something came up."
"Again?" Richard's disappointment was evident. "You've been distant lately."
Miles's eyes darted to me, his jaw tightening. "I'll make it up to you."
He was leaving. A mix of relief and dread twisted in my gut. His presence unsettled me, but his absence would be worse.
"Miles." My mother's voice stopped him as he reached for the door. "Don't be a stranger. You're family now."
Family. The word felt like a slap. I turned away, unable to look at him.
Miles paused, his hand hovering on the doorknob. His voice was low when he replied, "I'll see you around."
His words weren't meant for the room. They were meant for me. And they carried a quiet promise that nothing between us would ever be the same.
As the door closed behind him, the weight of the unspoken words between us settled heavily on my chest. I knew this wasn't over. Miles wasn't someone who could be ignored or forgotten. Not after last night.
And deep down, I wasn't sure I wanted to.
The sound of the door clicking shut was deafening, the finality of it ringing in my ears. But it wasn't the end. It was the beginning of a storm I wasn't ready to face.