Elena's POV
The morning after the gala felt like the clean side of a page. I woke slowly, aware first of the soft weight of the duvet and then of Justin beside me, breathing even and steady. For a while I let myself lie there and watch him sleep, letting the memory of the night replay in small, exquisite fragments, the lights in the ballroom, the hush when the cruise was announced, the way the director's face had crumpled with real gratitude when we told her the plan.
It was the sort of gratitude that sometimes makes you dizzy, like you're walking a little too fast and the world has shifted under your feet. I breathed it in and then let it settle. The night hadn't felt showy to me. It had felt necessary. It had felt like a small, stubborn righting of things I'd been carrying for years.
Justin stirred and opened his eyes, smiling at me like we'd both woken from the same secret dream. "Morning," he mumbled.
"Morning," I answered.
