She looks at me… really looks at me.And in her brown eyes, I see something that I’ve been longing for.Understanding.
It’s not pity.Not judgment.Just pure understanding.
I swallow hard, letting the silence stretch.
Finally, she gives me a soft smile.“I didn’t realize your mom left when you were young.”
“Yeah,” I say quietly.“I don’t blame her.Mentally, she just couldn’t cope being a parent, and it was the best thing for her.”The words come out automatically; it’s what I’ve told myself for years, but I’m not sure I believe them anymore.Maybe it’s easier than admitting she abandoned me.
She doesn’t say anything, just watches me.
“She died only a couple of years later.”
There’s a flicker of something in her expression—genuine sympathy that she doesn’t try to hide this time.
She grabs her phone and stops the recording, her voice gentler now.“Adrian, I’m sorry your mother left you.I can relate to that because my dad left.He moved across the country and started a new family.”
“Fuck.I’m sorry.”
She waves it off like it’s not a big deal, but I wonder if, deep down, it hurts like mine does.It’s the reason I don’t trust easily, and my circle of people is so small.Is that how it is for her too?
“That’s all the questions,” she says, smiling softly.
“Let’s get the money shot.”I wink, standing.
She giggles as she rises, and the sound is the brightness we need right now.
I follow her to the bridge, grateful for the shift in focus.
“The light through the trees is casting these beautiful soft shadows across the cobblestones.”She glances back at me with something warmer in her expression.
“I think here will be perfect.”She nods to the spot where the pillar meets the bridge’s archway.
I lean against the bricks, one knee bent, hands tucked into my pockets.The rough texture of the wall presses against the back of my head as I give her a natural smile.
She lifts her camera, takes a few shots, then lowers it slightly.“You know, you make this look effortless.Most people get all stiff in front of a camera.”
“Maybe I just have the right photographer.”
With a roll of her eyes, she bites back a grin, ignoring me to take a few more shots.But when she lowers the camera, the air charges, like it did yesterday.
She’s not packing up.Instead, she’s just looking at me, and I can see the conflict in her eyes—professional duty mixed with something deeper.
I push off the wall, closing the distance between us slowly.“Amelia…”
She doesn’t step back.“Adrian, we shouldn’t—”
But her voice lacks conviction, and when I reach up to brush a strand of hair from her face, she doesn’t pull away.
The urge to kiss her pulses in my veins.It’s probably a bad idea, but looking at her now, seeing the way her brown eyes look up at me… Fuck it.
I dip my head, closing the space between us, and press my lips to hers before she can talk me out of it.She stills, just for a second.Then, she melts into me.
My hands roam over her back, memorizing every curve, every shiver under my touch.Her lips are soft, warm, intoxicating.I part my mouth, tracing the seam of hers with my tongue, and she responds instantly, opening up to me, her tongue meeting mine.Electricity shoots through me, and I deepen the kiss, pressing her tighter against me, her camera wedged between us.
I turn her around as her fingers tangle in my hair, tugging slightly, and I groan against her lips, walking her backward under the bridge until her back meets the wall.I cage her in, one hand braced beside her head, the other gripping her waist.
We kiss like we’ve been dying for this moment, because we’ve been dancing around it for too long.And it’s perfect.She’s perfect.
