Her eyes search mine, and I can see the uncertainty there, the way she's still not sure if she's doing this right.
That's when I notice the champagne.
It's sitting on the desk, beaded with condensation, next to a small plate of strawberries. Someone from the team must've sent it up. Probably Katharina.
Élise sees me looking and laughs, soft and a little embarrassed.
"They were here when I got back," she says. "I think someone on your team might be a romantic."
"Champagne again," I say, already reaching for it.
"Apparently we have a theme."
“Definitely not good enough for you…” I smirk.
“Probably,” she answers, but her eyes have a mischievous smile.
I work the cork loose, and it pops with a satisfying sound that fills the small room.
"Last time we had champagne together," she says, picking up a strawberry, "you taught me what 'no more games' might feel like."
I pour two glasses, bubbles fizzing loudly in the quiet.
"Did I?" I ask, handing her one.
"You did." She takes a sip, eyes on mine over the rim. "I didn't believe you at first."
"And now?"
She doesn't answer right away. Just holds the glass, strawberry in her other hand, looking at me like she's trying to decide something.
"Now," she says finally, "I'm still figuring it out."
I clink my glass against hers. "Fair enough."
We drink in silence for a moment, passing the strawberries back and forth. It's quieter than I expected. Almost shy. Like we're both waiting for the other person to make the first move and neither of us knows what that move should be.
She sets her glass down and looks at me, and the mood shifts, darkens.
I step closer, and she doesn't step back.
My hands find her waist, fingers sliding under the hem of her shirt, and I go slower than I usually do. Checking. Watching her face.
She lifts her arms, and I pull the shirt over her head, careful not to catch her hair.
My fingers fumble with the clasp of her bra, and she laughs, breathless.
"You're nervous," she says.
"Maybe."
"You're never nervous."
"Maybe I am tonight."
The bra comes off, and I drop it somewhere behind me. My hands skim up her sides, thumbs brushing the underside of her breasts, and she inhales sharply.
I lean in, mouth finding the curve of her neck, and I almost say it. Almost slip into the old script.
