"Ethan, did you see the photos from last night?"

Sophie nudges Ethan.

She scrolls to show Ethan the picture on her phone.

"This one with Aunt Marie dancing? She looked like she was possessed!” Sophie laughs so hard.

She is radiant this morning, sunlight catching on her hair as she laughs, scrolling through her phone.

Bella sits across from Sophie, hands folded neatly on the linen tablecloth, her knuckles white against the porcelain teacup. She can feel the steam rising and can smell the faint trace of vanilla and cinnamon in her tea, but beneath it, stronger, almost taunting, she swears she still catches the scent of Ethan.

Ethan chuckles, soft, composed, and effortless. “I think everyone had a bit too much champagne.”

His tone is perfect; it actually sounds too perfect. Every syllable sounds practiced, like a line rehearsed in a mirror.

Bella knows, because she has been practicing too, how to breathe evenly, how to look up at him without flinching, and how to smile at the right time. Her lips even ache from the effort.

Sophie looks between them, oblivious. “Mom, you've barely eaten anything from your plate. You’re usually the one stealing my toast! ...why aren't you eating, though?”

Bella forces a small laugh, her fingers tightening around the napkin in her lap. “I guess I’m just… still tired from yesterday.”

Ethan glances at her then. A quick, fleeting flick of his eyes that lands like a spark on dry wood. In that half-second, the world contracts; the murmur of the restaurant fades, the air thickens, and memories flood back to Bella.

His breath on her ear. His voice breaking when he said her name.

Her fingers in his hair.

His damp skin against hers.

His deep, relentless thrusts.

The sound of the rain outside, steady and merciless, matching their fevered rhythm.

She blinks hard, and the flash is gone. She lifts her teacup, trying to hide the tremor in her hand.

“Did you sleep well?” Sophie asks, buttering a croissant.

Bella nods automatically. “Yes...” She pauses a bit. “And you?”

Sophie grins. “Like a rock!... Only to wake up looking for him!” Pointing a teasing finger at Ethan.

Ethan’s fork freezes mid-air. Then, smoothly, he lowers it. “I already explained my absence,” he says casually. “And oh, I ended up at the bar downstairs until it closed. I forgot to add that part.”

Bella’s throat closes. She is barely able to breathe.

Sophie gasps. “No way! ...All alone?”

Ethan shrugs with an easy smile. “Nah! ...there were a few people there. The bartender wouldn’t stop talking about the wedding playlist.”

Bella’s pulse jumps. Ethan refuses to glance at her once while talking.

But something inside her twists, seeing the way he keeps his hands perfectly still and the faint tightness in his jaw as he cuts his eggs. She knows what he is holding back. She knows because she is doing the same thing: hiding tremors behind stillness.

Sophie beams, utterly unaware. “Well, next time you should wake us up! We’d have joined you... Right, Mom?”

Bella swallows hard. “Right! ... Next time,” she spits out too fast. Her voice sounds wrong, almost cracking.

Sophie starts talking about honeymoon plans: some beach, some fantasy about quiet mornings and sunsets. Ethan nods, responding when expected, smiling when required. But every time Bella shifts in her seat, he notices. Every time her hand moves toward her cup, his eyes flick down, almost unconsciously, following the motion.

He remembers.

She can feel it in the way he breathes now: slow, careful, like even air might betray him.

Bella forces herself to look anywhere but at him. The waiter passes, and she asks for more tea just to have something to do with her voice.

As she stirs, the spoon clinks gently against porcelain. Each turn drags up a sound from the night before: the muffled gasp, the soft sighs, the thrilling moans, and the rhythm of skin and guilt. She presses her lips together.

Sophie’s voice disrupts again, bright and alive. “You two have been acting so weird today. Did something happen?”

Bella stiffens. Ethan’s eyes lift to meet hers for a split second with a sharp, silent panic.

Then Sophie laughs. “Oh, I know! ...It’s the wedding stress, right? And you both haven't really slept...” She glances at Ethan. "You, choosing to spend all night with the concierge, fixing lights... and you, Mom... walking all around the hallway when you should be in bed." She laughs teasingly.

Relief floods through Bella so suddenly she almost laughs. Instead, she shakes her head, smiling faintly. “Something like that... Yeah! The wedding stress.”

The waiter returns with fresh tea. The scent of cinnamon curls through the air. Bella breathes it in too fast and nearly coughs. Ethan’s gaze flicks to her again, instinctively. His expression betrays a moment’s concern before he hides it behind his glass.

Sophie catches the look and smirks. “You two have really bonded since the wedding, huh?”

Bella’s stomach knots up.

Ethan chuckles, but too sharply this time. The sound cuts through the tension like a knife through glass. “Just trying to be the best son-in-law I can be... I guess.”

Sophie nods approvingly. “Well, I’m glad. You’re family now. Mom’s been my whole world for so long... it means everything that you two get along.”

Bella’s fork clatters against her plate.

The sound makes Sophie look up, frowning. “Mom?... Are you okay?”

“I'm fine,” Bella says, too quickly. She reaches for her napkin, pretending to wipe her mouth. “Just sleepy.”

The table is quiet for a moment. The silence feels heavy and filled with unsaid things.

Ethan takes a slow sip of coffee, his fingers trembling. Bella catches it and looks away before it can mean anything.

Sophie starts talking again about the reception, about thank-you cards, and about how surreal it all feels. Her voice fills the space, mercifully drowning out the unspoken.

Bella nods along, smiling in all the right places, but her mind keeps drifting to the way Ethan’s shirt had felt beneath her fingers, the smell of his skin mingling with whiskey, and the quiet desperation in his voice when he whispered her name.

She can still feel it all, like heat beneath her clothes, like a secret that refuses to wash off.

Her reflection in the polished silver teapot catches her eye: calm, composed, and flawless.

But that is a lie, a big fat lie. She hurriedly looks away and stares at a spot on the wall across from her instead.

Sophie waves a hand in front of her. “Mom, you’re miles away! Are you sure you’re not sick?”

Bella laughs softly, the sound brittle. “Just… thinking.”

“Well, stop thinking and eat,” Sophie teases. “You’ll need your energy for the day.”

Bella forces another bite of toast. The texture feels wrong in her mouth: dry, heavy, and undeserved.

Across the table, Ethan lifts his gaze again. Just once and his eyes find hers. For a fleeting second, the mask slips; the exhaustion, the longing, and the guilt are all there. Naked and raw.

Then Sophie reaches for his hand, and it is gone.

Bella drops her gaze, her heart hammering.

The conversation drifts again, back to wedding gifts and honeymoon destinations. Bella barely hears any of it.

What she feels instead are fragments:

Her hands gripping the sheets.

His hands pinning hers to the bed as he hungrily kisses her.

The sound of her own breath breaking as his thrusts sink deep into her.

She bolts up, excusing herself quietly, saying she needs air. Sophie barely notices, but Ethan does. His hand tightens around his glass, making his knuckles white.

Bella walks out. The restaurant door closes behind her with a soft thud.

Outside, the morning is bright, almost cruelly so. She stands beneath the sun, lifts her face, and lets the warmth burn her skin. But beneath it, she still feels his heat; deeper, hidden, and inescapable.

She breathes in, slow and steady, like she is practicing composure and control again.

Then, finally, she whispers under her breath, barely audible:

“Never again.”

But even she does not sound convinced.