The Morning After

She woke at 6 a.m.

He was still there.

She had not believed he would still be there. Some part of her had expected to open her eyes and find the bed cold, find a note, find herself alone again, the way she had been alone for three years. That was the story she knew how to live inside.

Instead, he was asleep next to her. On his back. One arm flung above his head. His breathing slow. His face was softer than she had seen it in a very long time.

She looked at him for a while.

Then she got out of bed, wrapped herself in the hotel robe, and walked to the window.

The sun was coming up over the park. The city was still quiet. Below her, a few runners moved along the paths. A garbage truck worked its way up Fifth Avenue. New York, waking up.

She thought about Luna.

Luna would be getting up soon in London. Breakfast time there. The nanny would be making her toast with jam. Luna would ask for her mother, because she always asked for her mother in the mornings, and the nanny would say Mummy is working. Mummy is coming home soon.

Coming home soon.

Seraphina had been saying those words to her daughter for three months.

She was tired of lying.

Behind her, the bed rustled.

"Hey." Damien's voice was rough with sleep. "Come back."

She did not turn.

"Aria."

"I have to go to London today."

A long pause.

"Okay."

"I have to see my daughter. She has not seen me in two weeks. She is two years old. That is a very long time when you are two."

"Yes."

"I am going to be gone for a week."

"Okay."

She turned.

He was sitting up in the bed. Hair a mess. Bare chest. The sheet around his waist. He looked very young in the morning light.

"Damien."

"Yes."

"I want you to come with me."

He went very still.

"To London."

"Yes."

"To meet her."

"Yes."

"Aria. Are you sure?"

"No. I am not sure. I have not been sure of anything in three years. But if I wait until I am sure, I am going to wait forever. And she deserves to know her father before she is old enough to hate him for being missing."

He got out of bed. Pulled on his trousers. Walked across the room to her. Stopped a foot away.

"I will come."

"There are rules."

"Name them."

"One. You do not tell her who you are. Not yet. We introduce you as a friend. She calls you Damien. Not Dad. Not anything else. We let her get used to you first."

"Agreed."

"Two. If she does not like you, you leave. You do not push. You do not try to win her over with gifts. If a two year old rejects you, you accept it."

"Agreed."

"Three. We fly separately. You do not fly on my plane. You do not stay at my house. You get your own hotel and your own car, and we meet at a public playground on Sunday afternoon. That is how you meet her."

"Agreed."

"Four."

She stopped.

"What is four?"

"Four is that when this week is over, I do not know what happens next. I do not know if I am coming back to New York. I do not know if I am going to let you in further or shut you out completely. I do not know anything. Last night was not a promise. It was an experiment. Do you understand?"

"I understand."

"Do you really?"

"I understand that you are the most careful, stubborn woman I have ever known, and that you are letting me meet our daughter anyway, and I am not going to squander that by pretending I know what happens next. I will show up in London. I will meet her. I will follow your rules. I will let you decide whatever you want to decide afterward. I will not push. I will not beg. I will not ask you to love me. I will just be there. Is that what you need to hear?"

"Yes."

"Then that is what you have."

She nodded once.

He did not try to kiss her.

He did not try to get back into bed.

He picked up his shirt and his jacket and his shoes and he dressed in silence, and he walked to the door, and he paused with his hand on the handle.

"Aria."

"Yes."

"Thank you."

He left.

She stood by the window a long time after he was gone. The sun rose. The city woke up. The bed behind her was still warm on his side, and she could smell him on her skin, and her heart was doing something it had not done in three years.

It was beating like a thing that was expected to be used.