"A strong woman accepts both compliments and criticism gracefully, knowing that it takes both sunshine and rain for a flower to grow."

Veronica

The soft glow of the morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting long shadows across the beautiful hotel room. I blinked, disoriented, a warmth spreading through me that had nothing to do with the sunlight. My eyes focused, and the source of the heat became wonderfully clear. Saint. His arm was draped over my waist, his broad chest pressed against my back. We were… spooning.

Memories of the night before flickered back like a dream. The masked man, the fear, the way Saint's hand had tightened on mine as he'd pulled me close… his sudden migraine. I'd stayed with him, of course. It felt impossible to leave him vulnerable and alone. I'd helped him to bed, fetched cool cloths for his forehead, and whispered reassurances until the pain eased and he drifted off to sleep.

Apparently, somewhere along the way, I'd drifted off too.

A soft snore rumbled in my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. It was such an ordinary sound, so human, so at odds with the image of the strong, stoic protector I knew. My eyes landed on a vibrant deep purple orchid on the table by the window, the soft sunlight gently highlighting its delicate petals. A smile touched my lips. He looked so peaceful in sleep, the lines of tension that usually etched his face softened.

Carefully, I shifted, trying not to disturb him. His arm tightened instinctively, pulling me closer. I froze, my breath catching in my throat. Our bodies were molded together, the heat of his skin seeping into mine. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the quiet rhythm of his breathing.

This was… unexpected. Unprofessional. And yet… a thrill coursed through me, a forbidden pleasure. The line between us had blurred last night, and now, waking up in his arms, it felt almost nonexistent. A part of me, a larger part than I cared to admit, reveled in the intimacy, in the feeling of his strong body against mine.

I couldn't deny the attraction anymore, the pull I felt towards him. It was dangerous, reckless, considering the circumstances. But in this moment, with the sun warming my skin and Saint's steady breath fanning my neck, the danger felt a million miles away. All that mattered was the warmth of his embrace, the feeling of belonging, of safety, that I found in his arms.

A sudden knock on the door shattered the peaceful silence. I jumped, my heart leaping into my throat. Saint stirred beside me, his grip loosening slightly. "Who is it?" I whispered, my voice barely audible.

"Room service," a muffled voice replied from the other side of the door.

Reality crashed back in, a cold wave against the warmth of the moment. Room service. Right. We were in a hotel, not a fairytale. And Saint was my protector, not my…

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

I pushed the thought away, unwilling to examine it too closely just yet. "Just a minute," I called out, my voice still shaky.

I glanced back to see his face. His eyes were still closed, his expression serene. I gently disentangled myself from his embrace, a pang of regret shooting through me as I did. I padded softly to the door and opened it to reveal a cart laden with food – pastries, fresh fruit, a steaming pot of coffee, the works. The aroma of freshly baked bread and strong coffee filled the air, making my stomach rumble. I quietly wheeled the cart inside and closed the door behind me. As I turned back into the room, a movement on the bed caught my eye. Saint was awake, pushing himself up on one elbow, his eyes searching for me. He looked slightly disoriented, his dark hair tousled, and a faint blush rose on his cheeks as his gaze met mine. "Morning," he said, his voice a low rumble, still thick with sleep. He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that somehow made him seem even more vulnerable, more… real. "I, uh..." He trailed off, his eyes flickering down to the space beside him on the bed, then back to me. A flicker of understanding, and something else… something that looked suspiciously like amusement, danced in his eyes. "I seem to have overslept." He paused, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "And you… you seem to have taken pity on a damsel in distress." He gestured towards the cart with a playful grin. "Room service? You shouldn't have." He sat up straighter, the easy amusement fading slightly as he met my gaze. "Thank you, Veronica. For… everything." His eyes held a depth of sincerity that made my heart flutter. "I, uh… I don't usually… sleep through alarms," he added, a hint of self-deprecation in his voice. "The migraine… it really knocked me out." He paused, his gaze lingering on mine. "And… well," he hesitated, a faint blush returning to his cheeks, "thank you for… staying." He looked around the room, taking in the breakfast cart, the orchid, the rumpled sheets on the bed. A slow smile spread across his face. "It seems," he said, a playful glint in his eyes, "that I owe you a rather large thank you… and perhaps… breakfast in bed?" He reached for the coffee pot, his gaze still holding mine. "Or," I offered, gesturing towards the sitting area, "perhaps we could just enjoy this in the other room, watch some terrible morning TV, and just… relax for a little bit?" I busied myself with the coffee, trying to ignore the way my heart was still doing a little dance. "Besides," I added, glancing at him over my shoulder, "I'm starving." I poured two cups of coffee, the rich aroma mingling with the sweet scent of the pastries. "Come on," I said, grabbing a croissant and heading towards the sitting area. "Let's see what culinary delights this hotel has to offer." I settled onto the plush sofa, gesturing for him to join me. "So," I said, taking a bite of my croissant, "about last night…" I trailed off, unsure how to broach the subject. The image of the masked man flashed through my mind, a chilling reminder of the danger that lurked just beneath the surface of our lives. "Were you able to find out anything more about…" I hesitated, not wanting to mention the masked figure directly, "…our uninvited guest?" I watched him, my expression carefully neutral, as he grabbed the coffee I had poured for him and settled into the armchair opposite me. He took a sip, his eyes thoughtful. "Unfortunately," he said, his voice low, "not much. He was… professional. Clean. Didn't leave anything behind." He paused, his gaze meeting mine. "Which," he added, a muscle ticking in his jaw, "makes him all the more dangerous." He set his coffee down, the clink of the cup against the saucer echoing in the quiet room. "We need to be… extra careful, Veronica." His words hung in the air, a stark reminder of the reality that surrounded us. The warmth of the morning, the shared intimacy, the lightness of the moment… it all seemed to fade away, replaced by a sense of unease. I nodded slowly, my appetite suddenly gone. "What do we do now?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. He looked at me, his eyes searching mine. "We do what we always do," he said, his voice firm, a flicker of his usual strength returning. "We adapt. We survive. And we don't let anyone get to us." He reached across the small table between us, his hand covering mine. His touch was warm, reassuring. "And," he added, a faint smile gracing his lips, "we eat breakfast. Because even damsels in distress need their fuel." I smiled back, a genuine smile this time, the tension easing slightly. "Right," I said, squeezing his hand gently. "Fuel it is." We ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the only sound the clinking of silverware and the soft murmur of the morning news on the television. As I finished the last of my croissant, I couldn't shake the feeling that last night, and this morning, had changed something between us. The line, already blurred, seemed to have vanished completely. And as I looked at Saint, his eyes meeting mine across the table, I knew that whatever happened next, we would face it… together.