I woke slowly, sunlight filtering through Parisian curtains in soft golden streams.
For a moment, I didn't remember where I was. The sheets were too soft, the mattress too unfamiliar, the scent surrounding me wrong somehow—cedar and something masculine instead of my usual lavender.
Then I turned my head, and everything came rushing back.
Sebastian lay beside me, still asleep. I'd never seen him like this—unguarded, peaceful, the sharp edges of his face softened by rest.
Dark hair mussed against the white pillow. Lips slightly parted. The tension he carried constantly had melted away, leaving someone younger, gentler.
He's beautiful.
The thought arrived unbidden and undeniable. I couldn't dismiss it, couldn't rationalize it away.
Sebastian Cole, the insufferable, arrogant man who'd made my life difficult since the day we met, was beautiful lying here in morning light.
I didn't move, afraid to break the spell.
Last night replayed in fragments—his hands mapping my body, his mouth trailing fire across my skin, the way he said my name like a prayer when he came apart inside me.
The memories sent warmth pooling low in my stomach.
Sebastian stirred. His grey eyes opened, finding me immediately, as if he'd known exactly where I'd be. For a moment, neither of us spoke. The silence stretched between us, fragile and uncertain.
Then his hand reached out, brushing hair from my face with impossible gentleness.
"Morning," he murmured, voice rough with sleep.
"Morning." I managed a smile despite the nerves fluttering in my chest. "How long have you been awake?"
"Just now. Though I could get used to waking up to this view." His thumb traced my cheekbone. "You're even more beautiful in daylight."
"Sebastian..."
"I know. Too much, too soon." He pulled his hand back, but his eyes stayed warm. "Old habits. I'll work on it."
We got ready together in strange domesticity. No teasing. No sarcasm. No sharp barbs disguised as banter.
Sebastian moved around the hotel room like he belonged there, fetching towels, ordering room service, giving me space when I needed it.
He brought me coffee without being asked—perfectly made, exactly how I liked it.
"How did you know?" I asked, wrapping my hands around the warm cup.
"I pay attention." He shrugged like it was nothing. "You always take it with cream, no sugar. You think sugar masks the actual flavor."
"I said that once. Months ago."
"I remember everything you say, Belle. Even the things you think I'm not listening to."
When I struggled with my dress zipper, he crossed the room silently, his fingers brushing my spine as he pulled it up. The touch was intimate without being sexual—careful, almost reverent.
"Did you sleep well?" he asked, meeting my eyes in the mirror.
"Better than I have in weeks. You?"
"Best night's sleep of my life." A small smile. "I wonder why."
I didn't know what to make of this version of Sebastian. This wasn't the man who mocked me in conference rooms, who used blackmail as a tool for proximity, who wielded sarcasm like a weapon.
This version was careful with me. Tender in ways I hadn't known he was capable of.
It terrified me more than the arrogance ever had.
The event itself was flawless. We moved through the launch as a perfect team—anticipating each other's needs, communicating wordlessly across crowded rooms, solving problems before they fully materialized.
When a journalist cornered Sebastian with hostile questions, I appeared at his elbow with exactly the data he needed to redirect the conversation.
When I struggled with an overly persistent investor, Sebastian extracted me with smooth charm.
The product exceeded expectations. Clients were impressed. Press coverage was enthusiastic.
"You were incredible today," he said during a quiet moment near the bar. "Every time I turned around, you'd already handled whatever problem was brewing. It's like you read my mind."
"Someone has to keep you from alienating the entire European market."
"There's the Belle I know." He grinned. "I was starting to worry I'd replaced you with a pod person."
Near the end of the evening, the event photographer approached us. He'd been capturing the launch all night—candid shots of executives mingling, product displays gleaming under perfect lighting.
"Mr. Cole, Ms. Ashworth? I'd love to get a photo of the team behind this success. You two have been coordinating brilliantly all night."
Sebastian glanced at me. "What do you say, Ashworth? Care to document our professional triumph?"
"Why not?" I positioned myself beside him, maintaining appropriate distance. "One photo won't hurt."
The photographer raised his camera, adjusting the angle. "Ready? Three, two—"
Sebastian's arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me close against his side. Before I could react, his lips pressed against my cheek just as the shutter clicked.
I froze, caught completely off guard, my surprised smile captured forever.
"Perfect!" The photographer beamed at his screen. "You two make a wonderful couple."
"We're not—" I started.
"Thank you," Sebastian interrupted smoothly. "Send that to my assistant, would you?"
The photographer wandered off, leaving me staring at Sebastian with a mixture of shock and exasperation.
"What was that?"
"What was what?" He looked insufferably pleased with himself.
"The kiss. The photo. 'You make a wonderful couple.' Sebastian, people will see that."
"Good." His arm was still around my waist. He didn't seem inclined to move it. "Let them see."
"This is exactly what James accused you of. Using this trip to—"
"To what? Care about you publicly? Heaven forbid." His expression softened. "I'm not ashamed of wanting you, Belle. I'm not going to pretend this weekend meant nothing."
I didn't have a response for that.
Afterward, another late walk through glittering Paris. The city had transformed into something magical—lights reflecting on the Seine, couples dancing outside cafes, music drifting from open windows.
We talked about everything and nothing, comfortable in a way that terrified me.
He told me about his first failed business venture. I told him about my father's disappointment when I didn't become a teacher. He laughed at my terrible French pronunciation.
I mocked his excessive confidence in navigating streets he'd clearly never seen before.
It felt like dating. It felt like the beginning of something.
My heart cracked open, letting him in despite every warning screaming in my head.
I was falling for him. Not the arrogant executive who'd blackmailed me into coffee dates. Not the insufferable colleague who delighted in provoking me.
This Sebastian—vulnerable beneath his armor, passionate about his work, unexpectedly tender when he thought no one was watching.
The man who remembered how I took my coffee. Who zipped my dress without being asked. Who kissed my cheek in front of cameras because he wanted the world to know.
I was falling, and I had absolutely no idea what to do about it.