Page 36 of Greek's Temporary Cinderella

The aroma of fresh coffee filled the air, and of freshly baked croissants, rolls and pastries, along with the crisp tang of freshly squeezed orange juice. He thanked the butler, then dismissed him, wheeling the trolley carefully into his bedroom.

He paused by the bed. ‘Breakfast, madame, is served,’ he announced.

His voice was warm, and his mood, he knew, with a sudden lightening that came as a gift of the morning, of the day ahead, was the best he had known for a long time.

And it stayed good.

And he knew it would stay good all through the leisurely breakfast in bed he would have with Eliana beside him.

She stirred as he made his announcement, and groped herself up into a sitting position, pushing back her long, tangled hair and looking at him. Her expression was uncertain, and he knew that memory was piercing her too, that she didn’t know how she should be now, this morning after the night before.

He made it easy for her. Smiled down at her.

‘Let’s just have breakfast, shall we?’ he said.

And in those words were words unspoken—words that did not need to be spoken yet. He did not even know what they would be—what they should be. So as he didn’t know what those words should be, he set them aside, sticking to words he knew he could say...wanted to say.

‘It’s a glorious morning,’ he said. He paused. ‘Let’s just take things as they come.’

He’d said enough. He could see in her expression that she was glad of his words, for the sudden confusion and tension that had been there a moment earlier had ebbed away. In its place was a new expression, and one that caught at him.

Shyness.

As if finding herself in my bed is something she had not expected.

But then a rueful thought darted in him pointedly. There was a lot about Eliana that he had not expected.

He put it from him—he’d resolved not to go down that complex and confusing path. Not this morning...not this day.

He pulled the breakfast trolley against his side of the bed as he slid back in under the quilt, propping himself comfortably on his piled-up pillows.

‘OJ to start with?’ he asked, turning back to Eliana.

‘Oh, yes—thank you,’ she said.

She sounded a touch awkward, but he glossed it over. He didn’t want her feeling awkward, or shy, or feeling anything other than that it was good to be sitting with him, side by side, on this glorious morning, with all of Paris awaiting them for the day.

He poured her a glass and handed it to her. Her fingers, he noticed, were careful not to touch his. He did not mind. It was not rejection, he knew, only self-conscious shyness.

A thought came to him, flickering in his mind.

That was the way she’d have been after our first night together, on our honeymoon...

Another thought, a realisation, came hard on its heels.

But this was our first night together...

It hung in his head for a moment—but there were too many other currents, too much confusion, too much shock circling around that truth and he would not deal with it. Not now. Not when he’d resolved, as he had just said to her, to take the day as it came. And right now it was coming with breakfast in bed, to be consumed enjoyably and leisurely.

Companionably.

That was what he felt, sitting back again with his own glass of orange juice. He let her be...let her get used to being here, like this, with him.

OJ consumed, he asked her what she might like to eat, then handed her a personal tray with croissants, butter pats and apricot jam, and a cup of coffee with hot milk. She placed it on her bedside table.

He got stuck in to his own breakfast—a more robust, seeded roll, with butter and a dollop of blackcurrant jam. He was hungry, and it went down quickly, and he reached for another.

At his side, Eliana was neatly getting through her croissant.

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