The morning started perfectly, a deliberate, slow-motion antidote to the speed and stress of New York. Ava and I woke tangled together in the massive bed, the early light filtering softly through the sheer curtains.
I had been awake for a while, just breathing her in, savoring the feeling of her hand draped over my chest. This quiet intimacy was the new scaffolding of my sanity.
"Morning, CEO," Ava murmured, her voice husky with sleep, pulling my arm tighter around her.
"Morning, Mrs. Matteo," I replied, my voice deep. I kissed the top of her head. "Agenda for the day?"
"Couple activities. Cook. Cuddle. Then maybe more cuddling."
"Approved," I said, a genuine, unguarded smile on my face.
We made our way to the kitchen, the sunlight making the marble surfaces gleam. Ava insisted on making pancakes, her form of messy, low-stakes domesticity.
