The Stranger I Married
Chapter 101: trip

Chapter 101: trip

The next morning crept in quietly, the sunlight filtered soft through Nicholas’s blackout curtains, casting pale gold halos along the hardwood floors. Ella stirred first. She was curled into his side, one leg tangled over his, her cheek pressed against the steady rise and fall of his chest. His arm was around her like he’d forgotten he was even holding her, his hand still resting possessively against her lower back.

She didn’t move at first.

She just stayed there, warm and still, her fingers ghosting the curve of his collarbone as she listened to the faint sound of his breathing. She could still feel the weight of yesterday trailing her—her father’s face, the ugly words, the steel in her spine she didn’t even know she had until it came spilling out.

But Nicholas had held her after. Said nothing too sweet or too heavy. Just held her in silence like he knew that love, in moments like those, didn’t need to be spoken.

His lashes fluttered as he started to wake, a low hum vibrating through his chest beneath her ear. "You’re awake," he murmured, his voice rasped and drowsy.

"I am," she said softly.

His hand slid up her back in a lazy stroke, fingers tracing the curve of her spine through the thin cotton of the sleep shirt she’d borrowed—his shirt, oversized and soft from too many washes. "You were twitching in your sleep," he said. "Dreaming again?"

"No," she murmured, shaking her head. "Just thinking."

Nicholas opened his eyes fully then, a slow, assessing look as he shifted to face her. His hair was a mess, pushed back on one side from sleep. He looked beautiful like this. Unfiltered. Unarmored.

"About yesterday?" he asked gently.

She nodded.

He reached for her hand under the covers and brought it to his chest. "I’m proud of you."

Ella blinked, her throat tightening. "For what?"

"For not letting him back in. For knowing the difference between what you want and what you deserve." He paused. "That takes strength."

She buried her face against his neck. "It didn’t feel like strength. It felt like barely holding together."

"That still counts."

They lay there a while longer in the quiet, arms folded around each other, until Nicholas suddenly sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. She reached for the warmth he left behind but stayed where she was, watching him stretch.

"Come on," he said over his shoulder, voice lighter now. "I’ve got something to tell you."

She blinked at him suspiciously. "What?"

He stood, completely at ease in his boxer briefs as he crossed the room, rummaging through a drawer and pulling out a sleek black envelope. He tossed it gently on the bed beside her.

Ella sat up slowly, propping herself on her elbows, and picked it up. "What is this?"

"Open it."

She did.

Inside was a printed itinerary. Her eyes scanned the words quickly, catching the header first:

Amalfi Coast – Private Villa – Departure: Tomorrow Morning

Her heart stopped.

She looked up. "Nicholas—"

He was already grinning.

"What is this?" she asked again, her voice climbing an octave.

"A getaway," he said, coming to sit on the edge of the bed again. "A distraction. A little reset button."

She stared at the page, blinking like it would rearrange into something more plausible. "You booked a trip to Italy."

"I did."

"For us."

"Correct."

"For tomorrow."

"Sharp as ever, my girl."

She let the envelope fall to her lap, stunned into silence.

"I thought you could use some breathing room," he added, voice softening. "And I could use some time with you that isn’t interrupted by trauma or work or people trying to crawl back from the grave."

She blinked rapidly. "You’re serious."

"I already arranged time off with the café owner," he said, proud of himself. "I texted Dani pretending to be your assistant."

"You don’t even sound like me in texts!"

"I used lots of ellipses. She was suspicious but accepted it."

Ella barked a laugh, one hand coming up to cover her mouth. "You’re crazy."

"I’m excellent."

Her smile faded a little as she traced her finger along the itinerary again. "Why now?"

Nicholas didn’t answer right away. He watched her, measured, his eyes soft but serious. "Because I want you to remember that your life isn’t just pain and repair. It’s also yours to fill with softness. With beauty. With places that feel nothing like the ones you’ve escaped from."

She swallowed hard. "And you?"

"I want to see you in the sun," he said, brushing a thumb across her cheek. "Hair a mess. Skin warm. Laughing about something that has nothing to do with survival."

Ella leaned her head into his hand, eyes closing.

There was a long silence.

Then, in a quieter voice, she asked, "What if I don’t know how to relax? What if I forget how to be someone outside of everything I’ve had to survive?"

"Then we’ll figure it out together," he said, unwavering. "There’s no rush. We’ll take our time. Slow mornings, wine at sunset. You in nothing but that linen dress I bought you."

She snorted softly. "That thing’s practically see-through."

"Precisely."

He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Come with me, Ella."

She looked down again at the itinerary. The villa. The quiet promise of escape. It was so unlike the kind of grand gestures she’d grown up fearing—ones with conditions and invisible strings.

This wasn’t that.

This was something else entirely.

And maybe that’s why her voice trembled when she finally said, "Okay."

He grinned again, that boyish kind of pride blooming across his face. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," she whispered.

They spent the rest of the day half in motion—packing light things, laughing over how much sunscreen Nicholas insisted on bringing ("Do you think I tan naturally, sweetheart?"), and ordering takeout while they sprawled across the living room floor surrounded by open suitcases.

But that night—after the chaos and the chatter faded—they ended up in bed again, this time wrapped in each other in a quieter kind of closeness.

Ella had her head on his chest, her fingers playing with the hem of his shirt.

Nicholas ran a hand through her hair, slow and soothing.

"You didn’t say it back," he said suddenly.

She blinked, startled. "What?"

"That night. When I told you I loved you."

Ella froze.

Nicholas didn’t shift or sigh or withdraw. He just kept stroking her hair. "It’s okay. I didn’t say it so you’d have to echo it. I said it because it was true."

She hesitated, chewing her bottom lip. "It’s not that I don’t feel it."

"I know."

"It’s just..." She sat up slightly so she could see him. Her expression was vulnerable, almost painfully open. "Every time I’ve said it before, it’s been like signing a contract for heartbreak. Like I was giving someone permission to leave."

Nicholas’s gaze didn’t waver. "Then don’t say it until it feels like you’re staying."

"I am staying," she said.

"Then maybe you’re already saying it," he whispered.

Ella leaned down and pressed her lips to his—not with urgency, but with reverence. It was soft and lingering, like a slow-burning answer.

And when she pulled back, she rested her forehead against his and murmured, "I don’t have the words yet. But I think about them. All the time. And when they come... they’ll be yours."

Nicholas closed his eyes, pulling her tighter against his chest.

"That’s all I’ll ever want," he said. "You. In your own time."