The sun had just begun to rise when Aurélie stood by the kitchen window, her fingers wrapped around a cup of warm tea. She hadn't slept much, but she felt lighter—like something inside her had been untangled during last night's long conversation with Elio.
She heard soft footsteps. Elio appeared in the doorway, his dark hair tousled and his voice still morning-rough.
Elio: "You're up early."
Aurélie turned to face him and smiled faintly.
Aurélie: "So are you."
They stared at each other for a moment, a silence filled not with tension, but with a strange comfort. Last night had been a turning point. The rawness of their exchange had left them exposed, but also... closer.
Elio poured himself coffee.
Elio: "I have a weird question."
Aurélie: "Shoot."
Elio: "Would you let me meet your father?"
Her fingers paused midair.
Aurélie: "Why?"
Elio: "Because I feel like I'm not just pretending anymore."
Aurélie blinked, caught off guard. That... that wasn't something Elio used to say. Not before last night. Not before he held her hand like he needed it to survive.
Aurélie: "He's staying in Saint-Jean-de-Luz. We could go this weekend."
Elio nodded slowly.
Elio: "I'll drive."
---
The drive to the coastal town was quiet at first. But not awkward. Just... thoughtful. Elio kept glancing sideways at her, as if reassuring himself she was still there.
When they stopped for gas, Aurélie stretched beside the car, the sea breeze tousling her hair.
Aurélie: "You nervous?"
Elio smirked.
Elio: "Terrified. He might hate me."
Aurélie: "He's surprisingly mellow these days. Though he might make you help him fix his boat."
Elio: "Great. A sea test."
They arrived just before lunch. Her father's house stood modestly on a small hill, overlooking the ocean. When the front door opened, a tall man with silver-streaked hair stepped out, squinting into the sun.
Jean Moreau (her father): "You brought someone."
Aurélie hugged him.
Aurélie: "Papa, this is Elio."
Elio stepped forward and offered a hand.
Elio: "It's an honor, Mr. Moreau."
Jean took it and shook it firmly, then motioned them inside.
Jean: "Let's talk over lunch. I don't trust men with soft handshakes."
Aurélie whispered to Elio as they walked in.
Aurélie: "He's joking."
Elio: "I really hope so."
---
Lunch was grilled fish, olives, and fresh bread. The conversation stayed light—sailing, Paris traffic, and a bit about politics. Then, as they sipped wine, Jean leaned forward.
Jean: "So, Elio. You're the fiancé."
Elio coughed on his wine.
Elio: "I—uh—yes, I suppose I am."
Jean: "Suppose?"
Aurélie: "Papa..."
Jean: "No, no. Let him speak. I was once a young man too."
Elio set down his glass.
Elio: "I know this might seem sudden. Truth is... what started as a contract changed into something else. I didn't plan it. I didn't expect to care this much."
Jean's eyes narrowed—not angrily, but curiously.
Jean: "You speak like a man trying to convince himself."
Elio: "Maybe I am. Maybe because I never thought someone like me—someone with my past—deserved a family. Or a second chance."
Silence. The only sound was the ocean breeze rustling through the open window.
Then Jean leaned back, nodding.
Jean: "You remind me of myself when I met Aurélie's mother. I was a mess. But she saw through me."
Aurélie's eyes glistened.
Aurélie: "She always saw the best in people."
Jean: "She would've liked you, Elio."
That simple sentence made Elio swallow hard. It felt like something sacred had been offered to him.
---
That afternoon, Jean took them to the docks. He had an old sailboat that he still maintained himself.
Jean: "If you're going to be in the family, you need to know how to tie a proper knot."
Elio: "I'm more of a spreadsheet guy."
Jean: "God help us."
Aurélie laughed as her father barked orders at Elio. But despite the grumbling, Elio followed them, eager to learn. Watching them, Aurélie felt something shift deep inside her. Elio didn't just tolerate her world. He stepped into it—messy, flawed, but real.
As the sun set, they sat on the deck of the boat, feet dangling. Jean had gone to grab drinks.
Aurélie: "You were brave today."
Elio: "Not really. I was just... tired of lying. To him. To you. To myself."
Aurélie: "So... no more pretending?"
Elio looked at her.
Elio: "No more pretending."
---
Later that evening, while Jean went to rest, Aurélie and Elio walked down to the beach. The stars above were bright and countless, the kind of sky only small towns could offer.
Elio: "I used to think contracts kept people safe. Predictable. But now... I think they just protect us from being vulnerable."
Aurélie: "And love is the opposite of safe."
Elio: "Yeah. It's terrifying."
They stopped walking. The waves whispered at their feet.
Aurélie: "But maybe... some things are worth the risk."
Elio turned to face her. He didn't say anything. He just reached out and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.
Then, gently—without pressure or performance—he kissed her forehead.
And in that simple, silent gesture, something unspoken bloomed.
Not as part of a contract.
Not as part of a plan.
But as something real.