The morning light that filtered through the bedroom curtains was pale and watery, typical for a London October. It didn't burst into the room like the sun in Amalfi; it seeped, gradual and quiet, turning the darkness into a soft gray. I woke up without the alarm, my internal clock calibrated to the rhythm of the week rather than the sun. Marcus was already up. I could hear the soft shuffle of his feet in the dressing room, the hanger sliding along the rail. It was a domestic sound, one that had taken years to become normal. In the beginning, every sound had been a threat. Now, it was just Marcus choosing a tie.
I sat up and stretched, feeling the stiffness in my shoulders from the desk work the day before. The bed was warm where he had been, the sheets tangled around my legs. I pushed the
