Sonia M. Rompoti, MSc, Bsc

The maid of honour and the best man ended up on the same hotel balcony at midnight because they’d both needed air from the same wedding. This was, Madeleine reflected, statistically inevitable — spending an entire day helping two people love each other publicly tended to clarify things.

Specifically, it had clarified that she had spent the last six hours intensely aware of where Nico was in any given room.

He handed her a glass of champagne. She took it. They stood side by side looking out at the dark garden below, the fairy lights still lit in the trees.

“Good wedding,” he said.

“Very good wedding.”

“Gabriel wept through the whole ceremony.”

“He did,” she said, smiling at the memory. “Very beautifully.”

“How long have you known Carla?”

“Since we were seven. She used to make me practice wedding choreography in her garden.”

“She’s been planning this for twenty-five years.”

“She really has.” Madeleine drank her champagne. “How long have you known Gabriel?”

“Since university. He once made me drive four hours to return a library book.”

“Did he return it?”

“He did. He’s a very ethical person.”

She laughed. He laughed. The night was warm and slightly improbable.

“Madeleine,” he said, in a different register.

“Mm?”

“I’m going to be honest with you because it’s midnight and we’ve had a lot of champagne and I’m tired of being strategic.”

She turned to face him. He was already facing her.

“You have been the most interesting person in every room today,” he said. “And I have been thinking about that speech you gave — specifically the third paragraph — since approximately five PM.”

“The third paragraph was about Carla.”

“It was about what it looks like when someone truly sees another person.” He was looking at her steadily. “I found it resonant.”

She was warm from the champagne and the fairy lights and something more direct.

“Nico,” she said.

“Mm.”

“You could have said that at five PM.”

“I wanted to be sure.”

“And you’re sure now.”

“I’ve been sure since the third paragraph,” he said. “I just needed it to be midnight.”

She stepped toward him. He did not step back.

“We live in different cities,” she said.

“Three hours by train.”

“We barely know each other.”

“We’ve been coordinating this wedding for six months.”

“That doesn’t count.”

“It counts,” he said. “I know you take your role seriously. I know you’re loyal. I know your speech made the bride cry good tears. I know you can’t hide what you’re thinking when you’re watching something that moves you.”

She felt very seen in a way that was uncomfortable and essential.

“What am I thinking now?” she asked.

He considered.

“That you’re going to say *this is complicated* because that’s accurate and you’re honest.”

“This is complicated.”

“And then?” he said.

She reached up and took the champagne glass out of his hand and set it down on the railing.

“And then I stop being sensible until morning,” she said.

He pulled her in, and the garden lights blurred below, and somewhere inside the hotel their friends were newly married, and on the balcony two careful people stopped being careful for exactly the right amount of time.

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So you made it to the end… which probably means you’re the kind of person who enjoys a little romance with their coffee. If you’re in the mood for more stories about messy feelings, stubborn attraction, and women who absolutely refuse to settle for boring love, you can find all my books here.

Fair warning though. One story tends to lead to another. I’ve seen it happen. Repeatedly.