Page 72 of Sleeping with the Enemy

“You’re quiet,” Miller observed.

“I’m always quiet.”

“Different quiet.” Miller looked up at her, studying Astoria’s face in the low light. “Is it good quiet or bad quiet?”

Astoria paused and considered the question, tuning into her thoughts and letting the room’s ambience fill the silence. “Good quiet,” she said eventually. “I think.”

Miller’s mouth curved upward. “You think?”

“I’m not used to this.”

She felt Miller’s hand stop circling on her hip. “Used to what?”

Feeling like this, wanting someone this much, being wanted back without conditions attached,she wanted to say.

“Feeling…settled,” Astoria said again. It was close enough to the truth. “After, I mean.”

Miller was quiet for a moment, then she leaned down and kissed Astoria’s shoulder, soft and unhurried. “I know what you mean.”

She did. That was the terrifying part. Miller understood things Astoria didn't say; she heard the words underneath the words. It should have felt invasive, but it felt relieving, like setting down something heavy she'd been carrying so long she'd forgotten it had weight.

Astoria turned her head to look at her. Miller's hair was a mess, tangled from Astoria's fingers, and there was a flush still high on her cheeks. She looked rumpled and satisfied and completely unguarded, and something in Astoria's chest clenched at the sight.

Remember this,some deep instinct whispered.Pay attention. Be here now.”

She didn’t know where the thoughts came from, only that it felt necessary, like her body had picked up on something that her mind hadn’t caught up to yet.

“What time is it?” Miller asked.

Astoria didn't want to know. Knowing meant acknowledging that this had an end point, that soon she'd have to get dressed and walk out of this room and go back to her empty house and her complicated life. For now, she wanted to stay in this suspended space where nothing existed except the two of them and the sheets tangled around their legs.

“Late enough,” she said.

Miller laughed, a low and warm sound that filled Astoria. “That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one I’m giving you.”

“Stubborn.”

“You knew that when you started this.”

Miller’s face softened. “I did. I do, and I’m not complaining.”

Astoria reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind Miller’s ear. The gesture felt dangerously domestic, the kind of thing couples did—real couples, ones who woke up together and made coffee and didn't have to check out of hotel rooms before midnight to avoid leaving a trail.

She pulled her hand back, as if it were burned. “We should probably…”

“I know.” Miller signed but didn’t move. “Five more minutes?” Five more minutes. Astoria could give both of them that. She closed her eyes and let Miller's warmth soak into her skin, memorizing the weight of her, the rhythm of her breathing, the particular way she smelled like sex and expensive hotel soap.

Remember this.

The thought came again, more insistent now. Astoria pushed it away and held on to the moment instead of analyzing it, knowing even as she did that moments like this didn’t last.

They never did.

But this time, five minutes turned into ten, then fifteen. By the time Astoria finally made herself move, the clock on the nightstand read 10:47 p.m.

“I have to go,” she whispered and hated how much she didn’t want to.