Awkwardness

Isabelle's Apartment – Late Morning

The water had gone still. The steam had faded. And so had the safety of the quiet cocoon they'd wrapped around themselves.

Now, the morning light felt too loud. Too revealing.

Mary stood in front of the mirror, carefully tying her hair up with shaking fingers. Her dress was pressed. Her neckline modest. Her cheeks, though, betrayed her.

Rosy and glowing.

Isabelle, brushing her damp curls back and adjusting the collar of her blouse, gave her a small grin through the reflection.

"Nervous?"

Mary didn't answer.

Instead, she exhaled and nodded slightly.

"Let's just… pretend nothing happened," she said, smoothing the fabric over her waist. "At least in front of him."

Isabelle's smile faded into something unreadable. "If that's what you want."

Mary turned to her, gaze soft. "It's not what I want. But it's what we need. For now."

Isabelle didn't argue. She just reached forward and fixed a loose button on Mary's sleeve, then gave her hand a quick, secret squeeze.

The Sitting Room

Thomas looked up from a book the moment he heard footsteps.

He stood instantly.

"There you two are," he said with a bright smile, though there was a hesitation in his tone. "I was beginning to think London had swallowed you whole."

Mary let out a practiced laugh. "We were just getting ready. Lost track of time."

Isabelle chimed in lightly, walking to the sideboard to pour herself tea. "Too much wine last night, I suppose."

Thomas nodded politely but looked between them.

His smile flickered.

There was something… off.

The way Mary avoided eye contact.

The way Isabelle kept her distance, her movements oddly restrained.

The air felt thick with something unspoken.

He sat again, clearing his throat. "I was thinking perhaps we could go out this evening? There's a gallery opening nearby. Might be… pleasant."

Mary nodded too quickly. "Yes. That sounds lovely."

Isabelle's cup clinked gently against the saucer.

"Mm. You two go ahead," she said without turning around. "I've got a rehearsal. Singing doesn't pause for galleries, sadly."

Thomas looked at her for a long moment. "Shame. Would've been nice."

Isabelle finally turned, lips curled faintly. "Maybe next time."

Mary smiled at both, though it trembled slightly at the edges.

As they sat in that small room—Isabelle leaning against the counter, Mary perched on the velvet chair, and Thomas across from her with his steady eyes—

the silence said more than any of them dared.