Forgetting The Love of Your Life

Chapter Eighteen: Our Bedroom

y/n's PoV:

You trail down the hallway, following his directions, before you reach the bedroom – Your bedroom... Or how he said it: "Our bedroom". Calling it that feels unnatural.

The bed truly takes centerstage; Crisp white sheets were thrown over it, and at the foot of the bed there's a knitted, cream coloured comforter – It's pretty. There's also two more doors; One of which leads into the master bathroom, while the other is made out of glass and leads onto a second balcony. Other than the bed, the closet, the two night stands and the two doors, there's not much else in this room.

A spin or two help you take in everything.

There's a picture of the two of you that's hung on the wall... He smiles proudly, as his arm is wrapped around your waist, and you're looking up at him, nothing but warmth and adoration in your eyes. That must have been at some big event, since the two of you look impeccably cleaned up. Your lips are painted with a warm, nude lipstick, your eyes are smoky, and the dress is extremely flattering; It's long and black, fitted at the top, but flowy on the bottom, since it flares out with a slit down the side. Meanwhile his hair is gelled back, his suit is most definitely tailored, and he's got a lipstick mark on his neck.

It matches the colour on your lips though... Okay, okay, so it's kind of tacky, but kind of sweet too.

And you look happy with him. 

You redirect your attention and run your fingers along the closet that spans from one side of the room to the other. Some panels are plain white, while others have a full-length mirror mounted onto the doors. It's a gamble to find your things; Three closet doors later, you spot your stuff; You pull out a pair of sweatpants and a light blue hoodie.

Truthfully it freaks you out to be in this room with a massive visual reminder of what you can't remember, so as soon as you have changed, you flee back into the living room. He's still sitting in the same spot as before, scrolling on his phone.

y/n: I'm back.

You take a seat on the couch and his attention is on you again.

Charles smiles: Hmm...

y/n: What?

Charles: That's mine...

He points at the hoodie, and you feel your cheeks turn pink.

y/n panicked: Oh sorry, I–

Charles laughs: Calm down Baby, it's okay, it's yours too. You've worn it more times than I have at this point– Don't even worry, wear whatever you want to.

He hands you the tub of ice cream again. You scratch away some of the melted stuff, and lift the spoon to your lips.

y/n calmly: Alright... Thank you.

Charles opens his mouth, but then closes it again, as if he changed his mind. God. This is so awkward. Eventually he actually starts talking.

Charles serenely: So uhm, if it's okay with you, I thought we could spend tonight and tomorrow together, you know, for you to see the city a little and to get comfortable at home, and we could have Gulia over for dinner–