Chapter 77-Morning Light（1）

Braden's POV
Morning light filtered through the half-drawn curtains, casting patterns across Nadia's sleeping form. She lay curled on her side, hair spilling across the pillow, one arm stretched toward where I sat watching her. Four days before our London audition, and here we were, suspended in this quiet moment between night and day, between New York and whatever came next.
I'd woken early, my mind already cycling through rehearsal plans and practical preparations. But instead of rising immediately, I'd allowed myself this rare indulgence—simply observing her in unguarded sleep, memorizing details I might later incorporate into Raoul's gaze when he looked at Christine.
Nadia had come to my room late last night, after the celebration had wound down, after her time with Ryan had concluded. Our unspoken arrangement had evolved its own rhythms and patterns—who sought whom on which nights, how we balanced individual connections within our collective structure. No formal schedule existed, just intuitive understanding of each other's needs and moods.
Last night, she'd appeared at my door in a silk robe, her eyes still holding remnants of earlier passion but seeking something different with me. Something slower, more deliberate. I'd welcomed her without question, as I always did.
Now, in the revealing light of morning, I studied the gentle rise and fall of her breathing, the slight furrow between her brows as she dreamed, the curve of her shoulder where the sheet had slipped away. My fingers itched to trace that curve, to wake her with gentle touches, but I resisted. She needed rest before today's intensive rehearsal.
A soft knock interrupted my contemplation. The door opened slightly, revealing Andy with a steaming mug in hand—my morning coffee, precisely how I preferred it.
"Sorry," he whispered, noticing Nadia's sleeping form. "Didn't realize she was here."
I accepted the coffee with a grateful nod, my morning ritual preserved despite shifting circumstances. "She came in late," I explained softly. "After you'd gone up."
Andy's expression remained neutral, though his eyes lingered briefly on Nadia's exposed shoulder before returning to me. "Dorian's already in the library, warming up. Something about 'optimizing vocal resonance in the pre-dawn atmospheric conditions.'"
I suppressed a smile. "Of course he is."
"I've prepared breakfast. It'll be ready whenever you are." Andy's efficient care for our household never wavered, regardless of the complex emotional currents flowing beneath the surface.
"Thank you." The words encompassed more than just the coffee and breakfast—they acknowledged everything he quietly provided that kept our unconventional family functioning.
He nodded once, understanding the unspoken, and withdrew as silently as he'd entered.
Beside me, Nadia stirred, her eyes fluttering open. For a moment, she seemed disoriented, then her gaze focused on me and warmed with recognition.
"Morning," she murmured, voice husky with sleep. "You watching me again?"
"Studying," I corrected, taking a sip of the perfect coffee. "Professional observation."
"Mmm. For Raoul?" She stretched languidly, the sheet slipping further to reveal the marks my mouth had left on her collarbone hours earlier. "Or for Braden?"
"Both, perhaps." I set down the coffee and finally allowed myself to touch her, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Sleep well?"
"Very." She caught my hand, pressing a kiss to my palm with surprising tenderness. "Though not much actual sleeping happened."
I smiled, memories of our night together fresh in my mind. Where her encounters with Ryan often carried raw intensity, and her time with Dorian sparked with theatrical passion, what transpired between us typically held a different quality—measured, deep, infused with the particular connection we'd built since that first arrangement.
"Dorian's already rehearsing," I told her, reluctantly transitioning to the day's demands. "The audition is in four days."
She groaned, pulling the sheet over her head dramatically. "Tell me again why we scheduled morning rehearsals?"
"Because you perform better when fully prepared. Because London represents a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Because Dorian would implode from anxiety if we didn't maximize every available hour."
Her laugh emerged muffled from beneath the sheet. "When you put it that way..."
I pulled the covering back to reveal her face, struck anew by her natural beauty in this unguarded state. "Four days, Nadia. Four days until we potentially change everything."
Something shifted in her expression—excitement mingled with apprehension. "I know." She sat up, the sheet pooling around her waist, unself-conscious in her nudity. "It's really happening, isn't it? London. The Phantom."
"It's really possible," I corrected, ever cautious with expectations. "Nothing's guaranteed yet."
"After the reaction we got from Chambers and Winters? It's happening." She stretched again, then moved to the edge of the bed. "I should shower before Dorian comes looking for us. You know how he gets when rehearsal schedules are disrupted."
"Indeed." I watched as she gathered her discarded robe from the floor, admiring the fluid grace of her movements. "Andy's made breakfast."
"Of course he has." She belted the robe loosely. "He's too good to us."
The observation carried weight beyond its simple truth. Andy's steadfast presence in our household provided a foundation the rest of us sometimes took for granted. And he would be the one left behind if everything proceeded as we hoped.
"He is," I agreed quietly.
Nadia paused at the door, reading the undercurrent in my tone. "We'll figure it out, Braden. All of us together. Like we always do."
Her confidence both reassured and concerned me. I'd always been the planner among us, the one who anticipated complications and prepared contingencies. This London situation presented variables I couldn't fully control or predict.
"Go shower," I said instead of voicing these concerns. "Before Dorian sends a search party."
She blew me a kiss and slipped out, leaving behind the lingering scent of her perfume mixed with deeper notes of our shared night. I allowed myself one more moment of reflection before the day's demands claimed my attention.
Four days until the audition. Four days until we'd know whether our London dreams might become reality. Four days to prepare not just technically, but emotionally for all the changes success would bring.
I finished my coffee and rose to face the day, mentally reviewing the rehearsal schedule I'd prepared. Christine's arias in the morning. The Phantom's showcase pieces before lunch. Raoul and Christine's duets in the afternoon. Blocking for key scenes throughout.
This was what I could control—the practical preparations, the scheduling of hours, the methodical approach to readiness. The emotional landscape that stretched before us would require different navigation.