backstage romance

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That’s not why he doesn’t want her to know, a sorry little voice piped up at the back of her head. Ah, there she was. Eliza’s inner monologue. Her own worst critic. 

She was rarely too harsh with herself, but even rarer still was she kind. Instead, she’d settled into a pathetic middle ground where she tended to feel a bit sorry for herself. Self-pity wasn’t a good look, and she knew that, but it was hard to fight against when there was no evidence telling you that you were anything more than the sum of your grieving parts. Eliza was an assistant, and a stressed out one at that, always running around in circles, plagued by the feeling that she was never quite pleasing Grace. She was nowhere near the place her teenage self had dreamed of being. 

And Morgan? He was a star in his own right now. Renowned in his craft. An acclaimed dancer and sought-out choreographer. And, with a twist in her stomach she realised, the Grace Eckstein’s boyfriend. Where Eliza had once been the privileged little girl sheltered by Mommy and Daddy, now she was down on her luck and fetching coffee for the woman Morgan had in his bed while his own career climbed higher and higher. Of course he wouldn’t want Grace to know about them. 

“Oh. Right,” she breathed, forcing herself into action so she could give him a jerky, unnatural nod.

She turned, swiftly, to make sure the other coffee cup wasn’t in danger of being lost to them, only to freeze when Morgan caught her hand.

Instantly, she felt dizzy. How could she not? Morgan’s thumb pressed into her palm, reminding her of a summer long ago where he taught her to dance and she was utterly remiss to think about how it was possible for someone to be that in love. He’d taken over each and every one of her senses and she’d gone willingly, too naive to realise her hand would be ripped away from his the moment summer ended. 

Her eyes lifted to look at him again, eyebrows twitching inwards at his choice of wording. What did he mean? He couldn’t keep screwing up her life?

… Did he know?

Fear caught in her throat like barbed wire. She hadn’t told Morgan about the baby, too scared about screwing up his future. She’d thought she would never see him again and her mom had easily been sworn to secrecy. It wasn’t possible for Morgan to have known what had happened, and if he somehow did then… well, no. He quite obviously didn’t. If he did, she could only assume he would be far angrier at her instead of treating her with this tentative kindness.

“It’s okay. You’re not… None of this is your fault. It’s nobody’s fault. I just… I really need this job,” she pleaded with him, feeling ten times smaller than she had when she’d woken up that morning. Cheeks burning, she opened her mouth again, only to jump when Grace’s bedroom door opened.

“Grace!” she said, her voice full of far too much pep. She tore her hand out of Morgan’s grip, glad the kitchen counter would have hidden it from Grace’s view. Whirling around, she tugged the paper coffee cup from its holder and carried it over to her boss.

“Coffee for you. And Tanvi says she’ll e-mail over the list of contacts you needed in the next half hour. Is there- is there anything else I can get for you?”

Still, he found it hard to resist the urge to draw closer to her, even as her back was half-turned to his. His hand remained where it was, thumb pressed against her pulse as he searched for the right thing to say. Frowning, he shook his head in a desperate, silent plea for her to understand. He wanted her to be happy, he wanted her to thrive. Morgan would never do anything jeopardise her job with Grace, he wouldn't dream of it. 

“Of course. I'd never...” he trailed off, his sentence cut short by the sound of Grace calling out to him. The sound of his girlfriend calling out to him. 

As the bedroom door opened somewhere behind him, he stayed put. The sound of Grace's footsteps carried themselves closer with each passing second, but Morgan felt frozen in time. What was the worst thing that could happen here? Maybe Grace would take one look at them and immediately notice the spark between them. She and Morgan weren't serious – they'd never had much of a talk about their relationship past sex and convenience – so maybe she wouldn't even care. He'd heard her talk about her assistant, about Eliza, with so much fondness, as though she were missing a limb when the other woman wasn't by her side. He could relate to that. 

Morgan finally tore his gaze from Eliza's when it became all too apparent that years of yearning wrapped into one, neat and earnest look was not a good look for him in Eliza's eyes, before turning to face Grace with a placid smile. She looked as beautiful as she always did which was exactly the problem. Grace always looked beautiful, no matter the time of day or the circumstances she was surrounded with. The briefest of appraisals told Morgan that his girlfriend had slipped away into the bathroom to give her hair a quick comb through, expertly ruffling it to give it that messy, post-sex look that she wanted them both to believe was au natural, but pointedly was not. He would wager a guess that, should she close the gap between the three of them, her teeth would be bright and shining and minty fresh, too. She thought he didn't notice her sneaking away each morning, dipping out of bed while she thought he was still asleep, but he let her have her secret. What did it matter? 

He watched as her lips met the paper cup – a very thin, light sheen of gloss plumping them up, for whose benefit he had no idea – and finally stepped around the kitchen counter to join her. Even just placing that small bit of distance between he and Eliza felt wrong, like a betrayal of sorts, but his arm mechanically found its way around Grace’s waist as she stepped into his side. It was like a routine, one that they’d polished together so perfectly, with Grace insisting they needed to look the part at events. There had always been the unspoken truth that Declan might be present, always lingering between the two of them, the elephant in the room that they opted to never voice aloud. 

“Eliza here was just singin’ your praises while I introduced myself,” Morgan explained, cutting off Grace before she could answer. 

Her lips quirked up into a knowing smile at his words, and he gave her hip a gentle squeeze before pressing on, driving the point home. If Eliza was worried about the safety of her job, he was gonna make damn sure that there was nothing for her to concern herself with. 

“Sounds like you got yourself a good one here, darlin’. She’s real fond of you an’ the work you do, and she’s got that coffee order o’yours down to a fine art,” he huffed out a laugh, though it felt dry and forced in his throat. “Seems like you got yourself a good one here, babe.” 

Those final words burned against his throat as his eyes strayed back to Eliza’s, his chest caving in the whole time. 

As she fruitlessly tried to mop up the mess spilled across Teddy and Grace’s kitchen floor, she froze as soon as she heard his words, coated in that deep accent that had sent a thrill shooting through her the first time she’d heard it. All those summers ago.

Struck into a pinned-still silence, she realised she was holding her breath, as if that was going to do anything except cause the Apple watch Grace had kindly gifted her (she needed to make sure Eliza never missed a text!) buzz with the reminder to relax, take a deep breath in. Her cheeks burned once more with fresh humiliation at the noise it emitted against her wrist, hating for her stress to be painted so cleanly in front of Morgan by a device she wasn’t all that competent at making work. She still got a little confused by all the buttons and Tanvi had tutted and playfully called her a grandma before attempting to teach her how to navigate the settings of it.

The casual way that Morgan threw the coffee towards the trash can, his aim true like he was the Sundance Kid, did nothing to help Eliza out and she pressed her lips together, looking away.

“It’s not all that bad, really,” she said diplomatically. Once she’d found her voice. Truthfully, she couldn’t stand Grace’s coffee order, which was why Grace always had a second coffee quickly delivered to her and why Eliza often found herself nearly asleep at her desk, foregoing her own cup. She much preferred the more gentle taste of the herbal teas she had stocked in her cupboard in abundance at home, but if she’d gotten one of those today, then Grace would be without her first caffeine hit of the day and that would leave them all in hot water.

A horrible metaphor really, since that was what was currently soaking Eliza’s shoes and Morgan’s pyjama bottoms.

That he was wearing in front of her. With no shirt. Because he’d just got out of bed. Where he’d been sleeping with her boss.

Oh god, she really had done something awful in a past life, hadn’t she? Or maybe this one. A chill ran through her when she realised what it was that she could be facing karmic punishment for, just like the ladies with their curled blonde bobs and pro-life pins and placards had yelled about from outside the clinics Eliza had once gone to. She had to fight to remember what her mother, far more liberal than anyone born in sixties-era Georgia was thought to be, had told her.

You don’t get to feel guilty about unburdening yourself from something you never asked for, Sadie Calhoun had said, smoothing a hand over her daughter’s hair. And what brought you here? You don’t get to feel guilty about that either. Love isn’t something to feel guilty about.

Not for the first time that morning, Eliza almost buckled under the weight of how much she wanted her mom right now. That, coupled with the realisation of what the only man she’d ever loved had been doing with her boss throughout the night, was enough to make Eliza’s eyes sting painfully.

“Don’t be silly,” she choked out, playing at being unbothered even if the strain of her voice betrayed her. She tried to swallow back her tears and dabbed at the floor again with the now-sodden paper towels. “You didn’t know. We didn’t know and it’s been years anyway, so…”

Morgan’s name filtered through the closed door of Grace’s bedroom, wrapped in a questioning tone. At once, Eliza’s head flew up, green eyes piercing through Morgan as she looked at him properly for the first time. 

“I haven’t… She doesn’t know that…” Well, it was obvious Grace wouldn’t know about her current boyfriend and her assistant’s years-previous dalliance. Eliza and Morgan hadn’t ever thought they’d come back into contact again until, oh, three minutes or so ago. Really, nobody was to blame here but as Eliza’s mind suddenly flashed through the inevitable future of attending meetings and galas with Grace, her arm linked with Morgan’s, her chest began aching and she selfishly wanted to rid her future self of having to put up with Grace’s awkward, sympathetic, I-don’t-want-this-to-be-weird smiles.

“I should go,” she said quickly.

But instead of laughing, he merely sighed and offered her a fond smile. Too fond for a man whose girlfriend was stretched out, half-naked, just a few feet away. Hell, definitely too fond for a guy who hadn’t seen Eliza in years and had lost any right to claim he knew her anymore. 

He had no idea what he’d been planning to say to her just then, the words having died in his throat. If he’d known, he wouldn’t have what? Been there, shirtless and fresh from a night with Grace as he’d ambled into the kitchen and knocked the wind from her sails? No, not that. More like, if I’d have known I’d be seeing you, I wouldn’t have gotten tangled up with her in the first place. Not with you here, not when there might be a chance. He decided against admitting all of that, since he didn’t want Grace to come crashing out of the bedroom with a taste for his and Eliza’s blood. 

It’s been years anyway. 

Eliza’s words pierced through his heart like ice, and he stared hopelessly at her, mouth agape as his brows furrowed, disappointment etched plainly across his features. He was doing a horrible job of masking his obvious heartache, but he immediately smoothed the lines of his face the moment he heard Grace call out him. He returned to the same, stony faced expression he usually reserved for Alice whenever she came prancing into rehearsals, arms linked with Tomás, the two of them rambling on about some ridiculous, convoluted routine the two of them had dreamed up in a tipsy haze the night before. Usually, it involved Wilhelm shirtless and surrendering to their whims, which Morgan would never greenlight as long as he lived. 

“I won’t tell her,” Morgan blurted out, before he could stop himself. 

He paused, turning the words over in his head. Was that the right thing to do? He had no idea. It was the sleazy, selfish thing to do, he supposed. To lie to his girlfriend – was she really his girlfriend? Was that what their arrangement entailed, if they were being truly honest with themselves? – felt like a spineless thing to do. He wouldn’t be surprised if Eliza turned her nose up at him and called Grace out to them now, to out his strange, elaborate ruse to keep the two of them a secret. As though he thought he could keep the woman all to himself, both in memory and in person, the only woman fit to inhabit the space he’d carved out in his chest all those years ago. 

Without thinking, he shot to his feet and reached for her, wrapping a hand around her wrist as he stilled her in place. He couldn’t let her leave, not yet. Not like this. He squeezed his eyes shut, exhaling slowly as his thumb dipped low, pressing against the palm of her hand before tracing along her wrist, feeling the rapid rate of her pulse, beating in time to match his own. 

“You don’t have to leave on my account, Eliza. I don’t wanna ruin this for you,” he searched her gaze, desperate to find some even footing. “I don’t wanna fuck this up for you. I can’t keep screwing up your life.” 

Oh! I suppose so. Morgan is... yes, he's very nice. We don't have much cause to talk to each other a lot though. I mean, he's Grace's boyfriend and I'm just her assistant, so... It wouldn't make sense for us to always be in contact, but I hope he and Grace are very happy together. He does swear a lot less than Declan did...

She’d gone from sweetly giggling about him at the summer resort, hiding her blush in the safety of her mom’s cardigan, to allowing the older woman to wipe her tears away. First, when they left the resort for good, and then when she’d driven Eliza to the clinic, her indiscretion solid and absolute. If anyone was going to understand why Eliza suddenly felt like the world had been flipped upside down, it would have been the unshakable Sadie Calhoun. Perhaps if she’d been able to talk to her mom, she’d have handled the situation better.

Instead, she stood wordlessly while hot coffee soaked through her canvas tennis shoes and white socks. 

“I…” She opened and closed her mouth, figuring it best to stay silent until she was sure nothing incriminating would come out.

It should be noted that Morgan’s shirtless state was doing absolutely nothing to help matters. As he kneeled down by her ruined shoes, a sharp gasp caught at the back of Eliza’s throat and she quickly turned away. She began tearing paper towels from the holder on the counter, scrunching them up in her hand so she could kneel down by Morgan and make an attempt to clean up the mess.

“I take my coffee the same as she does in case something like this happens,” she explained. A completely superfluous statement that explained nothing right now.

Cheeks red hot, she ignored her shoes for the moment. Instead, she dabbed uselessly at the coffee-covered linoleum of Teddy’s kitchen floor, wincing when the spilled liquid burned her fingertips.

“I’m Grace’s assistant,” she eventually supplied, head still bowed. It felt like too much of a Sisyphean task for her to lift her head and look at Morgan. Eliza had never been the brave sort.

Eventually though, she felt desperation leak into her tone as she chanced a peek at him and whispered, “I didn’t know.”

His first instinct was to reach for her, even as he kneeled before her, his head level with her stomach. His mind flashed back to days when they’d hidden out in the private staff quarters, Eliza stretched out on the sofa with Morgan’s cheek pressed to her stomach, his arms wrapped around her thighs. Her fingers had coaxed their way through his hair as they’d dozed in and out of a lazy slumber, dreaming away their summer in each other’s arms. Maddeningly, selfishly, he longed to pull her in now and do the same. It was completely insane, they hadn’t seen each other in years, and yet his chest gave a familiar and never-forgotten tug at her mere proximity to him. 

Blinking stupidly, he shook his head as Eliza turned her back on him, trying to clear his mind and regain some of his composure – if he’d ever had any. He stared down at the mess surrounding him, his pyjama bottoms now sending a chill through them as they slowly but surely became soaked in coffee. It hadn’t even occurred to him to grab paper towels or attempt to slow the rapid seep of coffee along the kitchen floor. He’d simply thrown his body down in front of Eliza as though it were an impulse to drop to his knees before her, as though that were his natural place in life. 

“Here. Uh, let me take some’a those,” Morgan offered, clearing his throat. 

He averted his gaze as he gently retrieved some paper towels from Eliza’s hands, assisting her as he clumsily dabbed the growing mess and tried to soak up as much coffee as he could muster. Morgan had spent years of his life wondering what he’d do or say if he ever saw Eliza Calhoun, yet now that he’d found himself in that exact position, he was stumped. He felt like a complete idiot. Eliza. There had to be millions of Eliza’s out there, yet Grace’s very own assistant had to be his Eliza. Of course. He was lost for words as he searched for something useful to say or do, his fingers deftly pinching at the rim of the now empty coffee cup as he lifted it and lazily tossed it into the bin. It was a real juvenile, Cool Boy tactic, as though he thought Eliza would be deeply affected by his perfect – though admittedly fluke – aim.  

“You don’t take your coffee nothin’ like that crap Grace drinks,” he retorted, suddenly finding his voice at exactly the wrong moment. 

It was the truth, though he wasn’t sure it was the most sensible response. Perhaps Eliza did take her coffee differently now, but he doubted it. She was simply too kind to want to disappoint Grace – or anyone, for that matter. She’d rather drink the nasty, too-sweet coffee that Grace swallowed down in bucket-loads – dangerously loaded with sugar and syrups to keep her energised throughout the day – than risk letting her down in any way. 

He fell silent again, gaze still lingering anywhere but on Eliza as she admitted to being Grace’s assistant. He’d worked out that much on his own. Running a hand through his hair, a cold chill ran through his body as she finally lifted her gaze. The frantic look on her face mingled with her nervous tone was enough to send a wave of guilt crashing through him. Morgan pressed a hand into his own bicep, pathetically attempting to rub some warmth back into his skin as it dawned on him that he was still shirtless. Great, yeah, sure. Why would he be fully clothed when running into his ex for the first time? 

“I didn’t know either. I wouldn’t have – if I had, I’d never have...” Morgan found himself stuttering, fumbling his words in a way that felt uncharacteristic. Eventually, he simply waved a hand to gesture his near-naked form, no doubt landing himself in further hot water. 

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As she climbed the stairs to the walk-up where her boss lived, she balanced the coffee carrier in one hand while the other delved into her tote bag to fish out the key Teddy had made for her. She’d never had a key to an Olympian’s place before - but there was a first for everything!

Unlocking the door, she nearly got tangled up in her earphones, still stubbornly not wireless. Much to the abject horror of Grace’s receptionist, Tanvi, she might add.

Just as she went to set everything down in the kitchen - coffee, a pastry and the files Grace had requested she bring from the office, Teddy walked out of his bedroom dressed in his lifeguard gear.

“Hey, Eliza!” He greeted her as he headed for the door. Just as he went to close it behind him, he ducked his head back in and dropped his voice conspiratorially.

“The new boyfriend stayed over last night. And let me just say, wow.” He nodded exaggeratedly with bug-eyed approval and Eliza giggled, sending him off with a wiggle of her fingers.

Eliza had yet to meet Grace’s boyfriend, and could only wonder how different he was from Declan, who Eliza had always secretly liked. She’d been quietly sad for Grace when she announced their divorce, but knew the other woman certainly didn’t want her pity.

Turning back to the counter and resuming her soft humming, she was tugging Grace’s coffee cup out of the carrier when she heard someone clearing their throat behind her. It sounded far too deep to be Grace, which meant that now was the time to meet this elusive man her boss was dating.

Whirling around quickly, she laid eyes on the potential future Mr Grace Eckstein and the coffee cup slipped from her hand. Its contents splattered across the kitchen tiles as well as her white Keds, all while she stood staring at the man who’d just walked out of her employer’s bedroom.

“Morgan…”

Morgan hadn’t been awake for long before Grace was lazily tapping his chest, shooing him out into the living room and requesting that he go fetch her coffee. Her assistant, Eliza – a name that sent sparks through his veins even all these years later, even when attached to a total stranger – was due any moment with Grace's order. He wasn’t entirely sure where she’d found the time to text Eliza, or if the two simply had their own happy routine, but he obediently obliged. Having heard the creak of the front door and whispered voices out in the living room area alerting him of Eliza’s arrival, Morgan had only found time to slip into a pair of jeans before stumbling out of the bedroom. Barefoot, shirtless, and with his hair mussed from Grace running her fingers through it, he only hoped her assistant wasn’t easily embarrassed. 

Of course, any and all concerns about her composure fell to the wayside when he cleared his throat, capturing her attention as she turned to face him. His stomach bottomed out at the sight of her, his throat constricting as his two worlds collided. Morgan had known she was in New York. He’d seen the instagram posts – photos of her spending time with a man named Billy – and had even dutifully liked them while still maintaining a distance. What he hadn’t been expecting was for her to be working directly for his new girlfriend. 

“What are you doin’ here?" Morgan stared back at her. His reflexes slow, still groggy and half-asleep as he watched the cup topple from her hand, coffee exploding everywhere. 

Blinking, he remembered himself and surged forward, showing none of the grace of a dancer as he tripped over himself. He stumbled to his knees as he tried to rescue the remains of the coffee she’d dropped. All that remained were the dregs, Eliza’s shoes entirely ruined, and Morgan – half-naked and on his knees – staring up at the one that got away in a look of unfiltered surprise. 

“Am I still dreamin’?”