She laughs, shaking her head, but she leans into my touch, her shoulders relaxing. “You’re biased,” she says, but her eyes are bright, and I can see the way she’s smiling at our reflection in the mirror—me behind her, my arms around her waist, her in that linger that looks like a whisper of sunlight. I press a kiss to her shoulder, my lips brushing the soft skin there, and my hands slide down to her thighs, gentle, reverent. The silk is cool under my palms, but her skin is warm, and I can feel the way her breath catches when my fingers trace the lace edge. “I’m not biased,” I say, my lips against her ear. “I’m just seeing what’s right in front of me. How this linger looks on you… it’s not just fabric. It’s you, letting me see how lovely you are. And that’s the most beautiful thing in the world.”
We stay like that for a while, standing in front of the mirror, watching the sunlight move across the room. Eliza rests her head back on my chest, her eyes closed, and I hold her, my hands still on her thighs, savoring the moment—the softness of the silk, the warmth of her skin, the quiet rhythm of her breathing. I think about all the mornings we’ve shared like this: slow, unrushed, filled with little moments that feel like magic. The way she hums when she makes coffee, the way she leaves sticky notes with sweet messages on the fridge, the way she looks at me when she thinks I’m not paying attention—like I’m the most important thing in her world. And right now, as I hold her, watching her in that linger, I know I’m looking at the woman I want to spend every morning with, every day, for the rest of my life.
Eliza turns in my arms, her hands resting on my shoulders, and she leans up, pressing a soft kiss to my lips. “You know,” she says, her forehead against mine, “I bought this because I thought you’d like it. But when I put it on… I felt beautiful. Not just because of the fabric, but because I knew you’d see me. All of me.” My heart swells, and I kiss her again, deeper this time, my hands sliding up to her waist, pulling her closer. “I always see you,” I say, my voice thick with emotion. “The real you. The you that laughs too loud at bad jokes, the you that cries at sad movies, the you that stays up late helping me fix my laptop when it breaks. This linger is beautiful, but it’s nothing compared to you. To the woman I love.”
We move back to the bed, sitting side by side, and Eliza leans against me, her legs stretched out in front of her, the silk of the linger glowing in the sunlight. I run my hand down her calf, my fingers brushing the soft fabric, and she sighs, content. “Remember our first date?” she says, smiling. “I wore that blue dress you loved, and I was so nervous I spilled wine on myself.” I laugh, nodding, and I pull her closer, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I thought you were perfect even with wine on your dress,” I say. “Just like I think you’re perfect now. Linger or no linger, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.”
The sun climbs higher, and we stay there, talking about nothing and everything—our plans for the weekend, the silly things our cat did yesterday, the way the world feels softer when we’re together. Eliza plays with my fingers, her touch gentle, and every now and then, she glances down at her legs, at the linger, and smiles, like she’s still surprised by how it makes her feel. But I don’t need her to be surprised. I need her to know—to always know—that she’s beautiful, not because of what she wears, but because of who she is. Because of the way she loves, the way she cares, the way she makes every moment feel like a gift.
Later, as we get ready for the day, Eliza changes into her favorite sweater and jeans, but she keeps the linger on underneath, a little secret just for us. When she turns to me, grinning, I pull her into my arms, and I kiss her, slow and sweet. “You’re beautiful,” I say, and this time, she doesn’t argue. She just smiles, and wraps her arms around my neck, and I know she believes me. Because love isn’t about the clothes we wear or the way we look. It’s about seeing each other—really seeing each other—and knowing that what’s inside is more beautiful than anything money can buy. And with Eliza, that beauty shines through, every single day. Whether she’s in silk and lace or a old sweater, she’s my everything. My beautiful, wonderful, perfect everything.
