-CELINE POV-
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The house had never felt so full and yet so quiet at the same time. It was almost unsettling how peace could hum beneath noise, how even laughter carried a trace of ache once you started counting days. My suitcase sat by the closet, still open, half–packed, like it was waiting for me to change my mind.
I had told Hunter a hundred times that it would only be two months…..eight short weeks in Paris…..but saying it out loud never stopped the lump that rose in my throat every time I looked at that suitcase.
Blake and Caroline arrived in the afternoon, armed with enough wine and energy to drown any hint of nerves I might have had. Blake burst through the door first, already talking before her heels had even crossed the marble.
“Alright, Mrs. Reid,” she announced, tossing her bag on the couch, “if this is supposed to be your Paris send- off, I expect French music, questionable snacks, and absolutely no tears until at least the second bottle.”
Caroline followed behind, rolling her eyes but smiling. “Ignore her. I brought the actual snacks. She brought chaos.”
“I brought personality,” Blake corrected, kicking off her shoes. “And honestly, I’m offended I wasn’t consulted about your wardrobe. You’re leaving for Paris – we’re supposed to coordinate the dramatic farewell outfit.”
I laughed, the sound a little more genuine than I expected. “I’m going there to study, not walk a runway.”
“Same thing,” she said, waving a hand. “Art school, fashion week…..all the same kind of pretentious.” noveldrama
“Vincent would die if he heard you say that,” I teased.
“Vincent,” Blake groaned, flopping down on the couch. “Don’t even start with that man. He’s been calling me every thirty minutes like I’m a toddler who can’t cross the street.”
Caroline sat beside her, biting into a strawberry. “He’s in love with you, Blake. Let him worry a little.”
Blake wrinkled her nose. “He worries too much. He’s turning into a mini–Hunter. Next thing you know, he’ll be installing security cameras in my shoes.”
That made me laugh again, harder this time. “Oh, trust me, I understand. Hunter still calls the driver twice every time I go shopping, just to confirm I’m not driving myself into a river.”
Caroline smiled, setting down her glass. “He’s scared, Celine. It’s the first time he won’t be able to control the space you’re in. You’re brave for doing this.”
I looked at her, the soft sincerity in her eyes. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just trying to remember what I used to want before life kept happening.”
Blake raised her glass. “To remembering who we were before life happened.”
We clinked glasses…… red wine staining the edges, laughter spilling easily between us. For a few hours, everything was simple. We talked about the chaos of work, about Vincent’s obsession with schedules, about
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Hunter’s new habit of reading bedtime stories to Caesar even when he’s half–asleep on the phone. And then, somewhere between the second and third glass, Caroline went quiet.
“Okay,” Blake said, leaning forward. “You’ve been smiling like a Disney character in labor all night. Spill it.”
Caroline covered her face with her hands for a second, then laughed. “Fine. I was going to wait, but since we’re confessing things…” She looked at us, eyes bright. “I’m pregnant.”
The room froze for half a heartbeat, then Blake squealed so loud that I almost dropped my glass. “You’re what?”
“Pregnant,” Caroline said again, her smile shaking with disbelief. “Two weeks. We just found out last week.”
I reached for her hand, tears stinging unexpectedly. “Caroline, that’s wonderful.”
“I know,” she whispered. “I wanted to tell you both together. And Celine….” she paused, squeezing my fingers, “…… I want you to be the godmother.”
The words hit me so softly they hurt. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed being trusted with something tender. “I’d be honored,” I said, voice barely steady.
“See?” Blake grinned, dabbing at her eyes dramatically. “I told you she wouldn’t say no.”
We laughed until the clock said midnight. By then, the wine was gone, our cheeks flushed, and Blake had passed out on my couch halfway through a story about Vincent trying to make her breakfast.
When they finally left, I stood by the window for a long time, watching the city lights blur against the glass. I thought about how much had changed – how much I’d changed. Paris didn’t feel like running anymore. It felt like remembering.
***
Hunter came in later that night. I could tell by the sound of his footsteps…….steady, deliberate, like he’d spent the entire drive talking himself down from something. He found me still sitting by the window, my hair loose, a half–empty glass of water on the table beside me.
“Your girls‘ night went well,” he said, his tone soft but teasing.
I turned to look at him, smiling. “Depends on your definition of ‘well. Blake insulted three French painters, Caroline cried twice, and I think your couch might need an exorcism.”
He chuckled, walking closer until the warmth of him brushed my shoulder. “Sounds about right.”
“She told us,” I said quietly. “Caroline. She’s pregnant.”
His expression softened immediately. “Vincent’s going to lose his mind.”
“He already has,” I said. “She wants me to be the godmother.”
“That fits,” he murmured, sitting beside me. “You’d be a good one.”
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Something in his voice was so certain it made my chest ache. “She’ll be a wonderful mother,” I said. Thᴇ link to the origɪn of this information rᴇsts ɪn FindN()vel.net
“She will,” he agreed, resting his hand over mine. “But she’ll still call you for advice.”
I smiled faintly. “She might regret it.”
Hunter was silent for a moment, studying my face. Then he said quietly, “You really are going.”
“I am,” I said. “Just two months.”
“Two months too long.”
“Hunter.”
“I know.” He sighed, pressing a kiss to my shoulder. “I know. You need this. You deserve it.”
His hand trailed down my arm, slow, lingering, finding my waist. The quiet stretched between us until I could feel the air itself shift. His breath brushed my skin when he spoke again. “You’ll call me?”
“Every day,” I promised.
He leaned in, lips tracing the line of my neck. “And if I hate every minute of it?”
“Then you’ll visit,” I whispered, closing my eyes.
He smiled against my skin. “I probably will.”
His fingers slipped into my hair, tilting my face toward him. The kiss was soft at first, careful — then deeper, unhurried but consuming, the kind of kiss that left no space for fear or distance. His hands found the curve of my hips, pulling me closer until the only thing between us was breath and heartbeat.
We didn’t talk after that. Words became useless things…..heavy, unnecessary. The world outside the bedroom blurred to silence. There was only the press of skin against skin, the weight of his body, the sound of his voice breaking softly when I whispered his name.
Later, when everything was quiet again, I lay with my head on his chest, tracing the faint scar near his collarbone with my finger. His breathing was slow, pudgy with the kind of exhaustion that only came from love.
He brushed my hair back, his voice rough. “You’ll make me crazy, you know that?”
“You already are,” I said softly, smiling against his skin.
He chuckled, his arm tightening around me. “Then at least let me be crazy for the right reason.”
“You’re letting me go?”
His thumb stroked my shoulder. “No. I’m letting you live.”
For a long moment, I didn’t speak. I just breathed him in…….the scent of soap and skin and safety….and thought about how strange it was that love could hurt and heal at the same time.
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The next morning, the sunlight found me first. I woke to the space beside me empty, the sheets still warm. On the nightstand sat a cup of coffee, still steaming, and a note in his handwriting.
‘I called the school. Everything’s ready. You leave on Tuesday.’
‘Do your best. Learn. Paint.‘
‘I’ll count the days. – H.
I pressed the note to my chest, smiling through the warmth blooming in my throat. For the first time in weeks, I wasn’t afraid of leaving…..because I knew, wherever I went, I had someone who would always find his way back to me.
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