-CELINE POV-
(SIX MONTHS LATER)
London had the kind of sunlight that pretended to be kind until you stepped outside.
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It looked golden through the window of the townhouse Hunter rented in Kensington…..soft, filtered through lace curtains…….but the moment you walked out, the chill found its way beneath every layer. ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪs ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ʙʏ FindN()vel.net
I pulled my coat tighter as I watched Hunter chase Caesar across the cobblestone courtyard. Our son’s laughter echoed against the brick walls, a clear, high sound that always managed to make my heart swell and ache at the same time.
Six months.
It had been six months since Paris, three since my graduation. Sometimes it still felt unreal, the ceremony, the applause, the way Hunter’s eyes shone when I walked across that stage.
Fumi had come too, brilliant in her gele and laughter, already married and glowing with that new–life excitement. She’d returned to Nigeria with promises of long voice notes and wedding pictures, She delivered it with such excitement that it could outshine the Eiffel Tower.
Now, here we were, in London.
Hunter had business meetings that were too important to delay, and I… I needed air that wasn’t filled with reporters shouting questions about the “second Reid heir.” The gossip columns had already done the announcing for us, each headline more dramatic than the last.
I had learned to laugh about it. Sometimes.
Sophia’s family had written to Hunter after my graduation, inviting us to visit whenever we were in the city. It had been his idea to actually go. “They were good to me when I didn’t deserve it,” he’d said quietly. “Maybe it’s time we stop pretending the past doesn’t exist.” noveldrama
And that was how I found myself sitting in Mrs. Greyson’s sunny kitchen, a floral apron tied over my dress, while the smell of cinnamon and freshly brewed tea wrapped around me like comfort.
The Greysons welcomed me as if they had been waiting their whole lives to do it.
Mrs. Greyson hugged me with tears in her eyes; Mr. Greyson insisted on carrying my bags despite my protests, and Arie……tall, sharp–eyed, beautiful….took one look at me and decided we were friends.
By the time Hunter and Caesar came in from the garden, flushed and breathless, we were all laughing like family.
“You weren’t exaggerating,” Mrs. Greyson said, glancing at Hunter with mock sternness. “She really is lovely.”
Hunter slid his arm around my shoulders, his typical reserved attitude softening. “I keep telling people that.”
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“Flatterer,” I muttered, earning another laugh from everyone.
Later, after lunch and far too much dessert, Caesar dozed off on the couch band. The living room glowed with the low amber light of late afternoons
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a cookie still clutched in his small
I sat beside Mrs. Greyson as she told me stories–about Sophia, about Hunter, about how grief can take years to loosen its grip but, when it finally does, it leaves space for gentler memories. She reached for my hand at one point, squeezing softly.
“You bring him peace,” she said simply. “I can see it. It’s in the way he looks at you.”
I smiled, though my eyes burned a little. “He does the same for me.”
Hunter appeared then, leaning against the doorframe, watching us. There was no stress in his stance, shadow in his eyes….just that quiet, settled look he wore when he was exactly where he wanted to be.
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Dinner at the Greysons‘ was an event in itself….storytelling, laughter, the inevitable teasing about Caesar’s appetite. When Mr. Greyson declared that “no child has eaten that many potatoes since 1983, Caesar proudly announced that he was “growing like Daddy,” which made everyone burst into laughter.
Afterwards, we took a short walk to the nearby park. The evening air was crisp, smelling faintly of rain and lilacs. Caesar ran ahead, chasing his reflection in puddles, while Hunter and I followed at an easy pace.
“You’re quiet,” I said, slipping my hand into his.
He glanced at me, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Just thinking.”
“Dangerous habit.”
“Only when I’m not thinking about you.”
I rolled my eyes, though warmth bloomed in my chest. “You know, for a man who claims to hate drama, you’re remarkably dramatic.”
“Occupational hazard,” he said dryly. “I live with you.”
I nudged him with my shoulder, and he laughed, that low rumble that always melted my irritation. “You’re impossible,” I murmured.
“And yet you married me.”
“I’m still evaluating my life choices.”
He squeezed my hand, his tone turning softer. “You look happy here.”
“I am,” I said truthfully. “Your friends….your past….. it doesn’t scare me anymore. I think… I finally understand that loving you means loving all of it. Even the messy parts.”
He stopped walking then, turning to face me fully. The fading sunlight caught the gold in his hair, the blue in his eyes. “You make it easier to breathe, Celine. I didn’t think that was possible.”
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I smiled. “Well, I am full of surprises.”
From the path ahead, Caesar’s voice called out, impatient and full of life. “Mama! Papa! Look–ducks!”
Hunter chuckled. “He has your enthusiasm.”
“And your stubbornness.”
We joined our son at the edge of the pond, tossing crumbs of bread while the city hummed quietly around us. For a moment, time folded into something simple….just the three of us, laughter rippling over water, the baby shifting gently inside me as if reminding me it was already part of this world too.
When Caesar finally tired himself out, we walked back to the Greysons‘, his small hand gripping mine while Hunter carried him on his shoulders.
That night, tucked into the guest room with the window cracked open to the sound of London rain, I lay awake beside Hunter. His breathing was steady, his arm draped around me, and I could feel the rhythmic flutter of the baby between us.
I thought about how far we had come……from chaos and secrets and sleepless nights to this: quiet, imperfect, ordinary happiness. The kind of happiness that didn’t need grand gestures or perfect words. Just warmth, laughter, forgiveness, and a steady hand to hold when the world wavered.
Outside, a church bell struck midnight, soft and echoing. I whispered a small prayer of thanks into the darkness, for London, for the Greysons, for this man who once carried so much pain and somehow learned to laugh again.
For us.
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