He opened his eyes, wary. “What?”
“Don’t pull back again. Not from me. Not from us. Even if it hurts. Even if you think it will break us. Stay, and let me try.”
Felix laughed, but it was a sound with more life in it than before. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said, then seemed to realize something. He dropped to both knees, still holding her hands, and leaned in until their foreheads touched. “I love you,” he said. “Not as a convenience or an arrangement. Not because it fixes anything. I love you because you’re the only person who evermade me want to be a better man. And because you’re the only person who ever truly saw me.”
She kissed him, slow and deep, the kind of kiss that remakes a person cell by cell. When she pulled back, she smiled—crooked, unsure, but real. “I love you, too,” she whispered. “I always have.”
Felix exhaled, and in that moment, something in him seemed to shift. He pulled her into his arms, holding her so tightly she could feel his heart pounding against her chest. The embrace was not gentle, but then, neither of them was built for gentleness. Rose curled in his lap, and Felix’s arms wrapped around her as if he could hold them together for eternity by force of will.
When she finally looked up, she saw that his eyes were closed, his lashes wet.
She reached up and traced his brow, the line of his nose. “Are you all right?” she asked, half-mocking, half-serious.
He opened his eyes and grinned, sudden and boyish. “No. But I think I might be.”
She laughed, surprised by the sound of it. “That’s a start.”
Felix rose, bringing her with him, and they settled together on the old, battered sofa by the hearth. The fire was nearly out, but the room was warm with the heat they made between them.Rose nestled into the crook of his arm, her legs tucked beneath her, and let herself believe that love was not a trap, but a way out.
He stroked her hair, idly, as if he could never get enough of the texture. “You know, I always thought you were the strong one,” he said. “But I was wrong. We’re both strong. Just in different ways.”
She shook her head, but he kissed her temple and would not let her argue.
They spent the better part of the evening on the old green sofa, the one that sagged in the middle from generations of Cardens slouching through their troubles.
For the first time in months, it belonged to them—Felix and Rose, a tangle of limbs and laughter and occasional silences that were somehow less fraught than before.
They made plans for Lizzie—big, impossible plans. “She’ll need a proper governess,” Felix mused, “one who can handle a child with more opinions than most parliaments.” Rose countered that what Lizzie really needed was a friend her own age, someone to share in her mischief. They debated whether the child would grow up to be a terror or a poet. They agreed, finally, that she would be both.
The fire dwindled to embers. Shadows pressed against the windows, but the room was a bright bubble of warmth. Rosedozed on Felix’s shoulder, waking only when he shifted to poke at the coals with the poker.
“Do you regret it?” she asked, the words floating up as if from a dream.
He looked at her, surprised. “Regret what?”
“All of this. Us. The marriage. Lizzie.”
Felix snorted, pulling her closer. “If I regretted it, I’d be the greatest fool in England.” He kissed the top of her head. “I only regret taking so long to get it right.”
She smiled, letting herself relax by his side. “I suppose I should move my things to your room,” she said, only half-joking.
Felix turned to face her, dead serious. “I would like that. More than you can imagine.”
She searched his eyes, saw the truth there. “I’d like it, too,” she said.
When the light outside began to fade, Felix stood and offered her his hand. “Come,” he said, “let’s check on our daughter.”
Rose took his hand, and together they walked the length of the hall, their fingers laced, their steps in sync.
In the nursery, Lizzie slept on her back, arms splayed in a posture of total trust. Rose bent and kissed the child’s cheek, then smoothed the blanket around her.
Felix stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders, and for once, he did not pull away. They watched their daughter breathe, the rise and fall of her chest, and in that ordinary, everyday miracle, Rose felt the world expand.
“Good night, my darling,” she whispered.
Felix watched from the door, his expression soft and unguarded. “She’s safe with you,” he said. “With both of us.”
They closed the door gently and stood for a moment in the hush of the corridor, unsure what to do with the newness of everything.
