“I am.”
“He means quietly,” Lila added, smoothing Henry’s hair.
Henry giggled into his milk.
Marcus’s gaze returned to her again, softer now, threaded with something unspoken.
“Mrs. Pritchard has prepared a proper meal,” he said. “You should eat.”
“I’m famished.”
Henry pointed a spoon at his father. “Papa is too.”
Marcus shot him a warning look, entirely ineffective.
“He was up all night,” Henry continued cheerfully. “He checked on me four times, and then he sat outside your door because he said—”
“Henry,” Marcus cut in sharply, “eat.”
Henry stuffed porridge into his mouth, shaking with silent laughter.
Lila felt her pulse catch. She turned to Marcus.
“You sat outside my door?”
His jaw flexed. “I wanted to be close if you woke. Or… if you didn’t.”
Warmth spread through her chest, slow, steady, deep.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
He held her gaze. “If the floor had been colder, I would have slept there.”
Her smile returned, soft and unguarded. He looked as though it unsettled him in the best possible way.
When breakfast wasfinished, Henry darted upstairs to fetch a wooden soldier he insisted sheabsolutelyhad to see, leaving Marcus and Lila alone by the window. Sunlight stretched across the carpet in warm bars.
“Henry seems himself again,” Lila said.
“Yes,” Marcus replied quietly. “More himself than I’ve seen him in some time.”
Their eyes met. The closeness from the night before lingered, not urgent, but present. A promise waiting its turn.
Marcus stepped closer. Not too close. But close enough that she felt the shift of air between them.
“I wanted to speak with you,” he began, voice low.
Her breath slowed.
“But not now,” he said, stopping himself. “Not before you’ve had a peaceful morning. Not before—”
He searched her face, something tender and uncertain moving in his eyes.
“Later,” he murmured. “When we both have steadier ground beneath us.”
She nodded, grateful.
A soft knockbroke the moment.
