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Theirs.

So they had left the city.

Not completely.

There were still days when Vivienne needed to be in Paris for the company, and occasions when Blackthorn required Leo there too. They kept their connection to the city and returned whenever work demanded it.

But home was here now.

Quiet countryside.

Space.

Privacy.

A beautiful house neither of them had occupied before the other.

And the outdoor pool.

Leo claimed the pool had not influenced her opinion.

Vivienne knew she was lying.

They sat near it now, coffee between them, sunlight scattered across the water.

Marie followed shortly afterwards.

The cat jumped onto the empty chair beside Vivienne and curled into a compact grey circle.

“Traitor,” Leo muttered.

Vivienne stroked Marie’s head.

“She recognises quality.”

“Who feeds her every morning?”

“You.”

“Who bought the ridiculous cat tree?”

“You chose the larger one.”

“That is not the point.”

Vivienne looked at her over the rim of her coffee cup.

Leo stopped.

“What?”

“You’re happy.”

Leo leaned back.

There had been a time when happiness would have felt like too simple a word for either of them.

Too vulnerable.