Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Cassian
Morning sunlight poured through the dining room's massive windows, turning the marble tabletop almost blinding.
I sat at the table, gripping an unopened financial paper, but my eyes stayed locked on Luna across from me like she was magnetic.
She wore a simple white silk blouse today, the collar slightly open, revealing the elegant line of her neck.
She stirred her oatmeal absently, the silver spoon clinking against the porcelain bowl in an uneven rhythm that gave away her restlessness.
"Mommy?" Laila called out.
No response.
"Mommy!" Laila raised her voice.
Luna snapped back, the spoon jerking in her hand. "Hm? What is it?"
"Mommy, is your spoon fighting?" Laila asked, tilting her head while stuffing half a fried egg in her mouth. "Can I have some jam?"
Luna blinked, her movements stiff for a moment, then forced a pale smile and reached over to ruffle Laila's golden hair. "Sorry, sweetheart. I was thinking about a move for this afternoon's rehearsal. Got distracted."
She passed the jam, her movements mechanical. Then went back to staring at her bowl.
I watched, something sinking in my chest.
These past days, even though we lived under the same roof, even though we'd been as intimate as two people could be, something was missing.
And lately Luna was always like this, sitting right in front of me, but her soul somewhere a thousand miles away.
What was weighing on her? Work? Laila? Or... me?
I couldn't read her.
After breakfast, Laila dragged me to the living room for braiding—her latest obsession was making me try different braid styles.
I wove her a fishtail braid with practiced hands. Laila ran to check the mirror, nodded approvingly, then dashed upstairs to change.
I stood and walked over to Luna. She was looking at Laila's picture book, but she'd been on the same page forever.
"Luna," I called her name.
She turned. "Yeah?"
"You... okay?"
She smiled. "I'm fine."
That smile wasn't like before. Her mouth curved, but her eyes didn't.
I looked at her, wanted to say something, but finally just nodded.
"Alright then."
She got up to leave. I stood there, watching her walk away. Slender, almost fragile. Her shoulders slightly tense, not relaxed like usual.
Something twisted in my chest.
By the time I got to the office, it was almost ten.
I sat in my oversized chair, mountains of documents in front of me, and couldn't read a single word. Luna's expression this morning had me rattled.
Chloe's words surfaced again—"You've never really known her."
She was right. I didn't know her six years ago. Only starting to now. But the more I understood, the more I realized how inadequate I'd been. Everything she'd endured alone all those years, the silent hurt, her inner strength and beauty—I was only now beginning to see it, piece by piece.
I worked through some acquisition agreements that needed signing, and sat behind that ebony desk for a long time. Finally, I grabbed my personal phone and called Chloe.
It rang forever before she picked up, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Cassian, if you're calling to ask what Luna ate for lunch again like last time, I suggest you hang up now."
"That's not why I'm calling." I pressed my throbbing temple, my voice lower than ever before. "Chloe, Luna seems troubled lately. I think maybe she's exhausted..."
"And?"
"I want to make her happy. Really happy. You were right before. I don't know her at all. All I can think of are fancy dates... but those won't reach her. I'm afraid if I do something on my own, I'll screw it up."
Long silence on the other end. Maybe sensing the almost pleading sincerity in my tone, Chloe's voice finally softened.
"You haven't gone crazy lately, at least... Fine. Since Luna and Laila both seem happy right now, maybe you can help her fulfill a dream."
"A dream? About ballet?"
Chloe laughed, though I couldn't tell if it was mocking or pleased. "Do you remember who Luna's idol is?"
"Sonia Petrova." The name came instantly. Six years ago, I'd bought that necklace, planning to give it to Luna, so I knew about her.
My mind clicked into gear. "Thank you, Chloe. I'll sponsor the new gallery show."
I hung up and immediately had my assistant track down Sonia Petrova's contact information and schedule.
Sonia Petrova, former principal at Paris Opera Ballet, was called a "living ballet legend." Over sixty, long retired, living in seclusion in Switzerland, never accepting private meetings. She occasionally appeared at important events and charity galas.
My assistant spent all afternoon and finally reached her manager, found out that Sonia was coming to the U.S. this weekend for a charity auction.
But when the manager heard it was an American businessman wanting to meet, flat refusal—Sonia's principle: no outsiders.
I thought for a moment, spent an hour writing a letter, scanned it, attached a video of Luna dancing, and sent it over.
Then waited a full day.
The reply came the next evening.
Sonia's manager sent one line: She'll meet. But only the dancer, no other projects, schedule must remain confidential. Two hours only, Sunday afternoon, three to five.
I exhaled.
That evening, I waited by the entrance before Luna came back from rehearsal.
When the lock turned, and she walked in with the evening chill clinging to her, I stepped forward and took her bag. This would've been unthinkable for the old me, but now, I did it more naturally than any butler.
"Are you free this Sunday?" I watched her face, pale with exhaustion, trying to keep my voice calm and pressure-free.
Luna looked at me hesitantly. "Sunday? Yeah, why?"
"I want to take you out. Just the two of us." I met her eyes, my breathing slightly rushed. "Don't ask where, don't ask what. Just give me a chance—a chance to let you see me differently. I promise, if you're not enjoying it, I'll bring you home immediately."
She frowned slightly, her fingers absently twisting her coat belt. Obviously, these so-called "surprises" had never ended well in our past.
She stared at me for a while, then finally nodded as if conceding.
"Okay. But not too far."
"I promise," I said quietly, though my heart pounded at this small agreement.
The next few days, I prepared.
Booked a private dance studio, arranged security, and coordinated timing. Sonia was only in D.C. for half a day, flying back to Switzerland that evening. Timing had to be precise to the minute.
Sunday came with good weather.
I woke at six, couldn't sleep, and got up to prepare. Picked through outfits repeatedly, finally chose the dark gray semi-casual suit. Then selected shoes, styled my hair.
Eight-thirty, I sat in the living room waiting.
When she came downstairs, I froze.
She wore a beige dress with a light brown coat over it, hair loose around her shoulders. Light makeup. She looked soft and radiant.
"What?" She looked at me uncertainly. "Is this dress wrong?"
"No," I said, my voice rough. "Beautiful."
She smiled faintly, that smile so subtle it made my heart skip.
We walked out together. I opened the car door for her and fastened her seatbelt.
As I did this, she tilted her head at me. "You don't seem like the type to do these things."
I kissed her forehead lightly. "Only for you."
She rolled her eyes, but I caught the hint of a smile at her lips.
"Really not telling me where?"
I started the car, smiling. "You'll know when we get there."
First stop was the downtown square. A small weekend concert was happening, a street band playing guitar, singing old songs.
The fountain sparkled in sunlight, water droplets splashing, hitting the pool with soft sounds. Kids chased bubbles, laughing and shouting. Old folks sat on benches, soaking up sun, chatting.
I pulled her hand into the dancing crowd. She resisted at first, her fingers stiff, then gradually relaxed, swaying gently to the rhythm.
When an old jazz number ended, she turned to me. "How did you know I like street performances?"
"I remember you mentioning it," I said quietly. "You shared some events with me, but I never went with you."
Her eyes flickered. She said nothing.
A little girl ran past us, chasing a glowing bubble. She looked back at her parents, laughing loudly.
Luna watched the girl, her mouth curving.
"Laila would love this."
"We'll bring her next time."
We smiled at each other. In that moment, I felt we didn't need words.
Then we wandered Georgetown like tourists with nowhere particular to go. The last time was right after Luna and I married—she'd excitedly dragged me along for dates, and I'd reluctantly lasted a few hours.
Back then, she was so passionate, wanting to make our arranged marriage work, while I stayed impatient. She must've sensed it. Never asked again after that.
Now, watching her eyes gradually brighten with genuine smiles, I realized how much time I'd wasted.
Near noon, I took her to a small restaurant. Not fancy—just a corner shop.
She looked at the sign, then at me.
"You sure?"
"Yeah. Heard their sandwiches are great."
We found a window seat. She ordered tuna, I ordered the same, plus some snacks she liked.
While eating, she watched me eat ice cream and suddenly laughed. "Never thought you'd eat this kind of—" she paused, searching for words, "street food."
I pulled out a napkin, wiped my mouth, and set down the spoon. "Once I ate strawberry ice cream in front of Marco. He just stared."
"Then what?" Luna asked curiously.
"For a while after, my nickname became 'Strawberry CEO.'"
Luna blinked, then burst out laughing. "That sounds adorable."
Watching her relaxed, happy, completely unguarded—something strange welled up in me. I wanted to spend my life protecting that smile.
Afternoon arrived quietly. We kept going.
The car turned onto a quiet street and stopped in front of a building. Low-key exterior, walls covered in ivy.
She got out, looking at the building.
"This is..."
"Come with me."