Ophelia
After Arlo proposed for the second time, high above Paris on the Eiffel Tower, the days that followed felt like they belonged to another world.
We stayed in that villa a while longer, as if time had stopped just for us. It was the closest thing to peace I’ve ever known.
When it was finally time to return, we didn’t go back to St. Monarche? Institute for the remainder of the term.
We agreed we would only fly back in May to take our final exams, collect our diplomas, and be done with it.
For me, it would be the end of my degree, for Arlo being twenty-four it meant collecting his master’s diploma.
After everything that happened, we both needed a new beginning, not another term filled with whispers and ghosts of the past.
When Arlo asked where we should live, he offered options, London, Italy, or France.
I chose Paris.
I told him it felt right, that I wanted to try something new. Maybe it won’t be forever, but for now, it’s home.
The mansion he bought and handed me the key to on Christmas was exactly what I needed.
It sits just outside the city—tall gates, a long tree lined drive, and wide gardens that make the air feel endless.
There’s space for Bellamy to run freely, and every morning I still wake to the sound of hooves on the grass.
Everything was renovated, we had a kitchen, a bed, and enough of a start to move in straight away.
From there, I began slowly turning it into something that felt like ours.
It’s June now. We’ve finished our exams, received our results, and we passed.
Now, with our diplomas in hand, it feels almost surreal to be done with studying. After years of chaos, after everything that tried to break us, we’ve made it to this point.
The last few months have been busy in ways I didn’t expect. Arlo started working full time in his family’s company.
He gave up the idea of professional football, said it was something he started as a boy to irritate his father more than anything else.
Now his focus is entirely on the business, his legacy. He’s the CEO of the lab grown jewel division, and I know that once his father retires, Arlo will take over the entire empire.
Their relationship has changed too. They actually get along now. I think they both needed that peace. His father visits often, I even have coffee with him once a week. We sometimes host dinners here, and it feels good, normal, even.
My father on the other hand, hasn’t visited once. I suspect Arlo had something to do with that, though I never asked.
But he flies my mother to Paris nearly every other weekend, and I adore it. We spend entire days shopping, laughing, sitting in cafés like we’ve always lived here. My sister visits often too, and so do the girls.
Bellamy lives here with us now, finally. The stables were built the moment we moved in, and there’s so much space for him to run that I sometimes lose sight of him in the distance.
Our days have settled into a rhythm. Arlo works long hours, but he always makes time for us.
I spend my mornings volunteering at the local animal shelter, my afternoons riding with Bellamy or working on the final touches of our home. Some days, I go into the city, shopping, running errands, simply enjoying the quiet of being on my own.
And then there’s the wedding.
We’re getting married in August, just a few weeks away now. My days are filled with fittings, tastings, and endless calls about flowers and décor. I never thought I’d enjoy wedding planning, but watching it all come together feels real.
Tangible.
Ours.
The afternoon sun hangs low over Paris, its light spilling through the tall windows and gliding across the marble floors.
I’m barefoot in a pink floral dress that falls softly around my knees, my hair loose down my back, a few strands pinned with a matching clip.
The house is quiet, peaceful. It feels like home.
Soft music drifts from the speaker on the counter as I stir the risotto simmering on the stove. A warm breeze filters through the open patio doors, teasing the white curtains into a slow dance. Beyond them, the garden glows in the late afternoon light, the pool catching hints of gold.
We have staff, but I prefer the quiet rhythm of doing things myself. The chef only comes when I’m too busy or away, but on nights like this, I enjoy being in the kitchen. There’s something grounding about it.
It’s Saturday. I spent the morning shopping, followed by my wedding dress fitting with Sofia Moretti, then read by the pool while Bellamy grazed somewhere in the back garden.
Later, I took him out across the fields until the sun dipped, and now I’m here, music playing softly as I finish dinner for us.
Arlo had an emergency at work. I’d been disappointed, more than I’d admit, when he said he wouldn’t be home until late. But it’s rare that he’s called in on a weekend, and I know how much his position demands
I chop herbs for the garnish, humming under my breath, when I hear the faint click of the front door opening and closing.
My smile spreads instinctively.
A few moments later, the sound of his shoes on the marble floor fills the hallway.
He appears in the doorway, tall, impossibly handsome in his black suit, tie loosened, dark hair slightly messy from the wind.
My heart stumbles in my chest.
Every damn time.
He crosses the space between us in long strides. His hand finds the small of my back, tugging me toward him. I go willingly, rising on my toes just as his mouth meets mine.
The kiss is hungry and claiming. His hand slides up, fingers splaying against my spine.
“I missed you,” he murmurs against my lips. “Fuck, how much I missed you.”
His nose brushes along my neck as he breathes me in, his voice rough in my ear. I laugh softly, breathless, when he finally pulls back.
Then he steps behind me, his chin settling on my shoulder, his arms circling my waist as I turn back to the cutting board.
“I love coming home to you like this,” he says against my skin, his voice dark. “Barefoot, hair down, wearing this sexy as hell dress that makes me want to ruin it right here in our kitchen.”
I roll my eyes, smiling. “You say that every time I cook.”
“Because it’s true every time,” he mutters, his lips grazing my shoulder.
I reach for the knife again, but he stops me, his hand covering mine. “Leave it,” he says quietly. “I have a surprise for you.”
I glance at him over my shoulder, suspicious. “A surprise?”
His mouth curves. “Mhmm.” He presses a quick kiss beneath my ear. “Outside.”
Before I can reply, he takes my hand and leads me through the open patio doors.
“Close your eyes,” he says.
“Arlo…”
“Trust me.”
His hands slide gently over my eyes as he comes up behind me, his body close enough that I can feel the steady beat of his heart against my back. He guides me forward, careful, step by step, until my bare feet touch the grass, and then we stop.
“Alright,” he whispers. “Open them.”
I blink.
And then I gasp.
On the grass in front of me, sitting inside a silk lined basket, is a tiny golden retriever puppy, floppy ears, soft fur, and the sweetest pair of eyes I’ve ever seen. The little thing lets out a clumsy bark and stumbles toward us.
My hands fly to my mouth. “Oh my God, Arlo,” I whisper, kneeling down as the puppy tumbles into my arms. “You didn’t—” My voice cracks. “You didn’t.”
He crouches beside me, one hand resting on my back, the other stroking the puppy’s head. “I did,” he says simply, his voice deep and fond. “You deserve everything that makes you smile.”
Tears prick my eyes before I can stop them.
He tilts my chin up, thumb brushing my cheek. “Don’t cry love,” he murmurs, soft but possessive. “This little one’s yours.”
I laugh through the tears, hugging the puppy close as it wriggles happily in my arms. “She’s perfect. Absolutely perfect.”
“What are we going to call her?” he asks, his lips curving as he watches me.
I glance down at the warm bundle of fur and think for a moment. “Luna,” I say quietly.
He smirks, eyes gleaming. “Fitting. My moon and her little Luna.”
I look up at him, my heart so full it almost hurts. The garden glows around us, the sky blushing into sunset.
My soon to be husband kneels beside me, his hand resting over mine and our new puppy.
Everything I’ve ever wanted, the man I love, the home we built, the quiet life I didn’t think I’d ever have, it’s all here.
And for the first time in years, I can finally say it without fear.
I’m happy.
Truly, entirely, beautifully happy.
The End