Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Christine
We’re in the sitting room now.
Enzo is slumped to the side, nursing a glass of wine like it’s the only thing keeping him sane, his scowl fixed on the TV where Cocomelon is playing as per Blue’s demand.
Atelia stepped out to take a call, leaving the rest of us to the cartoon noise.
I’m perched at the edge of my seat, barely present.
Because my eyes won’t leave them.
Robert and Blue.
He’s seated at the edge of the couch, one arm braced along the back, the other holding a small bowl balanced carefully in his palm.
Blue is half on him, half off, turned sideways across his lap like she couldn’t decide on a position and settled for both. Her legs are tucked under her, her body leaning into him with the kind of ease that claims.
“Open.” He scoops a small portion of dessert and lifts it toward her.
She does immediately.
“Good girl.” He feeds her patiently.
She chews the lemon cake, then starts talking mid-bite about something that doesn’t connect to anything. Ants again, or cartoons, or something only she fully understands, and he listens, giving her his full attention, his eyes on her.
And it’s cute to see that even when he clearly doesn’t understand half of what she’s saying, he nods anyway and participates by asking questions.
He feeds her another spoonful without interrupting her rhythm.
My heart flutters in my chest, my gaze unable to drift anywhere else.
This is what I didn’t expect. Not in the years I had thought about reaching out to him or if he appeared in our lives. Not as easy or as seamless as this.
He wipes the corner of her mouth with his thumb when she misses, unthinking, like the gesture lives in his body already.
And she lets him, leaning in closer, like she trusts the space he creates around her.
My fingers curl slightly where they rest against my arm as I start to see the shape of it. What this could be. Not the version in my head that comes with warnings and conditions and everything I’ve been holding onto to keep myself trapped.
But this.
This lived-in, unspoken rhythm that doesn’t need to be explained.
“You’re thinking too hard.” Atelia’s voice cuts in from beside me.
I blink, dragged back into reality.
“I’m not,” I reply automatically.
“Sure.” She hums like she doesn’t believe me.
“It’s just…” My gaze drifts back to him anyway, like I don’t have control over that part of me. “He looks good doing it.”
I’m still trembling from what he said earlier.
About marriage.
Every time it replays in my head, something in me seizes, like my body forgets how to move, how to breathe, how to be normal around it.
But when I look at him.
At the way he handles Blue like she’s not new, not fragile, not something he has to think about.
My fear recedes.
Because he doesn’t look like a man imagining a family. He looks like one who already has it.
Atelia’s fingers snap right in my line of sight.
“Earth to Christine,” she calls out, already halfway to standing. “Come help me pick another bottle.”
I blink again, the room sliding back into place around me.
“I can…” Enzo starts, pushing himself up like he’s been waiting for an excuse to escape the cartoon.
“No,” Atelia cuts in without even looking at him, one hand lifting in a stop gesture. “Sit.”
“Why?” He pauses mid-rise.
“Because,” she shrugs, glancing over her shoulder now, a hint of amusement curling at the edge of her mouth, “This is ladies’ stuff.”
“Piking wine?” Enzo looks personally offended. “Since when?”
“Since now,” she replies easily, already moving toward the kitchen.
Blue perks up immediately.
“I’m a lady,” she announces, wriggling slightly in Robert’s hold. “I want to come.”
Atelia slows just enough to glance back, her eyes flicking over Blue with a small, assessing smile.
“Grown-up ladies’ stuff,” she amends.
Blue gasps softly, scandalized.
“I’m almost grown,” she argues.
“Almost is not enough,” Atelia shoots back.
“Tell her.” Blue turns to Robert like he’s the final authority.
I don’t hear what he says because I’m already moving, a small smile slipping out, and something lighter dallying briefly in my chest as I follow Atelia toward the kitchen.
Behind me, Blue’s voice carries, still negotiating her way into a world she’s not allowed into yet.
We enter the luxurious kitchen, and the noise from the living room is softer here
Atelia doesn’t give me time to absorb the scenery. She moves straight to the built-in wine wall, already reaching for a bottle.
“Come,” she beckons warmly, like we’ve done this before. “Help me decide what we’re drinking next.”
I walk over, my arms folding loosely like I need something to hold onto.
She pulls one bottle out, tilts it, and examines it.
“Since you’re about to become a permanent fixture,” she adds casually, like she’s talking about furniture, “I might as well get to know your taste.”
“Yeah.” I let out a short laugh. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
She glances at me briefly, one brow lifting.
“No?” She hums.
“No,” I repeat, shaking my head. “I’m not sure about all that.”
“About him?” She asks, already putting the bottle back and reaching for another.
“About… everything,” I correct.
“Mmh.” She studies the next one, turning it slightly under the light. “And yet, you were drooling earlier.”
I clip my tongue against the roof of my mouth, knowing there’s no need to deny that one.
She keeps moving.
Bottle out.
Bottle back.
Another one.
“Dry?” she asks.
“I don’t…”
“This one is too dry,” she decides for me, returning it without waiting.
I watch her, a small frown pulling at my brows.
“Do I get a say in this?” I ask.
“No,” she replies easily. “I’m observing you.”
“By ignoring me?”
“Exactly.”
“Oh.” I huff out a breath despite myself.
“Yes.” Her mouth curves slightly, pleased. “You’re cautious.” She reaches for another bottle. “But not closed.”
“That sounds like something you decided five minutes ago.”
“It is,” she shrugs. “I’m very efficient.”
I shake my head, but the tension in my shoulders eases just a fraction.
“He was very sweet, you know.” She adds, almost like a passive thought.
I look at her but she doesn’t look back. She just keeps scanning the labels, focused on wine.
“With his wife,” she continues. “Lily, he told you, right?”
“Yeah.” I nod, my throat scratchy.
“He adored her,” she adds, like she’s not trying to sell anything, just… stating it. “He fought for her,” she goes on.
There’s something in her tone that’s caught between envy and admiration.
Or maybe just recognition.
“And after she died,” she continues, pulling out another bottle, holding it up, then setting it aside, “He didn’t know what to do with all that love.”
My chest folds in on itself at that.
I’ve had days to sit with what Robert went through, to turn it over, to try to make sense of it.
I still can’t.
I don’t think I ever will.
I killed them all, though. Wiped out an entire family tree for him while he was too broken to act.” She breathes it out like it’s nothing. “I’ll kill for him.”
Her eyes hold mine for a second before she looks away.
“He’s lucky to have you. I have a friend like that, Aisha.” I let out a small chuckle. “Nothing as dramatic as wiping out a family tree, but… we never know.”
“Good for you.” She smiles faintly. “Has she ever proposed to you? Because mine did.”
“What?” I blink.
She finally turns to me.
“It was a contract,” she clarifies, already turning back to the rack. “Family pressure, business expectation… You know, the usual nonsense.”
“And…” My brows pull together. “And you said yes?”
“Of course I did,” She replies lightly. “I’m not stupid.”
That… That doesn’t help.
“We made sense on paper,” she continues. “We were already aligned in everything that mattered. It was easy.”
She pulls out another bottle, studies it, then puts it back.
“And then?” I ask, before I can stop myself.
She pauses for a second.
Then shrugs.
“And then we didn’t need it anymore.”
“That’s it?” I ask.
“We realized we worked better as friends,” she answers. “We valued that more than forcing something else.”
My mind is trying to catch up.
“You were… in love?” I ask, softer now.
She tilts her head slightly.
“We grew into something close,” she admits. “Close enough to know we shouldn’t ruin it.”
I stare at her because I don’t know what to do with that. With the fact that he’s already lived something that intense.
That… real, even after the incident.
And somehow it feels like I’m next. No one special, just the next try.
Atelia reaches for one last bottle and holds it up. This time, she doesn’t put it back.
“This one,” she decides.
She turns to me, her expression unreadable but not unkind.
“You don’t have to figure him out all at once,” she winks at me.
She taps the bottle lightly against her palm.
“Come on,” she adds, already moving toward the door.
I follow.
But my mind doesn’t.
It stays behind.
When we got home, it was already late and Blue had already fallen asleep.
Now, I’m in front of the fridge, shifting containers around to make space for the food we came back with, because Robert made too much.
Everything about tonight came in excess.
I slide one in, then another, adjusting things that don’t need adjusting, my hands moving on instinct while my mind drifts somewhere else entirely.
To everything Atelia said, and then some she didn’t say.
I close the fridge halfway, then open it again, pulling one container back out just to reposition it.
He proposed to her.
I press my lips together, exhaling slowly through my nose. Because what exactly am I supposed to do with that? What will I do with a man who has lived entire lifetimes before me?
Loved.
Lost.
Tried again.
I close the fridge’s door, then lean against it for a second before pushing off.
“Not that look again.” Aisha’s voice drifts in from behind me.
“Which look again?” I ask, reaching for the containers that didn’t fit in.
“The one where your brain is doing gymnastics you didn’t sign up for,” she replies, stepping into the kitchen, arms folded loosely, eyes already locked on me.
“That’s… very specific.” I huff out a small breath.
“I’m your best friend.”
I glance at her.
She’s leaning against the counter now, fully ready. Waiting.
“How was it?” She asks.
I hesitate, not because I don’t want to, but because I don’t know where to start.
But then, it spills out of me.
I tell about the cookout, Him and Blue, and the way he talked about marrying me. I skip the way I felt and hit straight for Atelia, the wine, story, proposal, and contract.
Aisha doesn’t interrupt even once. She just listens, her expression shifting in small ways, catching the important parts without needing me to point them out.
And when I’m done, when the words finally run out, she exhales slowly.
Then she shakes her head.
“Atelia needs to sit down somewhere,” she offers flatly.
“That’s your takeaway?” I blink.
“That woman was subtly trying to stake her claim,” she continues, completely serious. “Didn’t you catch that?”
“She wasn’t…” I shake my head, not even trying to imagine that.
“Believe me,” she presses. “I know how these things work.”
“You make clothes, not read minds or tell intentions by just listening to a one-sided story.”
“I can be both.” She corrects, tilting her head slightly. “And I also think she knows Robert has officially moved to the next hall.”
“The next hall?” I echo.
“Yes,” she nods. “Like she knows he’s not for her anymore.”
I laugh, shaking my head.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m hardly wrong about these things.”
We fall into the easy back-and-forth and for a moment, it feels like I can breathe again. Like everything isn’t stacked on my chest waiting to collapse.
My phone vibrates, pulling me out of it.
I reach for it automatically, my thumb brushing the screen as I glance down.
It’s a text from another unknown number.
My stomach drops as I open it.
: We know where you live. Leave Robert before you and your child get caught in another fire.
“Christine?” Aisha’s voice changes immediately.
I don’t answer yet, because I’m reading it again, maybe it’ll change.
“Christine.” She circles the counter, stepping closer now. “What is it?”
I don’t trust my voice, so I just hand her the phone.
I watch her face change.
Watch the color drain, her eyes flicking around the room like whoever sent it might be standing right here with us.
That’s all I need.
There’s nothing to think about.
Robert and I end right here.