CHAPTER EIGHTEEN #2
As he watched her, he realized how much she had changed over the last six months.
Much of the stubborn, impulsive, restless energy that had once defined her youth had softened.
After everything she had been through—the betrayal, the heartbreak, the chaos of the autumn—she had emerged tempered like fine steel.
She seemed incredibly serene now, deeply settled within herself.
She didn't need to fight for her place in the world anymore.
She was content simply sitting by the fire, a quiet anchor in the room, watching both sets of grandparents and both uncles loudly celebrate the life growing inside her.
***
Three days later, the dynamic of the Lockhart and Ashford-Wale families experienced another seismic, highly entertaining shift.
The front doors of the Lockhart estate flew open, bringing with them a flurry of cold wind and the overpowering scent of expensive European perfume.
"Darlings! The prodigal daughter has returned to American soil!"
Kennedy, who had been sitting in the library, immediately stood up, her face breaking into a delighted smile.
Aurora Kensington stood in the doorway, handing a sable-trimmed coat to a bewildered Thomas.
Aurora was Kennedy’s oldest friend from college, a strikingly beautiful woman of Romanian and broader European descent.
She possessed high, sculpted cheekbones, piercing eyes, and a cascade of raven hair that fell in flawless waves down her back.
The Kensingtons belonged to the exact same rarefied social stratosphere as the Lockharts and Ashfords, boasting old money, sprawling estates, and quiet, generational ties to European royalty.
But beyond her pedigree, Aurora was famously, unapologetically savage. She was sophisticated, razor-sharp, and possessed a tongue that could cut glass.
"Aurora!" Kennedy called out, crossing the room to wrap her oldest friend in a fierce embrace.
"Look at you!" Aurora laughed, pulling back to hold Kennedy at arm's length, her eyes scanning the swell of Kennedy’s stomach with delight. "You are glowing. Absolutely radiant. Motherhood suits you, my love."
"I am so glad you're back," Kennedy beamed, guiding her toward the sofas. "I didn't think your family was returning from the Paris estate until the spring."
"And miss the theatrical masterpiece that has been your life for the last six months?
" Aurora scoffed elegantly, taking a seat and crossing her long legs.
"Please. I heard everything. The scandalous anniversary party, the ridiculous Winters family, Grayson’s spectacular failure of judgment.
I nearly flew back the day I heard that little Ohio nobody dared to raise a hand to you. I would have ruined her."
Kennedy laughed, shaking her head. "It is all handled, Aurora. It’s over."
"I know it is. Because you are a queen, and queens do not concern themselves with the peasantry," Aurora stated matter-of-factly.
Before Kennedy could reply, the double doors of the library opened again.
Spencer Lockhart walked in, reviewing a stack of legal documents. "Kennedy, I need your signature on the—"
He stopped dead in his tracks.
The documents in his hand lowered slowly to his side.
His blue eyes locked onto the dark-haired woman sitting on the sofa, and the formidable, untouchable Spencer Lockhart—a man who commanded boardrooms and navigated high society with lethal, effortless confidence—suddenly looked as though he had forgotten how to breathe.
Aurora turned her head slowly. A wicked, impossibly slow smile curved her painted lips. "Hello, Spencer."
Spencer swallowed hard. "Aurora. You're back."
The history between the two of them was the stuff of legendary family gossip.
They had been engaged in an intense, passionate, on-again, off-again relationship for years.
Everyone in their circle knew they were desperately in love with each other.
The fatal flaw in their romance, however, was Spencer’s stubbornness.
He had taken far too long to propose, assuming she would simply wait for him to be ready.
Aurora, however, waited for no man. Before she left for Europe, she had finally reached her breaking point, looking Spencer dead in the eye and informing him that even if he came crawling back to her on his bare knees over broken glass, she might not accept him.
The families, naturally, were on Aurora’s side.
Spencer crossed the room, his usual swagger replaced by a sudden, desperate urgency. He tossed the files onto the table and moved toward her, his voice dropping into a low, velvet register that had melted a hundred hearts before hers.
"You look absolutely breathtaking," Spencer murmured, stepping close to the sofa, reaching out to capture her hand. He leaned down, intending to press a long, lingering kiss to her lips.
Aurora didn't pull away. She simply turned her head at the very last possible second, offering him the cool, powdered curve of her cheek.
Spencer’s lips brushed her cheekbone. He froze, letting out a frustrated, defeated sigh as he pulled back, his charm neutralized.
"And you look exactly the same, darling," Aurora purred, patting his hand patronizingly before pulling her own gracefully away. "A little tense around the eyes, perhaps. Have you been sleeping poorly?"
Kennedy covered her mouth with her hand, desperately trying to muffle her laughter.
"I sleep fine," Spencer ground out, straightening up, his pride warring with his desperation. "Aurora, have dinner with me tonight. Just the two of us."
"Oh, I couldn't possibly," Aurora sighed dramatically, inspecting her perfect manicure. "I am exhausted from the flight. And besides, I promised my mother I would have dinner with her and your mother this evening. Perhaps next month, if my schedule opens up."
"Next month?" Spencer repeated, a genuine edge of panic slipping into his voice. "Aurora, stop playing games. You know exactly how I feel."
"I know how you speak, Spencer," Aurora corrected, her eyes flashing with a sudden, razor-sharp challenge. "But your actions have historically lacked... commitment. Now, run along and let Kennedy and me catch up. You are blocking my light."
Spencer Lockhart, arguably more handsome and imposing than either Grayson or Ryder, stood helpless. He opened his mouth to argue, realized it was futile against her, and shut it again. With a tight, frustrated nod, he turned and marched out of the library.
The moment the doors closed, Kennedy burst into breathless laughter. "You are torturing him."