CHAPTER EIGHTEEN #3
"He deserves it," Aurora grinned wickedly, reaching for a crystal glass of water. "I am going to make him work for every single inch, Kennedy. By the time I am finished with him, he will be begging."
***
That evening, the grand dining room of the Lockhart estate hosted a reunion that had been decades in the making.
The Kensington family had arrived in full force. James Kensington, a tall, distinguished man with a booming laugh, was already deep in conversation with John and Arthur near the drinks cart.
Delia Kensington, Aurora’s mother, was a vision of European elegance. She and Margaret Lockhart had been roommates in college, navigating their elite educations together before marrying into their respective empires. The two women remained fiercely close, bonded by decades of shared history.
As the household staff served the first course of seared scallops and winter greens, the dining table—seating the Lockharts, the Ashfords, and the Kensingtons—was alive with warm, chaotic energy.
"I am telling you, Margaret, the air in Paris was dreadful this season," Delia said, elegantly waving a silver fork. "But coming back and hearing this news? A baby boy for Kennedy and Grayson? It makes every dreadful transatlantic flight worth it."
"We are overjoyed, Delia," Eleanor Ashford-Wale beamed from across the table, raising her wine glass in a toast.
Down at the younger end of the table, Spencer was currently living in a state of agonizing torment.
He was seated directly across from Aurora, attempting every tactic in his arsenal.
He poured her wine, he offered her the best cuts from the serving platters, and he deployed a relentless, charming banter that would have decimated any other woman.
Aurora parried every single advance with flawless, savage grace, casually dismissing his compliments while engaging Ryder in a debate about European sports cars, ignoring Spencer’s desperate gaze.
Margaret watched the spectacle from the head of the table, exchanging a deeply amused, knowing look with Delia.
Long before either of them had children, Margaret and Delia had made a solemn, wine-fueled pact in their college dormitory: if one of them had a son and the other a daughter, they would ensure the two families merged.
The funny part was that their quiet, lifelong machinations had actually worked.
Spencer and Aurora had fallen desperately in love.
But now, watching the two of them drag their feet—Spencer too proud for too long, and Aurora too stubborn to let him off the hook—the mothers were losing their patience.
"You know, James," John Lockhart called out over the noise of the table, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he looked at Aurora’s father.
"I was reviewing the municipal property laws today.
Did you know that in certain historic counties, if two families agree, the paperwork can be expedited without the children's presence? "
"Is that so, John?" James Kensington replied smoothly, catching the joke immediately. He took a sip of his scotch, looking pointedly at his daughter and Spencer. "Fascinating."
"Indeed," Margaret chimed in, her aristocratic voice ringing clearly over the crystal glasses.
She looked directly at Spencer, who froze with his fork halfway to his mouth.
"Delia and I were just discussing it. Spencer, Aurora, darlings...
if the two of you keep up this ridiculous, agonizing dance for much longer, your fathers and we are simply going to forge your signatures on a marriage certificate and have you legally bound while you sleep. "
The entire table erupted into laughter.
"I second that motion," Arthur Ashford-Wale boomed, raising his glass. "We will witness the forgery. We are all tired of watching Spencer look like a kicked hound."
"Mother!" Aurora gasped in mock-horror, though a brilliant, genuine smile broke across her face.
Spencer’s face flushed a dull red under the collective teasing of three dynasties, but as he looked across the table at Aurora—her eyes dancing with laughter, the firelight catching in her hair—he couldn't fight the smile that tugged at his own lips.
Kennedy sat quietly between Grayson and Aurora, her hands resting comfortably on her stomach.
She listened to the booming laughter of her father, the sharp wit of her mother, and the easy, unshakeable camaraderie of the people who had loved her since birth.
The room was bathed in golden light, radiating a kind of generational closeness that no amount of tragedy could ever truly destroy.
Grayson, sitting silently beside her, looked around the table, feeling the exact same warmth.
He looked at Kennedy, seeing the soft, contented peace in her eyes.
They had walked through fire to get to this night, and the scars were still visible, but as the three families laughed together into the winter night, Grayson knew that, no matter what the future held for him and Kennedy, their son was going to be born into a kingdom built on love.