51. CHAPTER 48
Léonie
Two Months Later
Isolde and Céleste arrived at the estate, talking over each other, their arms filled with bags and boxes of baby clothes.
“They’re all too small,” I said, staring at the mountain of pastel fabrics spilling across the bed. “She’s going to wear each thing once.”
“That’s the point,” Isolde replied, flipping her hair. “We’re dressing her like a tiny empress. She can’t be caught repeating outfits.”
“I’m dressing my goddaughter,” Céleste declared, holding up a miniature quilted jacket with Vassier’s signature stitching. “Fashion must start early.”
“She’s not your goddaughter,” Isolde scoffed. “We already discussed this. I get godmother. You get… stylist.”
“Her mother and I are business partners,” Céleste countered, arching a brow.
“And we’re cousins. What’s your point?”
Céleste scoffed. “Obviously the baby belongs to me too.”
I lay back with my head on the headboard, laughter bubbling up. “You both realize she isn’t a handbag, right?”
“Speak for yourself,” Isolde said, holding up a tiny pair of sunglasses.
Céleste chuckled. “I’m definitely taking her with me… everywhere.”
Their bickering didn’t stop there. It escalated.
Céleste tried to bribe me with promises of matching capsule wardrobes. Isolde insisted emotional support was more valuable than couture. They both ended up on the bed, beside me, arguing about who would be there first when I went into labor.
“Knowing you,” I said dryly, “you’ll both show up and argue in the hallway while I push.”
“Absolutely,” Céleste said.
“Obviously,” Isolde agreed. “It still counts.”
I loved them so much it hurt. It was going to be hard picking a godmother between both of them. I didn’t dare say that out loud.
Later, when they were in the nursery folding clothes and still arguing about godmother titles, I leaned against the doorframe of the adjacent room and watched Orion assemble the crib.
“Are you sure you don’t want help?” I asked.
He was shirtless, surrounded by stacks of wood and hardware. Sweat beaded at his temple, his brows drawn in intense concentration as he tried to make sense of the instructions.
“I have it under control,” he said, in the same tone he used when taking intense logistic calls.
“You’re holding the wrench upside down,” I pointed out. I wish I didn’t have to.
He paused. Squinted. Flipped it. “Now I have it under control.”
“Why are you doing this yourself?” I asked. “We have a lot of household staff. Or better have Severin send in people to finish this.”
He studied the manual. “I want to do it myself.”
I bit back a smile and walked in, closing up behind him. “Have you ever built anything in your life?”
I knew he’d never held a hammer or any kind of tool before. His ridiculously smooth hands were evidence enough.
“Businesses.”
“Furniture,” I clarified.
He made a noncommittal sound.
There were screws everywhere. Planks resting at odd angles. The crib looked… promising, but fragile, as if one wrong move might send it all crashing down.
“Stop worrying,” he mumbled, as though he could hear my thoughts. “I’m doing this myself.”
“Why?”
He paused, wrench mid-turn. “Because she’s mine,” he said in a soft tone, looking closer at the manual…perhaps it would make the instructions clearer. “And I want to know I built the first thing she ever sleeps in.”
My throat locked. I stepped closer and pressed a kiss to the skin of his shoulder. “Consider this your down payment,” I whispered.
He shivered, his gaze met mine, darkening. “And what are the other forms of payment?”
“You’ll see,” I teased, walking out before the look in his eyes could short-circuit my brain.
He finished the crib that evening. It was slightly crooked on one side, but I’d die before I told him that.
Aurora Kade arrived on a rainy Friday night, after a long day of contractions and a labor I had been nowhere near prepared for.
It was raw and loud and ugly and sacred all at once. I swore I’d never have sex again at least six times. Orion took it all gracefully, letting me crush his hand, letting me sob into his shirt, while also yelling at him that this was all his fault and he’d better hope she looked like me.
When her first cry split the room, the rest blurred.
They put her on my chest and she was warm and damp and furious, with fists flailing. Dark hair. Delicate, squashed nose. The tiniest pout, already offended by existence. Truly a Kade.
“Bonjour, petite étoile,” Orion breathed, his voice wrecked as he bent over us. His hand shook when he brushed his finger over her cheek. The contrast of his large, dark hand against her brand-new skin made my heart ache.
“Aurora,” I whispered.
“You like it?” I asked, breathless, clinging to the both of them.
His eyes met mine, gleaming with vulnerability. “I love it.”
Days later, we were discharged from the hospital. The estate went mad.
Isabella cried when she first held her. Mrs Lewis kept insisting she was just checking if the blankets were properly folded, but she hovered the most.
My mother came to stay a few days with Annette and Madame Devereaux. They turned the house into a mix of celebration and complete chaos.
Annette and Isabella spent most of their time bonding over recipes, baby clothes, and trading Fernández and Kade estate gossip, while Mrs Lewis watched them like a doting mother.
Madame Devereaux tolerated it with thin-lipped patience. “You’re supposed to be tending to the new heiress and not gossiping.” She bickered until my mother started gently remarking that she was being too strict.
That made me take a step back. The arrival of the baby must have touched somewhere vulnerable no one knew existed inside her. My mother was always strict about everything. I almost laughed at Madame Devereaux’s expression from my mother calling her strict.
Everything was going well till day three when both grandmothers started to argue about everything. They didn’t raise their voices. It was more of a sophisticated argument between two women who loved to perform for society.
“She’s too young to be outside this long,” my mother said, watching Aurora yawn in her stroller under the shaded terrace.
“Nonsense,” Lady Kade replied. “Fresh air is good for her lungs. When Orion was a baby, we took him outdoors every morning.”
“Yes, and look how tense he turned out,” my mother retorted. “The child can get fresh air from an open window.”
“Your daughter is far more dramatic than my son,” Lady Kade sniffed. “Aurora will be fine.”
“Your son walks around the house brooding like he carries the entire world on his shoulder.”
“He adjusted her entire life so she would be happy. He’s allowed to brood.”
At some point I picked Aurora up to feed her, while watching the two of them go at it like there was a trophy for Most Dedicated Grandmother.
Orion stood by the doorway, his arms folded, and a rare grin dancing at his lips like he was watching a show he’d paid premium tickets for.
My mother caught his expression. “Don’t just stand there, Orion. Tell your mother the baby needs a hat.”
“The baby does not need a hat inside the terrace,” Lady Kade argued. “It is not the Arctic.”
He raised both hands in surrender. “I am not getting involved in this.”
Wise decision.
I’d never seen my mother or Lady Kade argue before. But something about them being in the same space sparked up a need to spar non-stop.
The only time the arguing stopped was at night, when Aurora refused to sleep.
She screamed like a siren whenever anyone laid her in the crib. Mrs Lewis tried. Isabella tried. My mother tried singing. Madame Devereaux tried humming old French lullabies.
Nothing worked.
Then Orion took her.
He tucked her against his chest, one large hand cradling her head, and just… walked up and down the length of our room. Down the hallway. Through to the sitting room.
Talking about business on the phone with his free hand, barking orders in that lethal boardroom voice while his daughter drooled on his bare shoulder.
She quieted within minutes.
Sometimes she’d fuss, then relax again when he says something barely-audible and soothing to her, words I couldn’t always catch but felt to my core.
One night, I woke up to find the room empty. I padded out quietly and found them in the library. He was on the couch, his head tipped back, eyes closed, wearing only joggers, with Aurora asleep sprawled across his chest, one tiny fist tangled in the chain around his neck.
He looked younger. Almost boyish. And very peaceful.
Mrs Lewis, Isabella, my mother, Lady Kade, and Madame Devereaux all stood close to the doorway like a secret audience.
“Nobody make a sound,” my mother barely whispered. “He’ll think we’re here to take her.”
“He refuses to hand her over,” Lady Kade mouthed. “I raised a tyrant.”
“But a good father,” My mother concurred. Both of them in agreement for the first time in days.
My heart ached in the best way at the sight of both of them.
Our daughter was definitely a daddy’s girl. She’d wail in my arms sometimes but go silent in his, like his heartbeat recalibrated hers. I didn’t mind it at all.
Watching him fall in love with her made it obvious that nothing else came first anymore.
I wasn’t sure whose idea it was to have a garden party. But the summer time called for one. Especially now that Aurora could finally hold her head up and could be around more people.
The estate grounds were drenched in late-afternoon light, the sky that soft blue that makes everything look like a painting.
Tables were scattered across the lawn. Lanterns hung from the trees.
Laughter buzzed in the air, threaded with French, English, and the occasional curse.
No matter how many times Orion had announced “Don’t curse around the baby. ”
My friends and his friends together in one space always felt like a social experiment. One that we had been unconsciously looking forward to test running. Just to have all our people in a single space. There was something wholesome about finally doing it.