Beautiful all the time but especially when you’re happy.
The compliment made her blush, and Hugo found himself leaning closer without conscious thought.
“Hugo,” she whispered.
“Yes?”
“Are you going to kiss me?”
“Do you want me to?”
“Very much.”
So he did.
It was different from their previous kisses—softer, more playful. They were in no hurry, hidden away in their private sanctuary while the rain provided a gentle background sound.
Her lips felt like warmth as they moved against his.
When they finally broke apart, Sybil was smiling in a way that made Hugo’s chest tight.
“Better than chamber music?” she asked.
“Infinitely better.” He rested his forehead against hers. “Though I suppose we should head back before people start sending search parties.”
“Probably.” But neither of them moved.
“One more minute,” Hugo murmured.
“One more minute,” she agreed.
One more minute in paradise before we have to return to musical purgatory.
But as they sat there in the gathering darkness, listening to the rain and each other’s breathing, Hugo realized something that should have terrified him.
This is what happiness feels like. This quiet contentment, this sense of rightness.
This is what I’ve been missing all these years.
When they finally made their way back to the house, slipping in through the French doors like guilty conspirators, the quartet was just beginning their final piece. Anthea caught Sybil’s eye and raised an eyebrow at their slightly disheveled appearance, but she said nothing.
Hugo settled back into his chair, his hand finding Sybil’s. The music was still terrible—possibly worse than before—but somehow, he found he didn’t mind as much.
Because I know now what the alternative sounds like. Laughter and rain and the soft sigh she makes when I kiss her.
And that’s music I could listen to for the rest of my life.
Chapter Thirty
Sybil stared at the calendar on her writing desk, counting backwards for the third time in as many minutes. Her fingers traced the dates with increasing excitement, her heart hammering against her ribs.
Two weeks. Nearly three, actually.
She’d been so caught up in the whirlwind of her new marriage, so distracted by Hugo’s heated looks and stolen kisses, that she’d barely noticed time passing. But now, sitting in the morning sunlight streaming through their bedroom windows, the realization hit her like a thunderbolt.
I might be carrying his child.
The thought sent pure joy racing through her veins.
