“Not yet,” he says gently.
She looks at him, grateful.“Thank you.”
He reaches for her hand, squeezing once.“We’ll open the letter together.”
The promise steadies her.
For now, she lets herself lean into the moment, the warmth of the room, the quiet joy, the man beside her who chose to stay.
Just for this morning, she allows herself to be happy.
“I think I’m hungry,” she says.“My body needs energy.”
A grin spreads across his face.“I’ll call Martha to tell her we’re ready for breakfast as soon as we shower together.”
A giggle escapes her.“Don’t tell her we’re showering together.”
“Oh, I’m sure the entire staff knows what went on in your bedroom last night.We were kind of noisy.”
“We were great together,” she says.
“We are,” he says and gently kisses her.
Chapter21
The walk to Keir’s bedroom feels longer than it should.
Callum has lived in this castle long enough to know every shortcut, every stair that creaks, every corridor where sound carries.None of that matters now.The distance stretches anyway, elastic and resistant, as if the house itself is trying to slow them down.
Behind them is breakfast, unfinished coffee, crumbs left on plates, the echo of laughter that had surprised Callum with its ease.Behind them is music, shared without effort, notes folding into one another like they had always been meant to meet.
A shower filled with lingering touches, soft kisses and promises of time later spent in the bedroom.
Ahead of them is a letter.A letter that he fears.Isla has suffered enough heartache.If he could, he would keep this from her, and yet he knows that whatever is inside that letter could also help her heal.
Callum watches Isla as she walks beside him.Her posture is different.Not guarded exactly, but braced.As if she’s learned that joy comes with a cost and she’s already preparing to pay it.
He hates that he recognizes it.
Keir’s bedroom waits at the end of the hall, the door ajar.Light spills across the threshold, softening the sharp lines of the stone floor.The room itself is neat, restrained.Keir had never been a man who let chaos linger in his personal space.Chaos belonged in music, not in the places where he slept.
The envelope sits on the bed, untouched since they last stood here.
White.Ordinary.Heavy.
Isla stops just inside the room.
“This is it,” she says.
Callum nods.“We don’t have to rush.”
She lets out a breath that sounds suspiciously like a laugh.“If I don’t do it now, I won’t do it at all.I’d like to put this behind me.”
She crosses the room and picks up the envelope.Her fingers tighten around it, then loosen again, like she’s testing how much pressure it can take.
“I don’t want to read it,” she says suddenly.
Callum turns toward her.“All right.”
