“Would you have looked for me?” I ask, suddenly needing to know if our connection on the plane had meant as much to him as it had to me.
“Would have asked access to the passenger list,” he confesses, his honesty disarming me completely. “Too stalkerish?”
I shake my head, charmed by his admission. “The list should be confidential, so yeah.” The idea that he would have considered such measures to find me again makes something warm unfurl in my chest.
“It would've been worth it. I couldn’t get you out of my mind, Izzy.” He uses my childhood nickname with such natural ease, as though the years between have collapsed like a house of cards. “It’s such a weird thing.”
“I get it,” I admit, because how could I not when I’ve been equally affected? “Why didn’t you join me at the airport?”
His expression shifts, something guarded replacing the open warmth. “I wanted to, but you were with your boyfriend,” he says, his eyes locked with mine, jaw visibly tensing. The possessive note in his voice shouldn’t please me as much as it does.
“My boyfriend? Who? Julian?” I scoff, the idea so absurd, it nearly makes me laugh. “He’s just Dad’s bodyguard.” I don’t add that I actively dislike Julian and the way his gaze lingers inappropriately whenever Dad isn’t watching. As long as he maintains professional distance, I tolerate his presence as another of Dad’s poor hiring decisions.
Nate’s entire demeanor transforms at this revelation—shoulders relaxing, jaw unclenching, eyes softening. “So… a lawyer, huh?” He transitions awkwardly, clearly relieved but attempting to recover his composure.
“That was always the plan for me,” I remind him, thinking back to all those childhood talks where I told him how Dad had my entire education mapped out before I even lost my first tooth. “And honestly? I like it.” The words come easy—because it’s true. Even if I didn’t choose this path, there’s a strange satisfaction in the challenge. Law pushes me in ways I never expected.
“I’m glad, Izzy.” The genuine warmth in his voice wraps around me like a familiar blanket.
“God, I missed hearing you call me that,” I whisper. That name—his voice—opens the floodgates. Suddenly I’m back in the library, sharing secrets in hushed tones, or tearing through the garden with his laughter chasing after me. Then the tears come, sharp and sudden, like the past just reached out and grabbed me.
A prickling awareness at the nape of my neck draws my attention toward the house. The Duke watches us through the terrace doors, his expression unreadable but somehow weighted with significance. A strange uneasiness passes through me, raising goosebumps along my arms.
“What’s up?” Nate asks, reaching for my hand with the same intuitive understanding of my moods he possessed as a child.
I shrug, trying to dismiss the sensation even as a chill traces my spine. “Mmm, nothing. Your father is watching us.”
“You’ve always been his favorite,” Nate says, his tone light but underscored with an old hurt. “I think if you’d been his daughter, he would have been the proudest father in the world.”
I playfully swat his hand, refusing to let melancholy intrude on our reunion. “Don’t be silly, Nathan. You were a child prodigy, excelling in everything. You’re the pride of everyone here.” The words emerge automatically, a reflection of the objective truth as I’ve always seen it—Nathan, brilliant and capable, constantly performing to exacting standards.
“I had to, Izzy.” A weariness in his voice speaks of years carrying expectations like physical weights. “It was what he expected of me. Too bad he then sent me to a military academy. Not that I regret it. I learned so much there, building fantastic friendships, but I also lost a lot of friends.” When his eyes meet mine, I see shadows there that weren’t present in the boy I knew—grief and experience that have carved deeper dimensions into his character.
“I know, and it wasn’t what you wanted for your future, either.” I recall his childhood dreams with perfect clarity—space exploration, discovery, adventure. The military path seemed so contrary to those aspirations.
“No, but it’s too late to think about what I wanted. Now that’s who I am and I’m proud of my job.” His acceptance carries dignity rather than resignation.
I reach out to touch his arm, unable to maintain even minimal distance between us. The taut muscle beneath my fingertips responds with a subtle tensing that sends awareness shimmering through me. Nathan tugs my chair closer, the metal legs scraping softly against stone, and pulls me into another embrace—different from the polite greeting inside, more intimate and intentional. This hug communicates fifteen years of absence, of missed confidences and untold stories. I hold him equally tight, inhaling his scent and storing it in my memory alongside the boy who once taught me how to skip stones across the pond in the garden.
“I really missed you, Izzy.” he confesses, his voice rough with emotion that makes my throat constrict.
“You too, Nate. I was hoping to meet you again one day,” I tell him, my cheek pressed against the solid warmth of his shoulder. When he loosens his hold, I suddenly remember our childhood conversations about the future, about dreams and possibilities. “You know, it’s not too late to be an astronaut,” I whisper with a smile, recalling his most cherished ambition.
Nathan bursts out laughing, the sound rich and warm against the cool evening air, drawing our parents’ curious gazes through the terrace doors. “How do you still remember that?” he asks, genuine wonder softening his features.
“The important things are never forgotten, and you’ve always been my safe haven,” I whisper, reaching up to adjust his slightly crooked shirt collar. The simple gesture feels startlingly intimate—my fingertips brushing against the warm skin of his neck, his pulse jumping beneath my touch. Nathan’s smile shifts into something deeper, more meaningful, his eyes darkening with words unspoken. The air between us grows charged with fifteen years of absence and the strange new awareness that has blossomed since our encounter on the plane.
Before he can speak, the Duke’s commanding presence intrudes upon our private bubble, shattering the delicate harmony we’ve begun reconstructing. I lean closer to Nathan, a conspiratorial tilt of my head. “Find those aliens to have him kidnapped,” I whisper, feeling him tense beside me as his father approaches with purposeful strides.
“You don’t know how many times I’ve prayed to the stars that they would,” he murmurs, the childhood joke carrying a weight of adult frustration that breaks my heart.
“Do you know why it didn’t work?” I ask, falling into the rhythm of our old banter as easily as breathing.
“Let me guess. I didn’t believe it enough?” The corner of his mouth quirks upward, the gesture so achingly familiar that for a moment, we could be children again, hiding from nanny Alice in the library alcove.
“No, because I wasn’t with you. We have to try it together!” I repeat the very words he once spoke to me after a failed attempt to catch fireflies—his solemn childhood assertion that our combined belief could accomplish what neither could alone.
“Oh, you remembered that too?” Surprise and pleasure mingle in his expression, as though each recovered memory is a personal gift.
