Every time I have to, it feels like someone’s slowly pressing their thumb against my chest, right where she lives. Like they’re daring me to forget she’s in there.
I wish I could show her—truly show her—that what I feel for her has nothing to do with our parents’ ambitions or last names scribbled on traditional alliances. That what lives in me for her is something real. Something pure. Something mine.
After another sleepless night, I left the manor before breakfast. Couldn’t sit still. When her morning text came through, a simple “Good morning”, it was all the permission I needed to walk in Barlow’s manor to take her away.
We had breakfast in a cozy little café tucked in a quiet London alley. She wore a cream-colored sweater and no makeup, and still looked like a dream. Then we met the real estate agent and started our search.
The first two houses were fine. Nothing wrong with them, but… they didn’t feel like us. We both felt it. We didn’t need to say much—it was in the way her eyes flicked to mine and I knew. That silent understanding between us? God, it’s one of my favorite things.
So we drove out to Charlton Saint Gilles.
And that’s where it happened.
The third house sat in the middle of nature, surrounded by woods and silence. A huge backyard stretched into the trees, with a pool that shimmered like glass. The moment we walked in, something just clicked. Open spaces, natural light flooding the rooms, wooden beams overhead. A kitchen big enough to host our entire wedding party—if we ever decided to host.
It wasn’t perfect.
But it was ours.
The weeks fly by in a blur. Between military briefings, public events, and the quiet chaos of moving in, I barely get to see her. Every time I do, it feels like I’m trying to make up for time I haven’t even lost yet. But the guilt eats at me anyway. Because she deserves more than slivers of my attention and hasty goodbyes.
Tonight, I finally get back after a long day of prep. My body’s aching, but my heart is heavier. Because even now, even after everything, I’ve never had anything that truly belonged to me. Nothing that was mine without question. Until now. This house. Isabel.
I step inside and freeze. The place is spotless. Unfamiliar, and yet home.
Voices drift in from the kitchen. I pause, quietly listening.
“Thank you for your help, Alice. I’d have been lost or, even worse, buried in boxes.”
“Well, Izzy, I knew you wouldn’t mind my help. Not that you could have a choice. Seeing you grow up has been a pleasure, and now seeing you marry is a joy I can't explain. How’s he treating you?”
“Like a queen. Nate is amazing, and I know he’ll be a loving husband.”
“Then why do you look thoughtful? Do you have second thoughts?”
“Never,” she replies quickly, fiercely. “I feel so good and protected with him that it scares me.”
“And that’s the way it should be.”
Her words hit me like a sucker punch to the chest. I close my eyes for a beat, trying to hold them in place. I’ve been trying so hard to prove that she’s safe with me… that I might’ve missed the fact that she already feels it.
I peek in.
She’s cooking. Flour dusts her cheek. She’s wearing one of my shirts under the apron—sleeves rolled up, legs bare.
I’m a dead man.
I walk in slowly, letting the scent of herbs and home wrap around me. “Hi, baby, I’m home.”
She turns with a bright smile and a flicker of surprise. “Hey.”
I kiss her cheek before greeting Alice. “Always nice to see you here.”
Alice laughs. “Just trying to keep your bride-to-be from losing her mind. You can thank me later.”
I look around, genuinely stunned. “The house looks amazing. I was expecting towers of boxes and maybe a broken lamp or two.”
“Valerie and her team helped a lot,” Alice says with a wink.
