Ophelia’s expression softens. “Tired. A little overwhelmed.” She gives a small shrug. “But happy.”
“That’s all that matters,” mamma says, her voice thick with emotion.
We sit there for a moment, just the three of us, content simply to be together.
I lean in and kiss Ophelia’s forehead. “Get some rest.”
She squeezes my fingers. “Good night.”
Mamma kisses her temple next, taking a second longer before pulling away.
“We’ll see you in the morning,” she says softly.
We step out together and close the door behind us, leaving Ophelia cocooned in her bed.
I glance at mamma, and she gives me a small, reassuring nod.
“Good night, my love.”
She steps closer and wraps her arms around me. I hug her back and close my eyes for a moment.
It feels good… steadying.
When she pulls away, she looks straight at me, too perceptive for my liking.
“When you’re ready to talk,” she says gently, “I’ll be here. No judgement. Just love and support.”
Emotion churns in my chest, making it hard to swallow. I open my mouth to deflect, but before I can respond, one of the staff appears down the corridor carrying a large bouquet of white tulips. She nods politely in our direction as she passes.
Saved.
I smirk faintly. The man has it bad for my Lia.
Ophelia told mamma and me how she met Arlo over a year ago. Secretly dating, which, frankly, shocked me.
I never pictured Ophelia sneaking around, but I’ll give her credit where it’s due. I even high fived her. I was impressed. She definitely inherited that from me.
But she didn’t tell us everything.
I know that much. Especially with the flowers still arriving, the man is definitely grovelling.
He did something, that’s for sure.
And he’d better hope I never find out what, because I might just make my sister a widow before the wedding.
She keeps parts of it locked away. But I don’t push.
Mamma squeezes my hand.
“Good night, darling. And Merry Christmas,” she says again, before turning toward her wing of the house.
I make my way to my room, slip out of the dress I wore for dinner, and change into my Christmas pyjamas, a pair of loose trousers that sit low on my waist and a cropped long sleeve top covered in Santas, cookies, and tiny trees. I shove my feet into slippers with Santa’s face stitched on the front and pull my hair into a messy ponytail.
Dinner is over, presents have been opened. An engagement happened.
The house is quiet now, but sleep isn’t going to find me.
So I wander into the kitchen, where the cook is finishing up, wiping down the counters.
