Romero felt softer that evening.
The kids were with Hailey for a sleepover, Arabella armed with glitter pens and a movie list, Jessy determined to eat his own sock so the penthouse was quiet in a way Bella had almost forgotten. Enough space for breath. Enough space to feel.
Chris knocked on her doorframe with a smile that reached his eyes. "Dinner? Just us."
She blinked at him. Navy shirt, sleeves rolled, the top button open like a promise. "You cooked?"
He winced. "Learned from the last time."
He stepped aside, revealing a small table set near the balcony doors: two plates of still-steaming cacio e pepe, a bowl of strawberries, a bottle breathing in a decanter. Beyond the glass, London was a river of lights.
Bella laughed. "When did you learn to plate pasta?"
"I bribed Elliot to watch three tutorials and then threatened him not to tell anyone." He pulled out her chair. "Sit. Let me make up for... a lot."
They ate and talked the kind that drifts, doubles back, then finds something new. He asked about the tiny things: Jessy's new babble ("d-d-dah"), the way Arabella had started humming before she fell asleep, whether Bella preferred jasmine or bergamot tea now. She asked about boardroom annoyances, Imelda's auditions, whether he'd finally slept more than five hours a night.
When the plates were pushed aside, he reached across and took her hand, tracing circles into her palm.
"I'm proud of you," he said simply. "For getting your name back. For staying soft. For staying."
Warmth swelled, the kind that made her shy and brave at once. "I missed this."
"Me too." His voice dropped. "Can I...?"
He stood and came around to her chair. She rose to meet him, and he tucked a stray curl behind her ear like it mattered. His kiss was unhurried no storm, no apology just the right now of two people who'd crawled their way back to one another. When he finally pulled away, her forehead rested against his jaw.
"Tomorrow," she murmured, "I'm going back."
"To the airline," he said, not asking.
She nodded. "Training first. Then short-haul. I need to feel the aisle again. The hum. The little kindnesses."
His hand tightened at her waist, protective instinct flaring and settling in the same breath. "I'll keep the wolves on the other side of the fence. But I won't stand in your way."
Her smile was small and fierce. "Good."
He kissed the corner of it. "And after your first day back, I'm running you a bath. No arguments."
"We'll see," she teased, and he groaned like it was a contract signed.
They ended on the balcony, her back to his chest, his arms around her middle, both of them watching the city move. When they finally turned in, he didn't rush the night. He undid the zipper of her dress like a secret he already knew, and loved her with the reverence of someone who had almost lost the right to. It was tender and breathless and full of quiet awe. After, they lay tangled her ear over his heartbeat, his fingers tracing lazy patterns at her hip until sleep took them both.
Morning was not gentle.
The air had that wet London bite, and the small crowd outside the training center had doubled since dawn. Long lenses, hot mics, the syrupy smile of a gossip host hoping for a tear.
Elliot's SUV pulled to the curb. He glanced back. "We can peel to the service entrance."
Bella fastened her ID lanyard. "No. I'll go through the front."
Chris looked at her profile the way a lighthouse looks at a storm. "Text me when you're inside."
"I will." She squeezed his fingers, then nudged the door open.
Flash. Questions. The familiar swarm.
"Bella, how does it feel to be back?"
"Any comment on Thelma's sentencing date?"
"Are you and Mr. Hampson..."
"Is it true Arabella..."
She didn't flinch. "I'm here to work," she said, even and clear, and walked straight through the noise.
Inside, the security guard blinked, then grinned. "Welcome back, Ms. Walter."
Her chest stung. "Thank you."
The lobby felt smaller than she remembered and kinder. She could hear her name in whispers, the same way it used to slice; today it brushed past like a breeze.
"WELL WELL."
Bianca stood with a lanyard, a coffee, and a smirk that trembled into a wobble. In one heartbeat they were hugging, laughing and crying into each other's shoulders.
"You left me with men who microwave fish," Bianca sniffed. "Unforgivable."
"You got pregnant on me," Bella shot back. "Also unforgivable."
They pulled apart, eyes shiny, grins real. "I'm proud of you," Bianca said. "Now thrive, so I can freeload your buddy passes."
"Deal."
A throat cleared softly behind them. "Excuse me, does anyone here need a chaperone for an emotional reunion?"
"Alexis!" Bella launched into her friend. Alexis spun her around and set her down grinning, then flashed a ring that caught the lobby lights.
Bella gasped. "No!"
"Yes," Alexis sang, presenting the man at her side the same pilot who'd once hovered shyly at break rooms and hallways. He squeezed Bella's hand, gentle and sure.
"Princely kept me alive on red-eyes," Alexis said. "Then he proposed in a maintenance hangar, because romance."
Prince winced. "I had fairy lights."
"You did," Alexis conceded, beaming at him before turning back to Bella. "We're here. Whatever you need."
A few coworkers approached. Some were stiff, some warm, a few sheepish with late apologies. Bella took what was offered and let the rest go. She changed into a crisp navy blazer, tucked her hair, and stepped into the briefing room as if her feet had never forgotten the count of the aisle.
Training was muscle memory and new updates. Safety demos, conflict de-escalation refreshers, a surprising module on media harassment. By lunch, she'd stopped bracing for whispers. By late afternoon, she wasn't listening for them at all.
Outside, as the winter light tilted, the swarm had thinned to a handful. A microphone caught the edge of her smile when she stepped out with Bianca and Alexis.
"How was your first day?" someone called.
Bella paused. "Honest answer?" The reporter nodded, wary.
"It felt like flying," she said, and kept walking.
Across the street, an unmarked sedan idled. Chris watched the three women exit, Elliot in the driver's seat pretending not to see the fond curve at his boss's mouth.
"Do not," Elliot said, eyes forward, "let her catch you being obvious."
"I'm not obvious," Chris lied, and texted: Proud of you. Car's on the side if you want it. If not, I'll pretend I didn't offer.
Her reply came with a photo: Bianca mid-squint, Alexis waving the ring like a weapon. Girls' ride. See you at home. Don't overfeed our kids.
He snorted. No promises. He threatened me with a rattle.
Dusk, back at Romero. The kids burst through first Arabella with a paper crown she'd made at Hailey's, Jessy squealing when he heard Bella's keys.
"Mama!" he crowed, arms up. She scooped him, inhaled that warm baby scent, then kissed Arabella's temple, smoothing a smudge of glitter from her cheek.
"How was Auntie Hailey's?"
"We made a movie and I was the dragon princess and Uncle Andrew cried," Arabella reported solemnly.
Chris appeared in the doorway with a hand to his heart. "For the record, I did not cry. I experienced an emotional hydration event."
Bella arched a brow. "You cried."
"Like a hero," he conceded, taking Jessy and launching into the kind of nonsense conversation that made their son giggle and kick.
Dinner was uncomplicated roast chicken, soft carrots for Jessy, Arabella bargaining three peas for dessert. After bedtime stories (Arabella reading one page, Bella reading two, Chris dramatically voicing a dog with a Scottish accent no one asked for), the house settled.
Bella found him in his study later, sleeves rolled again, the city making silhouettes of his shoulders. He didn't hear her at first. She watched how the weight had shifted on him these past weeks lighter at the edges, heavier in the center. A man still carrying, now also being carried.
"Mr. Hampson," she said softly.
He turned. The look that crossed his face every time still unraveled something in her chest. "Ms. Walter."
She walked to him, slid onto the desk, and tugged him closer by his tie. "Report."
He bracketed her hips with his hands. "Security perimeter is clean. Cassandra's appeals are dead on arrival. The Fredericks are a bonfire. Lillian and Neil's bail conditions read like a bedtime story for jail."
"And me?"
He kissed her knuckles. "You were magnificent."
"Keep going."
"Unstoppable."
"More."
"Ruthless."
She hummed, pleased. "Bath?"
He smiled like he'd been waiting all day to be asked. "Already running."
The water steamed the mirrors. He undid her buttons slowly not worship, not apology, something steadier then helped her into the deep tub, sank in behind, and gathered her back to his chest. The room smelled like lavender and warm porcelain. He washed her shoulders, her arms, the inside of her wrists, the hollow at the base of her throat, each touch an exhale.
"Thank you," she murmured.
"For what?"
"For letting me be big again. For not making me small to keep me safe."
He went still, then pressed his mouth to the damp curve where her neck met her shoulder. "You were never small. I was."
She turned in the water and kissed him for that slow, deep, a promise and a reward. Later, wrapped in a robe that wasn't hers and his heartbeat that was, they drifted to the bedroom. They didn't hurry the night any more than the one before; they just let it arrive. Soft heat, low laughter, a gasp that sounded like relief. When they finally collapsed, her leg slung over his waist, he pulled the duvet and tucked her close like a precious, ordinary thing.
"Tomorrow," he said against her hair, "I'm making pancakes."
"You can't flip," she yawned.
"I'll hire someone who can stand behind me and secretly flip."
She snorted into his shoulder. "Cheater."
He kissed her forehead. "Strategist."
Outside, London kept moving. Inside, the house held. And on a night that could have been loud with old ghosts, it was instead full of small, living things steam fading from a mirror, a sock abandoned by a nine-month-old revolutionary, glitter from a dragon princess catching in the hall light.
Tomorrow would bring new headlines, new filings, maybe even new fights.
But tonight, Bella had her work back, her name back, her children sleeping safe, and the man she loved making ridiculous promises about pancakes. And that was enough to make the room feel like summer.