The Things That Were Never Said
The garden behind Celeste's house was small but lovingly kept.
Rows of herbs lined the stone path, roses climbing a white trellis, sunlight filtering gently through the leaves above. Serena crouched beside a patch of soil, sleeves rolled up, fingers brushing dirt from a young plant.
"I still don't understand why you insisted on helping," she said, glancing over her shoulder.
Lucien was beside her, sleeves rolled, hands already dirty. "Because my mother asked. And because you look less terrifying with soil on your hands."
She snorted softly. "Rude."
They worked in comfortable silence for a while. No rumors. No cameras. No expectations. Just the sound of birds and the scrape of a small shovel.
Serena stood, brushing her hands together—and that's when it happened.
Her foot slipped on loose gravel.
She gasped.
Lucien reacted instantly, dropping the shovel and reaching out. His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her back against his chest.
Their faces collided slightly.
And then—
Their lips brushed.
It wasn't planned.
It wasn't perfect.
It was soft, surprised, and breathtaking.
Serena froze.
Lucien froze.
Time seemed to stop.
Slowly, Serena pulled back, cheeks burning, eyes wide. "I—"
Lucien lifted his hand before she could finish, thumb brushing gently over her lower lip. His voice was low. Uncertain. "You didn't imagine that… right?"
Her breath caught.
"No," she whispered.
His thumb lingered, tracing the curve of her mouth like he was memorizing it. "Good."
Then he leaned in.
This time, it wasn't an accident.
His lips pressed to hers—gentle, unhurried, reverent. Like he was afraid she might disappear if he moved too fast. Serena's hands fisted lightly in his shirt, heart pounding as she kissed him back.
When they finally parted, she was breathless.
Lucien rested his forehead against hers, smiling softly. "I've wanted to do that since the runway."
She laughed quietly, still flustered. "You're impossible."
"And you kissed me anyway."
Lunch at Celeste's house felt… warm.
Serena noticed everything.
How Lucien pulled her chair out before she sat.
How he leaned over casually and picked the onions out of her food, dropping them onto his own plate without a word.
How he listened—really listened—when she spoke, eyes focused, body turned toward her like nothing else mattered.
Celeste noticed too.
She watched them with a gentle smile, heart full.
Lucien laughed more here. Softer. Freer. Like a boy who had finally come home.
Serena smiled to herself.
He's happy, she thought.
And that made everything feel worth it.
Later, when the dishes were done and the table wiped clean, Celeste handed Serena a towel.
"Come," she said quietly. "Help me with this."
They stood side by side, rinsing plates, the hum of the sink filling the silence.
Celeste spoke softly. "Lucien never wanted to leave."
Serena's hands stilled.
"When his father won custody," Celeste continued, eyes distant, "Lucien locked himself in his room. He cried every night. He kept saying he wanted Elise."
Serena swallowed.
"He told me he promised to marry you," Celeste said gently. "He begged. He screamed. He said promises mattered."
Serena's chest tightened painfully.
"He didn't leave because he wanted to," Celeste said firmly. "Please… don't hold that against him."
Serena nodded slowly, tears threatening. "I didn't know."
"I know," Celeste said. "And there's something else."
She turned, meeting Serena's eyes. "I knew about your illness. About the fever. About how long you waited."
Serena's breath hitched.
"But Lucien didn't," Celeste said. "He was sick too—in his own way. He stopped eating. He cried himself to sleep for months."
Flashback
Lucien sat in a dark bedroom, clutching a paper ring, cheeks wet with tears.
"I promised," he sobbed. "I promised Elise."
His mother held him tightly, crying with him.
"I know, my love," she whispered. "I know."
Back in the present, Serena wiped her eyes quickly.
"I waited," she said quietly.
"And he never stopped wanting to come back," Celeste replied.
They stood in silence for a moment.
Then Serena nodded. "Thank you… for telling me."
That night, Serena lay awake in the guest room.
Her lips still tingled.
Her heart felt lighter.
For the first time, the past didn't feel like a wound.
It felt like something that was finally healing.