Aurelia's POV
Sunday mornings were becoming my favourite part of the week.
No hearings.
No case files.
No urgent calls from the office.
Just sunlight, a quiet garden, and Vincent Montclair behaving like a man who had discovered that spending an entire day with his girlfriend was a perfectly reasonable use of time.
He had arrived at my house early that morning with breakfast.
Again.
I opened the door and stared at him.
"Do you ever sleep?"
"Of course."
"Then why are you here so early?"
"Because I woke up."
"That is not a logical explanation."
"It worked well enough to get me through your front door."
I laughed and stepped aside.
He entered, placed the breakfast on the table, and followed me into the garden.
We spent the morning doing absolutely nothing important.
I read a book while Vincent attempted to convince me that I should take a break.
I told him I was taking a break by reading.
He argued that reading was still an activity.
I told him that talking was also an activity and suggested he stop.
He looked offended for approximately three seconds.
Then he stole my book.
I stared at him.
"Give it back."
"Ask nicely."
"Vincent."
"That isn't asking."
I stood.
He raised the book above his head.
I tried to reach it.
He laughed.
"You're enjoying this far too much," I told him.
"Immensely."
I finally caught his wrist and took the book back.
Then I kissed his cheek.
He went quiet.
I smiled.
"What's wrong, Mr. Montclair? Lost your ability to speak?"
He cleared his throat.
"hehe."
I laughed so hard that I had to sit down.
For the rest of the morning, I made it my personal mission to discover how many ways I could make Vincent blush.
I discovered quite a few.
And I intended to use that information later.
We were sitting together beneath the garden pergola when Vincent became unusually quiet.
I closed my book.
"All right. What is it?"
He looked at me.
"What?"
"You have that expression again."
"What expression?"
"The one you wear when you've planned something and are waiting for the correct moment to tell me."
He smiled faintly.
"Do you always analyse everything?"
"Yes."
"Even me?"
"Especially you."
He took my hand.
"I'd like you to meet my parents."
I blinked.
For a moment, I wondered whether I'd heard him correctly.
"Your parents?"
"Yes."
"Both of them?"
He stared at me.
"Aurelia, I wasn't planning to introduce you to one parent and leave the other at home."
I smacked his arm lightly.
"Don't be sarcastic!"
He laughed.
I looked away, suddenly nervous.
"What if they don't like me?"
His expression softened.
"They'll have to get in line behind me."
I turned towards him.
"Vincent."
"I'm serious."
He squeezed my hand.
"They don't need you to impress them. I want them to meet the person I love."
My heart did something deeply inconvenient.
"When?"
"Today, if you're comfortable with that."
I looked at him.
"Today?"
"We can choose another day."
I considered it for a moment.
Then I nodded.
"All right."
His smile appeared slowly.
"All right?"
"Yes, Vincent. Stop looking so pleased with yourself."
"Impossible."
I rolled my eyes.
He kissed my forehead.
And just like that, my quiet Sunday had become significantly more interesting.
The Montclair mansion was exactly what I expected from Vincent.
Large.
Elegant.
Immaculately maintained.
And somehow still welcoming.
When we arrived, Vincent took my hand before leading me inside.
His mother was waiting in the entrance hall.
The moment she saw us, her face brightened.
"Vincent!"
She embraced her son, then turned towards me with a warm smile.
"And you must be Aurelia."
I smiled.
"Yes, ma'am. It's lovely to meet you."
"Oh, please. Call me by my name."
She took both my hands.
"I've heard so much about you."
I glanced at Vincent.
He suddenly looked very interested in the ceiling.
I narrowed my eyes.
"What exactly has he told you?"
His mother laughed.
"Enough to know that my son has been behaving rather strangely lately."
"Mother."
"And that he has been smiling at his phone."
"Mother."
"And that he has apparently developed a sudden interest in arriving home on time."
I turned towards Vincent.
He looked betrayed.
I smiled sweetly.
"Interesting."
His mother laughed and led us into the sitting room.
His father joined us shortly afterwards.
He was composed and observant, with the kind of presence that made a person instinctively sit a little straighter.
He greeted me politely, then invited me to sit.
"So, Aurelia. Vincent tells me you're a lawyer."
"Yes, sir."
"And you work with him?"
"Yes."
He asked about my work, my education, and the cases I had handled.
His questions were direct, but not unkind.
He wasn't interested in hearing me recite achievements.
He wanted to understand how I thought.
At one point, he presented me with a hypothetical legal dispute involving a contractual obligation and a disagreement over the interpretation of a clause.
I listened carefully before answering.
I explained how I would approach the problem, what evidence I would need, and why I wouldn't reach a conclusion before reviewing the relevant documents and applicable law.
He leaned back slightly.
"And if your initial interpretation proved incorrect?"
"Then I'd correct it."
He raised an eyebrow.
"Without hesitation?"
"Of course. Being wrong isn't the problem, sir. Refusing to reconsider your position after the evidence changes is."
For a moment, he simply looked at me.
Then he smiled.
"Good answer."
Vincent, who had been sitting beside me, looked far too pleased.
His father noticed.
"Don't look so proud, son. She answered the question herself."
I laughed.
Vincent sighed.
"I see how this is going to be."
His mother patted his shoulder.
"You're not the centre of attention today."
He looked at me.
"Aurelia, please defend me."
I smiled.
"Your Honour, the defendant is guilty."
His father laughed.
And for the first time since entering the mansion, my nervousness disappeared.
They weren't treating me as someone who needed to prove she deserved to be there.
They were simply getting to know me.
And that meant more than I had expected.
Later, Vincent offered to show me around the house.
We walked through the corridors, past framed photographs and carefully arranged shelves.
Eventually, we reached his bedroom.
It was surprisingly simple compared with the rest of the mansion.
The room was tidy, with a large bookshelf, a desk near the window, and photographs arranged along one shelf.
I walked towards them.
One photograph caught my attention.
Vincent stood beside a young man.
They were both smiling.
There was something familiar in the way they stood together, something that suggested a closeness that didn't need to be explained.
I turned towards Vincent.
"Is this your brother?"
His expression changed.
He came to stand beside me.
"Yes."
I looked back at the photograph.
"When was it taken?"
"The last time we were together."
His voice had grown quieter.
I didn't ask another question immediately.
He looked at the picture for a long moment.
"I keep thinking about that day sometimes. All the things we spoke about. All the things I thought we'd have time for."
He swallowed.
"I didn't know it would be the last photograph we'd take together."
I turned towards him.
"Vincent."
He gave me a small smile.
"I'm all right."
I raised an eyebrow.
"That wasn't a question."
He laughed quietly.
Then he looked at the photograph again.
"I miss him."
"I know."
I took his hand.
"You don't have to stop missing him just because you're trying to be happy."
He looked at me.
For a moment, he seemed unable to find an answer.
Then he brought my hand to his lips and kissed it.
"Thank you."
I squeezed his hand.
We stood together for a while before I noticed another photograph on the shelf.
This one was smaller.
I stepped closer.
Then stopped.
It was me.
A photograph of me from the day Vincent and I had first met.
I stared at it.
Then slowly turned towards him.
"Vincent Montclair."
He went very still.
"Yes?"
"Why do you have a photograph of me in your bedroom?"
He looked at the photograph.
Then at me.
Then back at the photograph.
"It's a rather nice photograph."
I crossed my arms.
"That is not an answer."
He cleared his throat.
"I may have borrowed it."
"Borrowed?"
"Temporarily."
"From where?"
He looked away.
"Your wallet."
I stared at him.
"You stole a photograph from my wallet?"
"Stole is such an unpleasant word."
"Vincent!"
He laughed, but his ears had turned red.
"I intended to return it."
"When?"
He considered the question.
"I hadn't established a deadline."
I burst out laughing.
He looked thoroughly embarrassed.
I stepped closer.
"Wait a minute."
His smile faded into a wary expression.
"What?"
"You kept my photograph from the day we first met?"
He nodded reluctantly.
"And you've had it here all this time?"
"Yes."
I tilted my head.
"Vincent, did you like me that much from the beginning?"
He looked at me.
Then, very quietly, he said, "Yes."
My smile softened.
"How much?"
He sighed.
"Enough to keep a photograph of you in my room, apparently."
I laughed and rose onto my toes to kiss him.
When I drew back, his face had turned even redder.
I brushed my fingers against his cheek.
"You know, you're cute when you get shy."
He closed his eyes briefly.
"Please don't."
"My little baby."
"Aurelia."
"My very serious, very intimidating boyfriend."
He opened his eyes.
"Are you finished?"
"Not remotely."
He pulled me closer and kissed me before I could continue.
When he drew back, I was smiling too much to say anything clever.
He looked pleased with himself.
"Finally. Silence."
I smacked his arm.
He laughed.
And for a little while, the room felt lighter.
The photograph of his brother remained on the shelf.
So did mine.
Two different memories.
Two different parts of his life.
And I was grateful that he had trusted me enough to show me both.
Dinner with his parents was warmer than I had expected.
His mother asked about my interests, my work, and my family. His father continued to ask questions, though they gradually became less like an interview and more like a conversation.
By the end of the evening, I found myself laughing at stories about Vincent's childhood.
Apparently, he had once tried to convince his parents that he could organise the entire household better than the staff.
"He was eight," his mother explained.
"I had a system," Vincent protested.
"You labelled the kitchen cupboards."
"It was efficient."
"You labelled the cupboards in three languages."
"That was international efficiency."
I laughed so hard that I nearly spilled my water.
Vincent looked at me.
"You're enjoying this far too much."
"Yes I am."
His father nodded solemnly.
"She's fitting in already."
After dinner, Vincent drove me back to his house rather than mine.
I looked at him as he parked.
"Why are we here?"
"Because it's late, and I'd like you to stay tonight."
I raised an eyebrow.
"And what about my house?"
"We'll arrange for your things to be brought over, or I can drive you home if you'd prefer."
I studied him for a moment.
He wasn't assuming.
He was asking.
I smiled.
"I'll stay."
His expression softened.
"All right."
We changed into comfortable clothes, and he gave me a spare set of his clothes to wear before showing me where I could put my things.
When we finally settled into bed, we stayed on our respective sides, talking quietly in the dark.
I told him about a ridiculous case-related dream I'd once had.
He told me about a school competition he had lost and how he had spent an entire week insisting the judges had misunderstood his argument.
"That sounds familiar," I whispered.
He turned towards me.
"Are you suggesting I'm stubborn?"
"I'm suggesting you're very stubborn."
"And yet you love me."
I smiled.
"Unfortunately."
He laughed softly.
Then he reached for my hand beneath the covers.
I held it.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
Then he said, "Aurelia?"
"Hmm?"
"Thank you for coming today."
I turned towards him.
"Thank you for introducing me to them."
He squeezed my hand.
"I wanted you to know that you have a place in my life beyond the office and the cases."
I felt something warm settle in my chest.
"I know, Vincent."
I moved closer and rested my head against his shoulder.
He kissed my forehead.
"Goodnight, Little Swan."
"Goodnight, my little baby."
He groaned.
I laughed quietly and closed my eyes.
And that night, there was no case to solve, no secret to uncover, and no difficult question waiting for us in the morning.
Just his hand holding mine.
Just the quiet comfort of being together.
And the feeling that, for once, we were allowed to be happy.
Vincent's POV
Aurelia fell asleep before I did.
She was curled beside me, her hand resting in mine, completely unaware of the thoughts moving through my mind.
Italy.
Her mother.
The place where her life had begun, the place she still carried with her even when she was thousands of miles away.
I wanted to take her there.
Not for a case.
Not because something had gone wrong.
But because I wanted to meet the woman who had raised her and ask for her blessing before I made the most important promise of my life.
I looked towards the photograph of my brother on the bedside table.
For a moment, I wondered what he would say if he could see me now.
Probably something insufferable.
He would tease me for smiling at my phone. He would ask how I had managed to fall for someone who could out-argue me before breakfast. He would probably laugh when he discovered that I had kept a photograph of her from the day we met.
I smiled to myself.
Then I looked at Aurelia again.
I didn't want to rush her.
I didn't want to turn our happiness into another obligation or make a decision that belonged to both of us without giving her a voice in it.
But I knew what I wanted.
I wanted a future with her.
I wanted the ordinary mornings, the arguments over ridiculous things, the late-night conversations, the cases, the laughter, and every quiet moment in between.
I wanted to stand beside her when life was difficult and celebrate with her when it was kind.
And when the time was right, I wanted to ask her to marry me.
Not because I was afraid of losing her.
Not because I needed a promise that nothing would ever change.
But because I wanted to choose her for the rest of my life, and I wanted her to have the freedom to choose me back.
I brushed a loose strand of hair away from her face.
"One day, Little Swan," I whispered.
She stirred slightly but didn't wake.
I smiled.
"One day, I'll take you home to Italy."
And when that day came, I would ask her mother for her blessing.
Then I would ask Aurelia the question I had been carrying in my heart.
Not yet.
But soon.