Chapter 63: The Way She Smiles
The sun had already dipped low, casting gold across the garden like spilled honey. In the drowsy warmth of late afternoon, Eva lay curled up in Seraphina's lap, her tiny fingers woven loosely with Seraphina's. They were alone on the stone bench beneath the wisteria arch, where petals had begun to fall around them like faint snow. The breeze carried a whisper of lavender and old secrets.
Vivienne stood at the window, just beyond the curtain, still and quiet.
She had not meant to intrude. In fact, she had simply been passing through when the sound of laughter—a kind of light, crystalline joy she would recognize anywhere—had stopped her in her tracks. It was Eva's voice, threaded with delight, echoing faintly through the windowpane. And then, Seraphina's softer one, a velvet murmur too low to make out. But Vivienne didn't need to hear the words. The tone alone said everything.
Eva clung to Seraphina like a vine to light. And Seraphina let her. No—she drew her in, holding her so gently it was as if Eva were a dream she feared would vanish at the slightest breath.
Vivienne's heart swelled in her chest with something that felt too complex to name.
She watched as Eva brushed Seraphina's cheek with her lips, then tucked her head under her chin. Seraphina rested her cheek atop the child's crown and closed her eyes.
A familiar ache bloomed within Vivienne.
Eva had no idea what she was doing. No idea what her innocent affections stirred in the girl who adored her. But Vivienne saw it, even in the stillness. Seraphina's restraint was so complete it shimmered like glass—flawless, and yet delicate, dangerous if cracked. She never touched Eva in any way that wasn't appropriate. Never lingered too long or said anything that could be misread. And yet, the weight of her feelings radiated like light through a prism, casting subtle colors over everything.
Vivienne had seen it before.
Once, it had been Evelyn chasing her through garden hedges and marbled halls, barefoot and wild, always laughing, always insisting. Evelyn had been so small then, so full of love she could barely contain it, pressing kisses to her neck and arms as if they were a part of speech. "Mienne, I love you more than the stars," she used to say. "I'll kiss every freckle so no one else will get to." And Vivienne, even then, had never said no. Not once. She had only scooped her up and held her closer.
How could she ever be annoyed? Evie was adorable.
She had clung to Vivienne with the same stubborn tenderness Eva now showed Seraphina, and Vivienne had understood what it meant before Evelyn ever did. That kind of love—the kind born from awe, from adoration so vast it turned into longing—was slow to reveal its shape. But it was real.
As the memory faded, Vivienne pulled back from the curtain, her heart too full for words.
Later, when Eva was finally tucked away for her evening nap, Vivienne found Evelyn in their private quarters, the scent of warm vanilla and old books rising around her. Evelyn was lounging on their bed, bare-shouldered in a silk robe the color of dusk, flipping lazily through a novel, her hair still damp from a bath.
"You should've seen them," Vivienne murmured as she stepped into the room, her voice low, thoughtful.
Evelyn glanced up with a sleepy smile. "Eva and Yue?"
Vivienne nodded, closing the door behind her. "She had her whole body curled in Seraphina's lap. Her arms like this—" She mimicked Eva's tiny grip around her own waist. "It was… breathtaking. She looked like she belonged there."
Evelyn's smile widened. "She always says Yue is her favorite place."
"She means it," Vivienne said, sliding onto the bed beside her, her voice softening. "She doesn't even know what she's saying half the time, but it's always true. And Yue—Seraphina—she never turns her away. Ever. No matter how many times Eva begs to be carried or kissed or read to, she always says yes."
Evelyn's eyes dimmed slightly, her fingers pausing on a page. "Do you think she'll understand someday?"
"That she loves her?" Vivienne mused. "That it's more than just friendship? I think… eventually. But not now. Right now, it's just sweetness. Blind trust. Safety."
Evelyn leaned in and pressed a kiss to Vivienne's bare shoulder. "You always said I used to do that."
Vivienne laughed softly, her eyes closing at the touch. "You did. My little barnacle. You followed me everywhere."
"Because you were mine," Evelyn whispered, nuzzling her neck. "And I didn't want anyone else to have you."
"You used to cry when I left the room," Vivienne teased, wrapping her arms around Evelyn's waist and tugging her close. "And then you'd kiss every inch of me like you were trying to memorize me."
Evelyn kissed her now, slow and sweet. "I still do."
Their lips met again, deeper this time. Vivienne's hands slipped beneath the silk, trailing along Evelyn's spine.
"You were so patient with me," Evelyn murmured as she pulled back. "You never told me to stop."
"Because you were adorable," Vivienne said, brushing her nose against hers. "And I loved you."
"I still love you."
"I know."
Their kisses deepened, their bodies entwining slowly, reverently. There was no urgency—only the sacred rhythm of two souls who had loved one another through lifetimes.
And when they were finally tangled in the quiet aftermath, skin flushed, hearts steadying, Evelyn's voice broke the silence again.
"She really does love her, doesn't she?"
Vivienne nodded, drawing lazy circles on Evelyn's back. "Like a little moon to her own sun. She shines for her."
*****
Later, after Eva had been escorted home, Seraphina sat alone in the garden, her hands folded neatly in her lap.
The silence felt heavy after Eva's laughter. The absence of her weight—so small and warm—left a strange ache in Seraphina's arms.
The wisteria still swayed above, and the petals fell, but the air no longer sang.
Seraphina closed her eyes and leaned back against the bench. A breeze tugged her hair loose, and she let it. There was no one to see her now, no child to comfort or soothe, no reason to hold herself quite so carefully.
Her thoughts wandered—dangerously, as they often did.
Eva's voice echoed in her memory.
"You smell like snow and secrets."
Seraphina pressed her palm against her chest. Her heart was still there, beating too loudly.
She remembered the way Eva looked at her that afternoon, her eyes wide and adoring, her fingers tangled in the lace of Seraphina's collar. "I like you the best, Yue, my Ina," she had whispered. "More than stories. More than cake."
Seraphina had laughed, but it had pierced her all the same. She wondered how much more her heart could hold before it unraveled.
She wasn't foolish. She knew the world would see their closeness and begin to ask questions. The Council, the estate, even Eva's parents—they trusted her, yes, but trust was a fragile thing. One rumor, one misstep, and it could all be gone.
But how could she not love her?
Eva was light incarnate. A child, yes—but also a soul so brilliant it hurt to look at her for too long. Her mind was a field of stars. Her heart, wide and open like a poem still being written.
Seraphina had seen the way Eva watched her when she thought she wasn't looking—those long, lingering stares filled with questions too big for her age. She had felt the way Eva melted in her arms, the way her tiny fingers clung like roots.
She had even seen the little notebook once—filled with scribbled verses.
"To Yue, my Ina, my moon with eyes like stories…"
Seraphina pressed her forehead against her knees, her chest tightening.
She wanted to protect her. Always.
But sometimes, when Eva's breath warmed her neck or her sleepy whispers curled beneath Seraphina's ribs, she wondered if she could protect her from herself.
"I'll always keep you safe," she had told her.
And she would.
Even if it meant locking every trembling piece of her heart away.
Even if it meant bearing this love in silence for the rest of her life.
Seraphina looked up at the falling petals and whispered to the wind,
"Just let her keep smiling. That's all I ask."