Chapter 18: Reunion in the Rain
1300words
"Are you alright?" he asked as we wound along the lakeside road.
I considered the question, searching for honesty beyond the easy answer. "I don't know yet. Seeing my father like that—not as the towering figure from my childhood, but as a man cornered by his own choices..."
"It changes things," he finished for me.
"Yes." I turned to study his profile, the strong jaw, the silver threading through his dark hair at the temples. "What about you? Victoria's forgeries—"
"Completely discredited." His thumb traced circles on my palm. "The investigators found evidence of tampering. My name is clear."
Relief washed through me, though I'd never truly doubted his innocence. "And Orion? Will there be consequences for him?"
"He came forward voluntarily with what he knew. That counts for something." Cassian's expression softened slightly. "People can surprise you."
"Even Orion Vexley?"
"Even him."
The villa appeared around the bend, its stone façade warm against the darkening sky. As we pulled into the drive, the first raindrops began to fall—fat, heavy drops that promised a proper storm.
Inside, the villa welcomed us with familiar comfort. This place held so many memories—our first real connection, our engagement, stolen moments of happiness amid the chaos of recent weeks. I moved to the windows overlooking the lake, watching the rain intensify, turning the water's surface into a tapestry of ripples.
Cassian appeared behind me, his hands settling on my shoulders. "Hungry?"
"Not for food," I admitted, leaning back against his chest.
His soft laugh vibrated through me. "We should talk first."
"Should we?" I turned in his arms, searching his face. "Haven't we talked enough? Planned enough? Calculated every move against Victoria and my father?"
"Seraphina—"
"I'm tired of words." I touched his face, tracing the scar along his jaw that I'd memorized with my fingertips a hundred times. "I'm tired of distance and strategy and public personas."
His eyes darkened, but still he hesitated. "You've been through an ordeal today."
"And I need you." The admission came easily now, where once it would have terrified me. "Not as my protector or my champion. Just you. Us."
Something broke in his expression—the last of his restraint giving way to the same need that coursed through me. His kiss was gentle at first, then hungry, months of tension and weeks of separation igniting between us. We moved together toward the stairs, shedding the courtroom's formality with each step.
In his bedroom—our bedroom—he undressed me slowly, reverently, as if rediscovering territory both familiar and new. My hands were less patient, tugging at his clothes until we stood skin to skin, nothing between us but the whisper of rain against the windows.
"I missed you," he murmured against my neck. "Even when you were right in front of me, untouchable in that courtroom, I missed you."
"I'm here now," I echoed his words from earlier. "I'm not going anywhere."
Our lovemaking was both urgent and tender, a reclaiming and a promise. Afterward, we lay tangled in sheets and twilight, the storm outside matching the one we'd weathered together.
"I never want to be apart again," I said, my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. "Not even for show."
"Never again," he agreed, his fingers tracing patterns on my bare shoulder. "Though there will be more battles before this is truly over."
I propped myself up to look at him. "Victoria's trial."
"Yes. And the financial fallout for both our families' companies." His expression grew serious. "Your father will likely face prison time. The Whitestone name—"
"I don't care about the name." I sat up, pulling the sheet around me. "I never did."
"I know." He smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "That's one of the countless reasons I love you."
The rain intensified, drumming against the roof and windows. A restlessness filled me suddenly, an urge to feel the storm on my skin.
"Come with me," I said, slipping from the bed and grabbing his shirt from the floor.
"Where?"
"Outside."
He laughed, but followed, pulling on his trousers as I buttoned his shirt over my naked form. We padded barefoot through the villa and out onto the covered terrace. The rain created a silver curtain at the edge of the roof, the lake beyond barely visible through the downpour.
I stepped to the edge, letting rain splash against my legs. "It's beautiful."
Cassian came up behind me, his arms encircling my waist. "Reckless, but beautiful. Much like someone else I know."
I turned in his embrace, rain now dampening the shirt I wore, plastering it to my skin. "Do you remember what you said to me that first night in the library? About beauty not being symmetry of features, but intelligence, resilience, authenticity?"
"I remember everything about that night." His hands moved to frame my face. "The moment I saw you on the floor, so broken yet so defiant—I knew my life had changed forever."
"Even with my scars? My awkwardness?"
"Because of all of it. Because you were real in a world of artifice." He kissed me softly, rain mingling with the taste of him. "I fell in love with your spirit long before I saw your face without pain."
I stepped backward, drawing him with me into the full force of the rain. Water streamed over us both, soaking his hair, running in rivulets down his chest.
"Ask me again," I said, my heart suddenly racing.
He understood immediately. Sinking to one knee on the wet stone terrace, he took my hand in his. My mother's garnet ring—removed for the courtroom performance—now slid from his pocket.
"Seraphina Whitestone, will you marry me? Not for appearances, not for business, but because I cannot imagine breathing without you beside me."
"Yes," I whispered, rain and tears indistinguishable on my cheeks. "Today and every day."
He slipped the ring onto my finger where it belonged, then rose to kiss me properly—a kiss of promise and passion that left me breathless. We stood locked together in the downpour, two people who had found each other against all odds, who had fought through family opposition, public scrutiny, and their own fears to reach this moment.
Later, dried and wrapped in soft robes before the bedroom fireplace, we began to plan our future.
"I want to establish my own design house," I said, curled against him on the sofa. "Something that reflects my vision, not the Whitestone legacy."
"I've been thinking about that." Cassian's fingers played with my damp hair. "What would you say to a joint venture? Your design genius, my business experience?"
"A fashion house with both our names?" The idea was intriguing. "Whitestone-Vexley?"
He shook his head. "No. Something new. Something that's just us, without the weight of either family name."
"Laurent," I suggested, remembering my mother's maiden name—the name she'd used for her Milan apartment. "Laurent Designs."
His smile was radiant. "Perfect."
As night deepened around us and the rain gentled to a soft patter, we sketched ideas for our shared future—a business, a home, perhaps someday a family. The legal battles ahead seemed less daunting now, faced together.
"No more hiding," I murmured, sleep beginning to claim me. "No more secrets."
"No more," he agreed, gathering me closer. "Just truth between us. Always."
In the morning, we would face the world again—the press, the ongoing trials, the rebuilding of what Victoria and my father had tried to destroy. But tonight, in this rain-washed sanctuary, we had found our way home to each other.
And nothing would separate us again.
