By the time the last pot was in place and the mess cleaned up, my arms and back ached in a way I hadn’t felt in years, heavy with a kind of ache that meant I’d done something real with my hands. Good pain.

We ate a simple and quiet late dinner, no talk of Westwood business, or Allegra, or Marla, or any of it.

“You’ve got dirt under your nails,” he said, voice low.

“I know,” I laughed. “I’ll deal with it tomorrow.”

He reached out, taking my hand before I fork more food off the plate. His thumb brushed over the soil-stained skin. "Don't. I like it."

"You like dirt?" I laughed.

"I like that it's you. The real you, not the version everyone else sees."

Something in my chest squeezed as his hand found my thigh underneath the table.

“You surprised me today,” I admitted.

“How so?”

“You’re not exactly the ‘spontaneous day off’ type.”

His mouth curved into the faintest smile. “I’m learning.” He hesitated, then added, “You laughed today, really laughed. I don't believe I've ever seen you do that before, so the day off was worth it.”

We sat together in the dim light, knees touching. I’d forgotten how easy it could be between us when the outside world wasn’t crashing in.

“I liked seeing you like that too,” I said.

“Like what?”

“Not in a suit. Just… here with me, planting lemon trees.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “I’ll try to be that guy more often.”

“You should, it would do you some good.”

I should’ve been able to sleep after dinner. My body was still feeling heavy from the hours in the dirt and my muscles were still loose from the hot shower, and yet I kept pacing.

The house was so quiet it felt so much bigger and emptier. Outside, the wind stirred the trees in short bursts, like it was trying to get my attention and every creak and shift in the walls made me glance toward the door.

I crossed the room again, my bare feet silent against the floorboards. I told myself this was stupid, after all I’d survived the gala, all the whispers and personal questions, Allegra’s calculated digs, even Marla’s sudden reappearance. I should have been proud we’d gotten through it, but instead, my mind kept replaying everything.

My chest tightened, I didn’t want to be alone with those thoughts tonight.

I sat on the bed, stared at the closed door. I could walk across the hall, knock, and… what? Say I couldn’t sleep? Ask if I could stay in his room? The he cool, sharp, business-first version of Adrian I’d known for months would’ve looked at me like I’d lost my mind. But today he’d been different, he’d bought me tulips, and a lemon tree. He'd spent the afternoon planting beside me like there was nothing more pressing in the world.

I stood, paced again, sat back down. It was stupid to be nervous, we were married, for God’s sake, it shouldn't be this hard.

Finally, I forced myself up before I could talk myself out of it. My hand hovered over the doorknob. I breathed in deep, twisted it slowly, and eased the door open.

I froze.

Adrian was there, not in bed, but leaning against the far wall like he’d been waiting. His tie was gone, shirt untucked, top buttons open. His hair was slightly mussed, like he’d run a hand through it more than once.

“I was wondering how long it would take you,” he said, his voice low but not teasing.

“You… knew I was coming?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “Call it a hunch.”

I stepped inside, letting the door click shut behind me. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Me neither.”

We stood there for a long beat. No bickering. No cutting remarks. Just the quiet that had been growing between us since the night everything went wrong.

“I liked today,” I said finally.

“So did I.”

I almost smiled. “Careful, Adrian. You're coming dangerously close to admitting you enjoy my company.”

He gave a faint smirk. “Maybe I do.”

"Are we actually agreeing on something?"

"Don't push it." But he was almost smiling.

Something in my chest flipped as the distance between us seemed to shrink as he moved closer, close enough that I could feel the heat coming off him. My heart started beating faster.

“Celeste,” he said, and my name sounded softer than I’d ever heard it from him.

“Yes?”

He stepped forward slowly, close enough that I could feel his warmth. His hand lifted, brushing a stray strand of hair behind my ear. My breath caught.

His hand came up, tucking my hair behind my ear. Then he kissed me, slow and careful, cupping the back of my neck like he was asking a question I'd already answered by coming here. I kissed him back, my hands finding his shirt, pulling him closer, leaning into him before I even realized I was doing it.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against mine. “Stay here tonight.”

I nodded before I could overthink it.

We didn’t turn the lights out right away. He sat on the edge of the bed, and I joined him. For a while, we just talked about nothing important, which felt like the most important thing of all. He asked which plant I thought would bloom first, and I asked why he chose tulips. He admitted he’d stood like a deer in headlights in the florist’s shop for ten minutes because he couldn’t decide what I’d like.

It was all so absurdly domestic, and I found myself laughing quietly in the dark.

When we finally lay down, his arm went around me like it was the most natural thing in the world, like it was always meant to be there. My head rested on his chest, the steady beat of his heart drowning out everything else.

“You’re warm,” I murmured.

“Good,” he said. “I’m keeping you here.”

"I thought I was the one who came to you."

“You were,” he said, a smile in his voice. “Doesn’t mean I’m letting you go.”

I smiled against his chest. Between his steady breathing and the warmth of his arms around me, my eyes finally got heavy as everything faded to black. For the first time in weeks, I wasn't thinking about what disaster might come next.