Chapter 105: Every Day With You

Cecilia

Mrs. Chen was pulling fresh cinnamon rolls from the oven.

Arthur was already at the counter with two cups of coffee, wearing an expression of such self-satisfied contentment that I couldn't even pretend to be exasperated.

We ate breakfast together in the kitchen, just the two of us and Mrs. Chen humming as she worked, and it felt normal and domestic and perfect in its simplicity.

"No grand gesture today?" I asked, taking a bite of the still-warm cinnamon roll.

"Every day with you is a grand gesture," Arthur said, completely serious, and I laughed despite myself.

"That's the cheesiest thing you've ever said."

He was smiling, and the morning sun was streaming through the kitchen windows, and I thought that maybe this—the quiet moments, the simple mornings—were just as important as all the elaborate surprises.

By the time the engagement party morning arrived, I'd stopped trying to anticipate what Arthur would do next and just let myself be surprised, let myself be loved in that particular Arthur Winston way.

I woke to find Alice already in our bedroom, sitting cross-legged on the end of the bed with a cup of coffee and what appeared to be a very serious expression.

"Up," she said the moment my eyes opened. "We have a lot of work to do."

"Alice, it's seven in the morning."

"Seven-fifteen, and the party starts at six, which means we have approximately ten hours and forty-five minutes to make you look like the most beautiful woman anyone in that room has ever seen." She took a sip of coffee. "Up."

She produced what appeared to be a small suitcase from somewhere. "I've been planning this."

"You have not—"

"I absolutely have. Now sit up. We're starting with your skin."

The next ten hours were, frankly, a blur of serums and curling irons and Alice making faces at the mirror that I couldn't quite interpret.

She worked with the focused intensity of someone who took this very seriously—which, I was learning, Alice took most things—periodically holding swatches of fabric up to my face, muttering to herself.

"Alice," I said at one point, while she was doing something architectural to my hair. "What are you doing?"

"Making you perfect."

"I'm already—"

"You're already beautiful, yes, obviously, but I'm making you perfect." She stepped back to assess her work, tilted her head, adjusted something near my temple. "There's a difference."

I looked at myself in the mirror and had to admit she had a point.

By five-thirty, I was standing in the center of the bedroom in a dress that Alice had apparently sourced and kept secret for the better part of a week—ivory silk that caught the light differently depending on how I moved, fitted through the bodice and flowing out from the waist in a way that felt both formal and effortless.

My hair was up, loose enough to feel soft, structured enough to stay. My father's mechanical watch was on my wrist, the engagement ring on my finger, and the USB necklace tucked beneath the silk.

"Okay," Alice said, standing behind me in the mirror, her hands on my shoulders. "What do you think?"

I thought I looked like someone who was about to walk into the most important night of her life. I thought I looked like my father's daughter, and like myself, and like the woman Arthur was going to spend the rest of his life with.

"I think you're a genius," I said.

Alice beamed. "Obviously."

I found Arthur in the study at ten minutes to six, standing at the window with his back to the door, already dressed in his suit with his hands clasped behind him, looking out at the ocean.

I knocked softly on the doorframe, and he turned.

For a moment, neither of us said anything. He just looked at me, his expression doing that thing it sometimes did where all his careful control dropped away entirely, leaving something raw and unguarded in its place.

"Ceci." His voice came out rougher than he probably intended.

"Hey." I stepped inside, pulling the door partially closed behind me. "You look good."

He crossed the room in three long strides, his hands coming up to frame my face with a gentleness that made my throat tight. "You look—" He stopped, seeming to search for a word that was adequate and not finding one. "I don't have the language for what you look like right now."

Heat flooded my face. "Arthur—"

"I'm serious." His thumbs traced my cheekbones. "Every time I think I know how beautiful you are, you find a way to completely destroy that assumption."

"Stop," I said, even though I didn't mean it. "You're going to make me cry and Alice spent two hours on my face."

He laughed, soft and genuine, and pulled me against his chest, wrapping his arms around me carefully, mindful of the dress. I let myself lean into him, breathing him in, feeling the solid warmth of him against my cheek.

"Arthur," I said, after a moment.

"Mm?"

"These past few days." I pulled back just enough to look up at him. "The stars, the sunrise, the memory path—I don't even know how to respond to all of it. I keep trying to find the right thing to say and nothing feels like enough."

Something warm moved through his eyes. He pulled me closer again, his chin resting on the top of my head. "You don't need to say anything."

"But I want to—"

"Ceci." His voice was quiet, certain. "Watching you be happy is enough. It's always been enough."

I pressed my face against his chest for a moment, feeling the steady beat of his heart.

Then his arms loosened slightly, and his voice dropped to something lower, more private. "Actually," he said, with the particular careful casualness that meant he was about to say something he'd been thinking about for a while, "there is one thing you could do."

I pulled back to look at him. "What?"

"Oh, darling, did you really forget?" Arthur looked heartbroken, though it was clearly an act.

Then he gazed into my eyes. His eyes were dark, amused. "Do you remember what you promised me? When your period ended?"