Chapter 107: The Wine

Cecilia

I saw him from across the room. He looked good, dressed with his usual effortless precision, but his eyes were doing that thing they did sometimes, where they moved through a room cataloging who was there and who wasn't.

I crossed toward him before he could come to me.

"You came," I said, and he turned.

"Did you think I wouldn't?" He pulled me into a brief, careful hug. "Congratulations, Ceci. Really."

"Thank you." I stepped back to look at him properly. "Are you okay?"

"Getting there." He said it simply, without deflection, which from Carter meant more than a longer answer would have. Then he reached into his jacket and produced a slim velvet box. "For you. Both of you."

I opened it.

The jewelry set was exquisite—a necklace and matching earrings, delicate gold work set with stones that caught the light and scattered it in a way that made them look like they were lit from within.

"Carter." My voice came out softer than I intended. "This is too much."

"It's not enough," he said, with a quiet certainty that left no room for argument. "You deserve the finest jewels in the world."

Alice and Max had given their gift earlier in the week—a set of vintage first-edition books that Alice knew I'd been searching for, along with a handwritten note from Max that simply said Don't fuck it up, Winston that had made Arthur laugh genuinely.

The evening deepened, and the party found its rhythm—the particular warmth of people who cared about each other gathered in a beautiful space, the conversation flowing easier as the champagne made its rounds.

My mother produced a bottle from somewhere around the second hour, carrying it toward where I was standing with Alice and Max with the air of someone presenting a significant gift.

"I found this at the old house," she said, holding it up. "Your father's cellar—he had a few bottles he was saving for special occasions. I thought tonight seemed right."

I looked at the bottle. Something moved in my chest—recognition, grief, a complicated tenderness that I hadn't expected to feel in this moment.

"He saved it for a special occasion," I said quietly.

"He always did." Her voice was softer than usual, and I couldn't quite tell if it was genuine or performed. "He would have wanted you to enjoy it."

"Yes," I said. "He would have."

We opened it. The wine was extraordinary—deep and complex, the kind of thing that tasted like time itself. I drank more than I probably should have, because it felt like drinking something my father had left for me, and because the evening was warm and beautiful and I was surrounded by people I loved, and because sometimes you just need to let yourself feel things fully.

The hours blurred pleasantly. More champagne, more conversation, Arthur's hand finding mine periodically throughout the evening—a brief pressure, a quiet I'm here, before releasing me back to whoever I'd been talking to.

I was deep in conversation with Vera, Richard's wife, when I became aware that the warmth of the room had shifted into something heavier, my eyelids suddenly weighing more than they should.

The wine, probably, and the accumulated exhaustion of a week of emotional highs and late nights.

"Alice." I touched her arm during a lull. "I think I need to go lie down for a bit. Just for a little while."

She turned immediately, her eyes assessing. "How much did you drink?"

"Not that much. I'm just tired." I smiled, trying to look more awake than I felt. "Will you come with me? Just to get settled."

"Of course—"

"Oh, darling, I’ll take Ceci. You carry on." My mother appeared at my elbow, her hand light on Alice's arm. "How could I let a guest escort the host back to her room?"

Alice's expression tightened. "I'll walk Ceci up," she said, with a firmness that left no room for negotiation.

My mother's smile didn't waver, but something shifted behind her eyes. "Don't be silly, I—"

"I'm walking her up," Alice said again, and took my arm.

The bedroom was cool and quiet after the noise of the party, and I sank onto the edge of the bed with a relief that was almost physical.

"You okay?" Alice was already pulling back the covers, moving with the efficient care she brought to looking after people she loved.

"Mm." I let her ease me back against the pillows, not bothering to change out of the dress. Too tired for that. "Just need a few minutes."

"Okay." She sat on the edge of the bed beside me, her hand resting lightly over mine. "I'll stay until you're asleep."

"Go back to Max," I said, my voice already going soft at the edges. "Seriously. I'm fine. Just tired."

"Ceci—"

"Alice." I turned my head to look at her, trying to focus. "Go enjoy the party. I'll be fine. Tell Arthur I'll be back down in a bit."

She hesitated, studying me with that look she had when she was deciding whether to push back.

"Okay," she said finally, quietly. "But I'm checking on you in thirty minutes."

"Deal."

She leaned down and pressed a kiss to my forehead, then stood, smoothed the covers over me, and moved quietly toward the door.

The room was very still after she left. The sounds of the party filtered up faintly from below—music, laughter, the murmur of conversation—but they felt distant, like something happening in another world.

I closed my eyes.

I don't know how much time passed. The sounds from below seemed to drift further away, and I felt myself sinking into something heavy and warm, the kind of exhaustion that goes bone-deep.

Then I heard it—the soft turn of the door handle, the quiet creak of the door swinging open.

"Arthur," I murmured, not opening my eyes. The word came out slow and blurred. "I'm so tired. Can we just—I just need to sleep for a little while."

Silence.

I frowned, still half-submerged in the heavy warmth, and tried to force my eyes open. The room seemed slightly tilted, the light wrong somehow, and it took more effort than it should have to bring the doorway into focus.

The shape standing there wasn't Arthur.