Chapter 113: Understanding

Cecilia

Alice led me through the house and out onto the grounds, moving with purpose toward the conservatory. The afternoon sun was warm on my skin, and I found myself relaxing slightly as we walked, letting Alice's chatter wash over me.

"Okay," she said, pushing open the conservatory doors with a flourish. "Look up."

I did.

The glass ceiling still displayed the projection of stars—the night sky from my birth, Arthur had said, though I couldn't quite remember him telling me that. But seeing it now, something stirred in my chest, a ghost of emotion that felt important.

"He did this for you," Alice said softly. "A few days ago. Made the whole room light up when you played the piano."

I moved to the piano bench and sat down, my fingers finding the keys automatically. The moment I started to play—something simple, a scale—the crystal spheres throughout the room began to pulse with light.

And just like that, the memory crashed over me.

Arthur standing by the piano, his eyes warm and proud as he watched me play. The lights dancing in time with the music. The overwhelming romance of it all, the way he'd made the universe itself seem to respond to my touch.

"Oh my god," I breathed, my hands stilling on the keys. "I remember. The stars, the lights, the—" I looked at Alice with wide eyes. "He did all of this for me. The blue roses on the beach, the sailing at sunrise, the memory path in the forest—"

"Yes!" Alice squeezed my hand, her face lighting up with genuine joy. "Yes, you remember! What else? What else do you remember about yesterday?"

I closed my eyes, trying to focus. "The engagement party. Everyone was there—your mom, Arthur's uncle Richard, his wife Vera, their son Daniel..." I frowned. "My mother. She brought someone with her. A young man. Matthias?"

"Yes," Alice said, and something in her voice made me open my eyes to look at her. "What else?"

"The wine." The memory was getting clearer now, sharper. "My mother brought wine from my father's collection. I drank a lot of it because it made me feel close to him, and then I got so tired, and—"

I stopped dead.

"And then I fainted?" I looked at Alice, my heart suddenly pounding. "I really got so excited that I just... fainted? In the middle of the party?"

"Yes," Alice said firmly. "That's exactly what happened."

But something about the way she said it, the way her eyes wouldn't quite meet mine, made my stomach drop.

"Alice." My voice came out sharper than I intended. "Tell me the truth. Did I really just faint from excitement?"

She bit her lip, clearly torn between whatever Arthur had told her to say and her own instinct to be honest with me. "Ceci—"

"Alice, please." I grabbed her hand. "I need to know what really happened. I can feel that there's something missing, something important, and it's driving me crazy not being able to remember."

She looked at me for a long moment, her expression pained. Then she said quietly, "You should talk to Arthur about this. He'll explain everything when you're ready."

"When I'm ready?" I felt heat flood my face. "What does that mean? What aren't you telling me?"

"Ceci—"

But I was already standing, already moving toward the door. "I need to see Arthur. Now."

"Wait—" Alice scrambled after me. "Ceci, he's working, he said not to disturb him—"

"I don't care," I said, and meant it. "I need answers."

I found him in the study, sitting at his desk with his phone pressed to his ear, his voice low and hard in a way I'd never heard before.

"I don't care what it takes," he was saying. "Make sure he understands that what he did has consequences. Real ones. I want him to spend every second of the next decade wishing he'd never set foot in this house."

I froze in the doorway, my hand still on the handle.

"Good," Arthur said. "Keep me updated."

He hung up and set the phone down, his shoulders tight with tension, and that's when he seemed to sense my presence. He turned, and his expression shifted immediately from cold fury to careful concern.

"Ceci." He stood quickly.

"Who were you talking about?" I asked, my voice steady despite the way my heart was pounding. "Who did something that has consequences? Who are you making sure doesn't come near me again?"

Arthur's jaw clenched, and I saw him choosing his words carefully. "It's nothing you need to worry about. Just some business—"

"Don't lie to me." The words came out sharper than I intended, and I saw him flinch slightly. "Please, Arthur. I can tell there's something you're not telling me. Something important. And I need to know what it is."

He stared at me for a long moment, and I could see the war playing out behind his eyes—the desire to protect me from whatever truth he was hiding versus the knowledge that I deserved to know.

Finally, he said quietly, "Not yet. When you're ready, when your memory comes back on its own, I'll tell you everything. But right now—"

"Right now what?" I moved closer, my hands clenching at my sides. "Right now I'm too fragile? Too broken to handle the truth?"

"Right now," he said, his voice gentling, "you're recovering. And I'm not going to risk making things worse by forcing you to remember something your mind is clearly trying to protect you from."

I wanted to argue, wanted to demand answers. But something about the pain in his eyes stopped me.

Instead, I just looked at him—really looked at him—taking in the exhaustion written across his features, the way his hands were shaking slightly even as he tried to project calm control.

He looked like a man who'd spent the night watching someone he loved suffer and was barely holding himself together.

And suddenly, I didn’t want to ask anything anymore.

"Arthur," I said, and my voice came out softer, more vulnerable than I intended. "I don't know what happened last night. I don't know what you're protecting me from." I took a breath. "But I chose to trust you and ask no more."

Something cracked in his expression, and before I could say anything else, he was crossing the room and pulling me into his arms, holding me so tightly I could barely breathe.

I wrapped my arms around him and held on just as tightly, feeling the steady beat of his heart against my cheek.

We stood like that for a long time, just holding each other in the quiet of his study, and gradually I felt some of the tension leave his body.

When we finally pulled apart, I looked up at him and said, "Can I stay here? While you work? I just—I don't want to be away from you right now."

"Of course." He guided me to the leather couch against the wall, settling me there with pillows and a soft throw blanket. "Stay as long as you want."