Chapter 84: Shadows and Light
The afternoon light slanted through the wide office windows, golden beams catching on dust motes that drifted lazily in the air. Rhyan was bent over the long table, papers spread in neat rows before her, her pen moving quickly across the page as she cross-checked schedules, brainstormed pitches, and scribbled half-finished ideas. The walls still smelled faintly of paint, and the echo of their footsteps on the wood floor reminded her that this place was new, waiting to be filled with laughter, words, and work.
She was so focused she didn’t notice the soft knock at the door until it opened.
Shanta slipped in with a paper sack cradled against her hip. Her bracelets chimed with each movement, silver glints catching the sun. “Thought you might forget to eat again,” she teased, setting the bag down on the corner of the table.
Rhyan blinked up, startled, then smiled sheepishly. “You’re probably right.”
Inside, Shanta pulled out containers of shrimp po’boys and beignets dusted with powdered sugar. The aroma made Rhyan’s stomach growl despite herself.
“You’re a lifesaver.” She tore into the sandwich, chewing gratefully, watching Shanta lean against the table with that easy, confident grace.
“I’m glad you decided to stay,” Shanta said after a moment, voice softer now.
Rhyan paused, sandwich halfway to her mouth. “You knew we would?”
Shanta’s dark eyes glimmered. “Not knew. But felt. The Quarter wasn’t done with you yet. And neither was I.”
The way she said it made Rhyan’s heart stumble. Heat rushed to her cheeks, and she ducked her head, suddenly very interested in her food. But when she looked up, Shanta was smiling, and there was no teasing in it—just quiet warmth.
“I’m glad,” Rhyan whispered.
Shanta brushed powdered sugar off Rhyan’s lip with a fingertip, her touch lingering. Their gazes locked, the world narrowing, and Rhyan leaned forward, lips parting just enough for Shanta to close the space. The kiss was gentle, unhurried, like a promise that didn’t need words.
When they pulled apart, Shanta rested her forehead against hers. “Eat before it gets cold. I’ll be back after you finish.”
Rhyan laughed, flustered but glowing, and returned to her sandwich with a grin she couldn’t wipe away.
That night, the estate was hushed. Cicadas whirred outside, and the heavy air carried the scent of magnolia through open windows. Lorraine wandered the dim corridor, her bare feet silent on the polished wood. She stopped outside Roman’s study, hesitating, but then pushed open the door.
He wasn’t inside. Instead, she found him later on the balcony, leaning against the railing, a tumbler of whiskey in hand. His shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled back. The city lights glowed faintly in the distance, but his gaze was fixed beyond, where the bayou’s darkness pressed at the edges of the horizon.
“You’re brooding again,” Lorraine murmured, stepping into the moonlight.
Roman turned, and a small smile tugged at his lips. “You caught me.”
She joined him at the railing, the night air cool against her skin. For a while, they didn’t speak. The silence wasn’t heavy, just present, filled with the low hum of crickets and the faint whisper of wind.
“Do you think it will ever stop haunting you?” she asked suddenly, voice barely above a whisper.
Roman’s hand tightened on the glass. His profile was stark against the moon, all edges and shadows. “The darkness?”
“Yes.” She turned to face him, searching his eyes. “All of it. Dwade. The storms. The things you carry.”
He was quiet for a long time, so long that Lorraine wondered if she had gone too far. Finally, he set the glass down, bracing both hands on the railing.
“No,” he said simply. “It may never stop.”
Her chest tightened. But before the fear could take root, he reached for her, pulling her gently into his arms. His chin rested against her hair, his heartbeat steady under her cheek.
“But with you,” he continued, his voice rough with truth, “it no longer feels like a curse. It feels… survivable. Maybe even worth it.”
Lorraine closed her eyes, letting the words wash over her. He wasn’t promising peace or pretending to be lighter than he was. He was promising honesty, partnership. That was more than enough.
She tilted her head up, finding his lips with hers. The kiss was slow, tender, a sealing of words unspoken. His hands framed her face, and hers clutched at his shirt, needing the solidity of him.
When they finally broke apart, breathless, Lorraine smiled faintly. “We’ll survive it together, then.”
Roman nodded, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight. “Together.” Roman’s thumb brushed across her knuckles again, slower this time, as if grounding himself in her presence. “You’ve built something here already. The office, Rhyan, even Shanta and Despoina… you’ve started a life.”
Lorraine tilted her head, studying him. “Our life,” she corrected softly.
A shadow of a smile curved his mouth. “Are you sure you want to call it that? I’m not an easy man to build a life around.”
“You’re the only man I want to,” she said simply. The certainty surprised even her, but it rang true. “In Ohio, I always felt like I was renting someone else’s story. Here, with you, it feels like I finally found mine.”
Roman exhaled, his chest rising against her. For once, the lines of strain at his temples eased. “You don’t know what that means to me.”
“Then tell me,” she whispered.
He kissed her temple, his lips lingering. “It means I don’t have to imagine a future alone anymore. For years, I thought that was the cost of what I do—the cost of who I am. But you… you make me believe I could have both. This city. My coven. And you.”
Her eyes stung, tears threatening. “I don’t just want to be part of your life, Roman. I want to build one with you. The office, the writing—that’s my work. But you? You’re my home.”
He pressed his forehead to hers, his voice thick. “Then stay. Not just in New Orleans. Stay with me. Always.”
Lorraine closed her eyes, her answer carried on a breathless whisper. “Always.”
And for the rest of the night, they sat there on the balcony in each other’s arms, the weight of the world pressed back for just a little longer.