Chapter Fifty-Nine
Avery woke to the sound of soft rummaging and the faint thud of something being set — or maybe dropped — onto the floor. She was still wrapped securely against Riven’s chest, his arm heavy and warm around her waist, his steady breathing a quiet anchor.
It took her a moment to place the other sounds: Molly’s voice, low but sharp in a whisper.
“I’m telling you, the mugs go in this suitcase. They’ll be safer here.”
Kael’s equally hushed — and equally stubborn — reply:
“No, they’ll be safer with the shirts. Padding. That’s just basic packing logic.”
From somewhere closer to the closet came Lucien’s voice, pitched low but carrying that unmistakable edge of exasperation.
“You’re folding those wrong. All of them. I’ll just do it myself.”
Riven’s chest rumbled under her cheek as he chuckled, the sound vibrating through her. Then he muttered a quiet curse. “They’re trying to let you sleep as long as possible. Guess that’s over.”
Avery made a small, involuntary squeak — half laugh, half stretch — and felt him still for a beat before glancing down at her with a knowing smirk. “Knew it. You’re awake.”
She didn’t answer right away, just tilted her head so they could both watch the scene unfolding across the suite.
Molly and Kael were crouched over an open suitcase, each holding a different souvenir like it was a contested treasure. Molly’s hair was falling into her face as she gestured emphatically with a carved wooden figurine. Kael, undeterred, was trying to wedge a bundle of T-shirts around a delicate glass ornament.
Lucien stood behind them, arms crossed, looking like a man who had resigned himself to repacking everything the moment they were done. Every so often, he’d reach down, refold something with precise, almost military neatness, and mutter under his breath about “structural integrity” and “creased collars.”
The three of them were whispering, but it was the kind of whisper that carried — the kind that made the whole “let’s not wake Avery” mission laughably doomed.
Riven’s arm tightened around her just slightly, his voice low in her ear. “We could tell them we’re awake.”
Avery smiled against his shirt. “Or we could watch them fail spectacularly.”
He grinned. “I like your style.”
They stayed like that for another few minutes, quietly observing the chaos — Molly swatting Kael’s hand away from her pile, Kael retaliating by hiding one of her scarves in his own bag, Lucien sighing so deeply it could have powered a windmill.
It was ridiculous. It was ordinary. And it was perfect.
Avery thought, not for the first time, that these were the moments she wanted to remember just as much as the big ones — the laughter, the bickering, the way they all fit together even in the smallest, silliest parts of life.
Avery stayed curled against Riven’s chest, his arm still snug around her, both of them pretending she was still asleep. From their vantage point, they had the perfect view of the chaos unfolding across the suite.
Molly and Kael were still locked in their whispered battle over the souvenir situation — mugs versus shirts — while Lucien had taken over folding duty with the grim determination of a man who had standards.
“Not like that,” Lucien muttered for the third time, refolding one of Kael’s shirts with military precision. “You’re crushing the seams.”
Kael rolled his eyes. “It’s a T-shirt, not a royal robe.”
Molly smirked and, without warning, reached over and deliberately messed up the shirt Lucien had just folded, fluffing it like a pillow. “Oops.”
Lucien froze. Slowly turned his head toward her. “Did you just—”
“Oh, I did,” Molly said sweetly, and before he could retaliate, she snatched another perfectly folded shirt and tossed it at him.
What happened next was pure slapstick.
Lucien lunged for her, Molly darted around the coffee table, and in the scramble, she grabbed a throw pillow and smacked him square in the chest. Lucien, not to be outdone, caught the pillow mid-swing and yanked her toward him — but she twisted at the last second, sending them both stumbling into the arm of the couch.
From their spot, Avery felt Riven’s chest start to shake. He tried to hold it in, but when Lucien’s knee clipped the edge of the coffee table and Molly let out a triumphant “Ha!” — he lost it.
The laugh burst out of him, deep and unrestrained, and Avery couldn’t help it — she snorted. That only made him laugh harder, until the two of them tipped sideways and rolled right off the couch in a heap.
The room went still.
Three heads turned toward them, eyes wide.
“You’re awake,” Molly accused, though her grin gave her away.
Avery propped herself up on her elbows, still half-laughing. “We’ve been awake. We were enjoying the show.”
Kael groaned. “You could’ve said something.”
Riven, still chuckling, shook his head. “And miss that? Not a chance.”
Lucien straightened his shirt with exaggerated dignity. “Next time, you can help pack.”
Avery smirked. “Next time, I’m bringing popcorn.”
Before anyone could fire back, the sharp ding-dong of the doorbell cut through the laughter.
They all froze for a beat, the reality of the moment settling in.
“That’ll be the bellboy,” Lucien said quietly. “Time to go.”
The five of them exchanged a look — a silent agreement that whatever waited beyond that door, they’d face it together — before Kael moved to answer it.