Chapter 35 Unsettled

Chapter 35 Unsettled
Linda’s POV

The morning air at Charles’s mansion was something I hadn’t expected.

I had stepped outside after tidying the kitchen, intending only to get a breath of fresh air, but the compound drew me in slowly and I found myself walking without any particular destination.

The mansion sat on generous grounds enclosed by a clean stone perimeter wall draped in climbing green ivy. The driveway leading from the gate curved gently in a wide arc, paved in smooth charcoal cobblestone that caught the morning light in a quiet, understated way. On either side of the driveway stood evenly spaced maple trees, their branches full and arching overhead like a natural corridor, casting dappled shade across the path below.

The front facade of the house was modern and clean, all straight lines and large windows framed in dark steel, with a wide covered entrance supported by two simple columns. Climbing roses had been trained along the left side of the front wall, their pale pink blooms sitting quietly against the grey stone. Trimmed hedges ran the perimeter of the building in neat formation, broken up at intervals by flowering shrubs in deep violet and white.

I followed the side path around the building and the garden appeared.

It was smaller than the Jenkins garden but what it lacked in size it made up for entirely in warmth. The Jenkins garden had always felt like something maintained for appearances, cold and perfectly arranged, more display than life. This one felt like somewhere a person had actually chosen to spend time. A low wrought iron fence bordered it, threaded through with jasmine that was just beginning to bloom, filling the air with a faint sweetness. Inside, the grass was a deep even green, soft underfoot. A stone pathway curved through the center, lined on both sides with lavender that swayed lazily in the gentle morning breeze. Roses grew in clusters near the far corner, red and ivory, full and unhurried. A tall flame tree stood near the back wall, its wide canopy spreading generously overhead, throwing a patch of rich shade across the sitting area beneath it.

The sitting area was simple and lovely. Two cushioned rattan chairs faced each other across a low wooden table, and a small two-seater bench sat slightly apart, angled toward the open sky. A ceramic pot of white orchids sat on the table, and a watering can had been left leaning against the bench by whoever tended the garden last.

I chose the bench.

I sat down slowly and leaned back, tilting my face toward the open sky above. The flame tree filtered the sunlight into shifting patterns across my arms and the jasmine on the fence carried its scent over in quiet waves.

I pressed both palms flat against my stomach.

It was still completely flat. Nothing there yet that the eye could find. But I knew. The knowledge of it sat differently than I had expected, not entirely like fear and not entirely like joy but somewhere between the two, warm and uncertain and fragile all at once.

A pair of sunbirds moved through the branches above me, darting between the roses with a speed that made me smile. I watched them until they disappeared over the far wall, then I looked back up at the open patch of sky framed by the tree’s canopy.

This was the quietest I had felt in weeks.

The sound of a car engine broke the stillness and I looked up. Charles’s car appeared through the gate, moving slowly up the cobblestone driveway. I stood from the bench, brushed down my dress and walked out of the garden toward the front of the house.

He stepped out of the car and the moment his eyes found me, something visibly loosened in his face.

“Hi, baby,” he said, crossing toward me and pulling me into a hug before I could speak.

I went into his arms but my brows were already raised.

I pulled back and looked at him properly.

“You stayed awake all night,” I said.

“Come on, you’re not even sure of that,” he defended, but it was written all over him. The evidence was settled right there beneath his eyes, dark circles sitting firmly in place, his eyes carrying a heaviness that no amount of composure could fully hide.

“The dark circles are seated right in place. Even your eyes look tired,” I said.

“Okay, you got me. I had to arrange a few things at the office,” he admitted, his voice coming out low and worn around the edges.

“Oh my God. Things went that bad?”

“No, no. Not that bad. Nothing for you to worry about,” he said, already trying to redirect.

“Bad is bad,” I said firmly.

He looked at me for a moment then the corner of his mouth lifted. “Thank you for the breakfast. It was a lifesaver.”

Something melted quietly inside me but I held my expression.

I reminded myself I was still annoyed that he had spent the entire night awake.

“I made you lunch. You need to rest,” I said and turned toward the front door.

His arm moved before I had taken two steps. He caught my waist and pulled me back in one smooth motion and I turned with a small gasp, landing against his chest with both hands pressed flat against him.

For a moment neither of us moved.

I looked up slowly and found him already looking down at me, his blue eyes catching the midday light, tired but warm and completely focused. The space between us was nothing. I could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath my palms and his hands on my waist were firm and gentle at the same time, the way they always were.

He lowered his head slowly.

My eyes dropped to his lips for just a second before they closed on mine, deep and unhurried, the kind of kiss that didn’t ask permission because it already knew the answer. My hands traveled up from his chest to his shoulders and I leaned into him, letting the kiss deepen until everything else went quiet.

Then he bent slightly, slid one arm beneath my knees and lifted me without breaking contact.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and let him carry me inside.

He laid me gently on the bed and sat up to unbutton his shirt, pulling it back off his shoulders. I watched without pretending not to. His chest was everything I remembered, broad and defined, his arms carrying the kind of quiet strength that always made my thoughts scatter. His hands found the zip of my shirt and drew it down slowly, his eyes moving over me with an expression that made my breath come shorter.

Then his mouth found my breast and I stopped thinking in complete sentences.

When he traced downward and his hands reached the waistband of my skirt, something shifted in my chest. A thought arrived quietly but clearly.

I pulled back gently and reached for my zip.

“You have to eat,” I said, keeping my eyes away from his.

It was not the real reason. The real reason was sitting quietly behind my ribs, something I wasn’t ready to put into words yet, a hesitation I couldn’t fully explain even to myself. Everything was still so new and fragile and I needed a moment to breathe inside it before I gave any more of myself away.

He reached for me but I slipped off the bed and walked out before he could find the right words.

I went straight to the dining room and sat down.

The table was already set from earlier. A covered pot of native soup sat in the center, rich and deep red, the aroma already escaping from beneath the lid. Beside it was a dish of pounded yam I had prepared that morning, smooth and white and still faintly warm. A plate of fried fish sat to the side, golden and seasoned, and a small bowl of sliced cucumber and tomatoes completed the spread. I had set a single place deliberately, with a folded napkin and a glass of chilled water.

Charles walked in a few minutes later, his shirt back on but unbuttoned at the top.

“Babe, what’s wrong?” he asked, his voice carrying a careful note.

“Come on, I just want you to eat. You’ve been awake all night,” I replied, keeping my voice even as I began uncovering the plates.

The aroma rose immediately and filled the room. He stopped walking and closed his eyes briefly, drawing it in.

“This must be really something,” he said softly.

“I prepared it specially for you,” I said, the pleasure of that fact slipping through my voice before I could contain it.

“You did?” He looked at me with something in his expression that was more than appreciation.

He sat down and I watched him take the first bite.

His eyes closed for a moment the way they do when something genuinely surprises you. He chewed slowly, unhurried, then reached for another piece of fish without putting his fork down. He worked through the meal with the quiet focus of someone who hadn’t eaten a proper meal in far too long, finishing the first portion and pulling the pot closer without being asked. I sat across from him with my chin resting in my palm, watching and saying nothing, feeling something warm and uncomplicated settle in my chest.

When he was finally done he leaned back in his chair with a long exhale and closed his eyes briefly.

I stood and walked around the table to him. He opened his eyes as I reached him. I lifted my hand and gently wiped the small trace of soup from the corner of his lips with my thumb.

His hand caught my wrist before I could pull it back.

He looked up at me and the distance between us closed slowly this time, both of us moving toward the same point without any rush. His lips met mine gently and I leaned down into it, my free hand resting on his shoulder. He stood without breaking contact, his hands finding my waist, and I followed him without hesitation this time, no thoughts arriving to interrupt, no quiet voice pulling me back.

He led me back to the room and closed the door softly behind us.

This time I stayed.

Afterward the room was quiet and still. The curtains moved faintly at the window and the afternoon light lay across the bed in long pale strips. Charles lay beside me, his breathing slow and even, his face completely relaxed in sleep. The tension that lived in his jaw and his eyes when he was awake had dissolved entirely and what remained was something younger and unguarded.

His eyes were even more beautiful when he slept.

I lay on my side facing him, one hand resting beneath my cheek and the other pressed lightly against my stomach.

Everything about this still felt larger than I knew how to hold. There were moments when it settled over me like something solid and real and then moments when it felt like standing at the edge of something enormous in the dark, not knowing what was below.

We were married. There was a child growing inside me that belonged to both of us. His company was facing pressure because of choices he made for me. The Jenkins family knew about the pregnancy. Nikki was still in a hospital bed somewhere in the city.

And yet lying here in this quiet room with the afternoon light on his face, I wanted more of exactly this. Every single day of it.

The complicated parts and all.

I shut my eyes finally and let sleep take me.