Chapter 180
Chapter 180
Arabella stared at him. Maybe it was the sea wind—it must have been the sea wind—because her eyes were turning red.
She didn't speak. She just held out her left hand, fingers slightly spread, trembling.
Cornelius lowered his head and slid the ring slowly onto her fourth finger.
It fit perfectly. Custom made.
He stood. They faced each other in the wind. Neither said a word.
Then Arabella looked down at the ring, glinting faintly in the moonlight. She touched it with her fingertip.
Cool against her skin. Warm in her chest.
---
The next day. A small church in Paris.
They held their wedding again.
No grand affair. No long guest list. Just the two of them and a priest.
The church was small. Colored light from the stained-glass windows pooled across the stone floor. The air smelled faintly of candles and fresh flowers.
Arabella wore a custom gown Cornelius had arranged in advance. He wore a formal dark suit.
They spoke their vows before the priest—no elaborate ceremony, no lengthy speeches. Just a few simple, solemn promises.
Afterward, they stood at the church entrance and each took out their phones.
Arabella posted on Instagram—the ring beside the stained-glass window. One word for the caption: [Yes.]
Cornelius posted too—a photo of the two of them together, Arabella leaning into his side, both smiling naturally. No caption.
The comments section exploded within two minutes.
Sophie was first: [?? Wait what??]
Ethan right behind: [Aria you got married AGAIN?]
Ulysses appeared a few minutes later. One word: [Congratulations.]
Then came the studio staff, former clients, even a few board members from the architectural association—a flood of shocked emojis, exclamation marks, and congratulations.
Arabella didn't reply to any of them. She put her phone away and glanced at Cornelius.
He'd just pocketed his phone too. Their eyes met.
Neither spoke.
---
Christmas Eve, they caught an early flight home.
They landed at five p.m. The airport was decked out in Christmas decorations, carols playing on loop over the speakers. Cornelius pushed the luggage cart ahead while Arabella walked beside him.
They wove through the bustling crowd, stepped out of arrivals, and found the driver waiting. They got in, and the car headed straight for the Douglas Manor.
By the time they pulled up to the gates, dusk was settling in.
The courtyard blazed with light. Fresh Christmas wreaths and strings of lights hung from the porch. The butler heard the car and came out to greet them. When he saw Arabella step out, he paused for a beat, then broke into a wide smile as he took the luggage.
"Mrs. Arabella Douglas is back? Mr. Mason Douglas has been asking about you for days."
The name 'Mrs. Arabella Douglas' made her shift slightly, but she didn't correct him. She followed Cornelius through the gate.
Mason stood in the living room directing the staff as they hung lights, a cane in one hand, wearing a deep burgundy quilted jacket. He looked well.
He turned at the sound of footsteps. His gaze rested on Cornelius for a second, then moved to Arabella. His expression softened with quiet satisfaction. "Good. This is good."
Cornelius stood in the doorway without speaking. Arabella stepped forward, standing at Mason's side, following his gaze toward the decorated doorframe. "Merry Christmas, Grandpa," she said softly.
Mason's voice gentled. "Merry Christmas. All is well."
He paused, then added, "It's good to have you home."
The three of them sat in the living room and talked for a while. Mason held court from the main chair with a cup of hot tea, asking about Paris, asking about the studio. Arabella answered each question.
Cornelius sat beside her, offering a word here and there, mostly just listening.
Dinner was laid out in the dining room—a fresh tablecloth, dishes covering every inch of the table.
Mason sat at the head. Arabella and Cornelius flanked him on either side. The butler and a few longtime household staff joined them at the table. The room was full of warmth and noise.
Mason raised his glass, said a few words to open the meal, took a drink, set the glass down, and picked up his silverware first.
Arabella watched him, and something indescribable swelled in her chest.
It had been a very long time since she'd sat at this table for a meal.
---
At that same moment, in the dining room of the Visconti Villa, Ulysses and Heath sat across from each other. The table was set with a full spread.
Simpler than past years, but everything that mattered was there.
Ulysses had flown back from overseas specifically for this. His plane had landed that afternoon, and he'd taken a cab straight home.
When he walked through the door, Heath was sitting on the living room couch. At the sound of the door, Heath looked up—and the rims of his eyes went red instantly.
Ulysses stood in the entryway changing his shoes. He didn't look up. "Dad, I'm home."
Heath sat on the couch, his lips moving soundlessly.
---
As the Christmas Eve dinner at the Douglas Manor wound down, the butler brought out several boxes of fireworks from the storage room and arranged them in the center of the courtyard.
Cornelius stood, walked outside, took the lighter from the butler, crouched down, and lit the first fuse.
The fuse hissed for a few seconds. Then the first rocket screamed into the night sky and burst open—a shower of gold cascading across the darkness, flooding the entire courtyard with light.
Arabella stood on the porch steps, face tilted upward, watching the lights bloom and fade against the black sky, a half-finished glass of juice in her hand.
Mason made his way outside with his cane and stood beside her. He glanced up at the fireworks, then down at the ring on her finger—catching and releasing sparks of color with each burst overhead.
He said nothing. But the faintest curve touched the corner of his mouth, and his clouded eyes filled with quiet contentment.
Fireworks launched one after another, lighting up every face in the courtyard. The butler stood nearby, head tilted back, smiling.
Cornelius set off the last one, pocketed the lighter, brushed the ash from his hands, and climbed the steps to stand beside Arabella.
He didn't speak. He simply followed her gaze as the final trail of light dissolved slowly into the dark.
Distant firecrackers popped in scattered bursts across the city. The night wind carried the smell of gunpowder and the bite of winter, but somehow, it didn't feel cold.
Arabella took a sip of the juice left in her glass, then turned to Cornelius. "Where should we go next year?"
Cornelius thought for a moment. "Wherever you want."
Arabella didn't answer. But she smiled, turned back, and looked up at the sky that had gone quiet and still.
This, right here, was where her heart was home.