Chapter 102
[Rose's POV]
I felt my mouth open. Close. No words emerged.
"My... purpose?" I heard myself repeat the words, heard the uncertainty threading through them.
"Yes." James's tone gentled, but didn't relent. "You've spent both lives serving others. In 1943, you served your country, your research, your son. You sacrificed everything for the Manhattan Project. For me." His voice roughened. "And now, in this second chance at life, you're doing the same thing. Guiding us. Protecting us. Fixing our mistakes. But Rose—" He held my gaze. "What do you want? What brings you joy beyond taking care of everyone else?"
The question burrowed under my skin and lodged there, uncomfortable and impossible to ignore.
What did I want?
When had I last considered my own desires?
I found my gaze drifting across the table to Benjamin without conscious decision. In the restaurant's warm lighting, his profile looked so achingly familiar. The angle of his jaw. The way his hair fell across his forehead. The subtle tension in his shoulders that spoke of carefully controlled emotion.
Robert.
The name whispered through my mind, and with it came a cascade of memories I'd been holding at bay. Robert's laugh. The way his hand felt in mine. The safety of falling asleep against his chest. The absolute certainty that whatever challenges we faced, we would face them together.
I'd lost that. Lost him to war and time and the cruel mechanics of mortality. Had accepted that such love was a chapter permanently closed.
But standing here, looking at Benjamin's unconscious echo of his great-grandfather's mannerisms, feeling the way my pulse quickened when our eyes met—
Maybe I could have that again. Maybe that's what this second life is for. Not just to save my son or guide my family. Maybe it's for me to experience love again. To feel desired and cherished and whole in that particular way that only partnership provides.
The thought was so foreign, so selfish-feeling after months of self-denial, that it almost made me dizzy.
"I don't know," I admitted finally, voice barely above a whisper. "I honestly don't know what I want for myself."
Before anyone could respond, Benjamin made a small, choked sound.
His hands flew to his head, fingers pressing hard against his temples. The color drained from his face so rapidly I thought he might collapse. His breathing went harsh and ragged.
"Benjamin!" Christopher was on his feet instantly, genuine alarm replacing his usual corporate composure. "What's wrong?"
James moved around the table with surprising speed for his age. "Benjamin. Are you alright?"
"I don't—" Benjamin's words came out strangled. Sweat beaded across his forehead despite the room's comfortable temperature. "My head. Something's—"
Lily grabbed my hand, small fingers gripping tight. "Is Benjamin okay? Why does he look so scared?"
I stood frozen, watching Benjamin's distress with a creeping sense of wrongness.
Benjamin's eyes squeezed shut. His entire body had gone rigid, muscles locked in what looked like equal parts pain and resistance. As if something was trying to force its way into his consciousness and he was fighting it with everything he had.
Then, as abruptly as it began, the episode passed.
Benjamin's hands dropped. His eyes opened—and the expression in them made my breath catch.
He was looking at me. Not with the shock or awe or confusion of earlier. Not with the professional courtesy of our first meeting or the shame of this afternoon's confrontation.
"I'm fine." His voice emerged rougher than before, scraped raw by whatever had just happened. "Just—information overload, I think. Today's been intense."
But when our eyes met across the table, I felt something shift in the air between us. Some invisible tether snapping into place or recognition sparking across synapses that shouldn't connect.
Christopher hovered anxiously. "Are you sure? Should we call your doctor?"
"No." Benjamin waved him off, but his gaze never left mine. "I'm okay. Really."
The arrival of our first course broke the tension. Waiters moved through the room with choreographed efficiency, setting plates of seared scallops and microgreens before us. The sommelier appeared to refill wine glasses. Normal restaurant rhythms reasserting themselves.
But nothing felt normal anymore.
Benjamin lifted his water glass with both hands and met my eyes again. "Great-grandmother. Please accept my apology for this afternoon."
The formal address felt wrong in his mouth. Too stiff. Too distant for whatever had just passed between us.
"I offered you money to compromise your principles." He set the glass down with extreme care. "I tried to manipulate you into protecting someone who didn't deserve protection. I failed to see what actually mattered." His throat worked. "I'm deeply sorry."
"Thank you, Benjamin. Apology accepted." I kept my tone gentle but couldn't quite make the words sound natural.
James beamed. "Admitting mistakes is the first step toward growth."
"Benjamin." Christopher leaned back in his chair, wine glass dangling from elegant fingers. "What brings you back to Boston? You're usually anchored in Los Angeles these days."
"Just wrapped filming on a new project." Benjamin's voice had steadied, though his gaze kept drifting back to me like a compass seeking north. "Flying to New York tomorrow to record vocals for the album's lead single."
He paused, seemed to make a decision. "But after tonight, I'm thinking I should spend more time here. With family."
Lily bounced in her seat, exhaustion temporarily forgotten. "Yes! Benjamin can visit us all the time! Right, Rose?"
"Right, sweetheart." I managed what I hoped was a natural smile.
Christopher raised his glass. "To family, then. And to second chances."
We all lifted our glasses and drank to the toast.