Chapter 9 - Shadows of the Past
That evening, the Chestnut Hill estate was bathed in the warm, golden glow of sunset.
In the grand reception hall—where Claire had once stood balancing a silver tray beneath the twenty-foot crystal chandelier while Madeline sneered at her—a private, intimate dinner was being set up for three.
Rose sat at the head of the long dining table, looking radiant in a deep velvet emerald dress that matched her famous necklace, which rested securely and proudly against her collarbone.
Claire walked out of the kitchen carrying a platter of roasted lamb with rosemary and garlic, her movements graceful and assured. Her deep navy silk dress hugged her curves perfectly, elegant and timeless, without a trace of the insecurity that Madeline had once tried to weaponize against her.
“Careful with that, child,” Rose warned with a grin. “If you drop it, Vincent will probably deport the entire kitchen staff again.”
Claire laughed, setting the platter down in the center of the table. “Vincent learned his lesson about jumping to conclusions. If he tried that again, I’d lock him in the north wing myself.”
Just then, the heavy front doors swung open.
Vincent stepped into the hall, shaking off the light spring drizzle. He stopped dead in his tracks as he saw Claire standing beneath the crystal chandelier, the golden light catching the soft curls of her hair and the genuine, radiant smile on her face.
For a brief, phantom second, his mind flashed back to that terrible night twelve months ago—the smoke, the fire, the frozen corridors, and the terrifying realization that he could have lost everything because of his own arrogance.
He closed the distance between them in seconds, wrapping his strong arms around her waist and burying his face in her neck, breathing in the familiar scent of vanilla and rain.
“You’re staring,” Claire whispered, resting her hands against his broad chest, a warm blush rising to her cheeks.
“I’m just reminding myself how lucky I am,” Vincent murmured against her skin before pressing a tender, lingering kiss to her temple.
Rose cleared her throat loudly from the head of the table.
“Save the romantic poetry for after dinner, children! The lamb is getting cold, and I want dessert before my bedtime!”
May you like
Vincent chuckled, pulling back just enough to look into Claire’s eyes, his dark gaze shining with a depth of devotion that words could never fully capture.
“Come on, Mrs. Caruso,” Vincent said softly, offering Claire his arm. “Let’s go eat.”
