Catherine leaned into Maximilian’s shoulder as they settled into the quiet of her living room, the weight of the day still lingering sowhere in her chest. It had been emotional in ways she hadn’t quite prepared for, yet she didn’t feel drained. If anything, there was a strange lightness in her, as though sothing long unsettled had finally found its place.
"Did you ask to use my jet to put my brothers at ease?" she asked, her voice thoughtful rather than accusatory.
The question had co late, almost as an afterthought. Earlier, she had simply accepted it, but now that she was replaying everything, the decision felt too deliberate to be casual. If he truly was Leon Aureus... a private jet would have been nothing to him. He could have arranged sothing far more extravagant without blinking.
And yet... He had chosen hers.
Her family had already been uneasy about how quickly things were moving, about how little they truly knew him. Taking her across continents, over an ocean, without addressing that discomfort... it didn’t feel like sothing he would overlook.
Maximilian turned his head slightly to look at her, his expression unreadable for a mont.
"What?" Catherine asked, shifting easily until she was seated on his lap as though it were the most natural place in the world. "You think I’m wrong?"
For a mont, Maximilian didn’t move at all, but then he let out a quiet breath, the corner of his lips lifting as he reached up to lightly poke her nose. "You think a lot, don’t you?"
"Am I wrong?" she pressed, her gaze steady, curious.
"I just wanted you to feel comfortable," he said simply. "I thought you’d feel more at ease in your own jet than any other."
Catherine blinked, then nodded slowly. "That’s... actually very true."
Even if he had arranged sothing luxurious, sothing flawless, there would have been a distance to it, a subtle unfamiliarity that would have followed her through the long hours of travel. Her own space, her own things... it made a difference she hadn’t realized until now.
She leaned into him again, softer this ti. "You’re so good to ."
"I’m not that prideful," he replied lightly.
She tilted her head, studying him. "I thought you were trying to make my family feel at ease."
His pride should have played a role in that decision. A man like him wouldn’t overlook sothing like that... would he?
Maximilian chuckled under his breath, the sound low and unguarded. "I didn’t think of them much," he admitted. "Not in that mont."
And it was the truth.
Perhaps he should have. Perhaps there were a hundred considerations he could have made, angles he could have calculated. But in that mont, he hadn’t been thinking of her brothers, or her father, or anyone else.
He had only thought of her.
Catherine watched his face as that truth settled in, quiet but undeniable, and for a mont she found herself unable to look away. There was sothing in the way he had said it... so simple, so unguarded, that made it impossible to dismiss as re words.
It lingered, warming her in a way she hadn’t expected, softening sothing deep within her that had always been cautious, always asured.
Her family had given their blessing.
The realization struck her again, this ti with a force that made her breath catch ever so slightly.
This man... this impossibly composed, infuriatingly perceptive, devastatingly attentive man—
He was going to be her husband.
Her husband.
The thought blood in her chest, bright and overwhelming, and suddenly her mind was no longer quiet. It rushed ahead, leaping from one thought to another with an excitent she didn’t even try to contain. She needed to talk to Sophia—Sophia would definitely already have ideas, probably sketches, maybe even fabrics picked out. If her instincts were right, Sophia had been waiting for this mont long before Catherine herself had fully accepted it.
And then there was everything else.
The venue. The flowers. The photographers. The details that would turn a mont into a mory.
What kind of wedding did she even want?
Spring, with soft blossoms and gentle light? Sumr, bold and vibrant and full of life? Or autumn, rich and warm, touched with gold and quiet elegance?
But autumn was too far away. Sumr, then?
There was too much to think about, too many possibilities unfurling all at once, each more tempting than the last.
Across from her, Maximilian watched the shift in her expression, the way her thoughts seed to race ahead of her, the small smile that curved her lips without her realizing it. He didn’t need to ask. He could see it—she was already there, already building a future in her mind.
And sohow, that was enough.
That quiet, unguarded happiness on her face settled sothing in him, sothing that had been restless for far too long.
He hadn’t expected the silence to stretch this way, uninterrupted. There were no knocks on the door, no interruptions, and no one calling for her.
They were alone.
Truly alone.
And the realization lingered, slow and deliberate, shifting the air between them into sothing softer... sothing that threatened to turn into sothing else entirely if left untouched.
That ant...
**Growl**
The sound cut cleanly through the mont.
Catherine froze.
Maximilian blinked, and then, unable to help himself, he laughed. It ca easily, warm and unrestrained, the kind that slipped past his usual composure as he brought a hand up to wipe at the corner of his eye.
"Well," he said, still smiling as he looked at her, "what do you want to eat?"
He tilted his head slightly, amusent still lingering in his voice. "I saw venison in your freezer."
"The good kind," Catherine said imdiately, straightening with renewed interest.
There was sothing almost dostic about what followed—sothing easy and unspoken. He moved into the kitchen, rolling up his sleeves as though he belonged there, while she hovered nearby, helping where she could, passing things, watching more than she worked.
And watching... She did.
The way his sleeves rested just below his elbows, the faint tension in his forearms as he worked, the subtle flex of muscle beneath his skin. Water droplets clung to his arm as he rinsed sothing under the tap, catching the light before sliding slowly down.
There was sothing undeniably... compelling about it. Strong, steady... dangerously distracting.
Catherine found herself lingering a little longer than necessary, her gaze tracing details she had no business noticing so closely.
Maximilian noticed. Of course, he did. But he said nothing.
He only continued what he was doing, as though unaware, as though the air between them hadn’t shifted, and hadn’t thickened into sothing charged and quietly electric.
And sohow, that made it worse. Or better.
She wasn’t quite sure which.
Maximilian moved with quiet assurance, as though the space had already learned the rhythm of him. He set the venison to rest after searing, letting it breathe while he turned his attention to the sides—roasted root vegetables glazed lightly with butter and herbs, a silky potato purée finished with cream, and a dark, glossy reduction simring low, rich with wine and stock.
Catherine disappeared briefly and returned with a bottle in hand, holding it up with a small, pleased smile. "This should go well, right?"
Maximilian glanced at the label and gave a soft nod. "A red with structure... good choice."
She climbed onto the counter without ceremony, settling there as though it were her rightful place, one leg swinging idly as she watched him work. When she asked if he needed help, he only shook his head, a faint smile playing at his lips.
"Just stay there," he said. "You’re doing enough."
So she did.
She watched.
And the more she watched, the more sothing inside her began to shift.
It was in the quiet precision of his movents, the way he handled each utensil with familiarity, as though he had done this a hundred tis before. It was in the ease of him, the steadiness, the control. Even the smallest things seed to hold her attention—the way his sleeves were rolled just enough, the subtle tension in his arms as he worked.
And then...
A single drop of perspiration traced its way from his temple, slipping slowly along the line of his sideburn, down the sharp angle of his jaw before he absently wiped it away with a towel.
Sothing in her... ward.
It spread, slow and deliberate, beginning sowhere deep within her before unfurling through her chest, her limbs, until it left her almost breathless with the quiet intensity of it.
He glanced at her then, just briefly, and the gentleness in his eyes, so at odds with everything else about him, undid her completely.
She didn’t think. Didn’t pause. She slipped off the counter in one fluid motion and crossed the distance between them without a word.
And then she kissed him. It was sudden, sure, and full of everything she hadn’t said aloud, her hands rising instinctively, one curling into his shirt, the other sliding up to his shoulder as she pressed into him.
Maximilian stilled for the briefest fraction of a second, caught off guard, not by the kiss itself, but by the intensity of it.
And then he responded.
His hand ca to her back, firm and grounding, drawing her closer as though there had never been space between them to begin with. The other settled at her waist, steady, anchoring, as he tilted his head just enough to deepen the kiss, to et her with the sa quiet certainty she had co to expect from him.
There was nothing rushed about it, and yet nothing restrained either.
It unfolded naturally, heat building slowly, steadily, the kind that didn’t burn out but settled deep, lingering in every breath, every small movent. Her fingers curled tighter against him, sliding from his shoulder into his hair, holding him there as though she had no intention of letting go.
And he didn’t pull away.
Not imdiately.
Not until the mont stretched just enough, until the air between them grew too thin, too warm, until even breathing felt like an interruption.
When they finally parted, it wasn’t abrupt.
It was reluctant.
Close.
His forehead brushed lightly against hers, his hand still at her back, as though he hadn’t quite decided to let her go yet.
"Do we have to wait until marriage, Ma~" she was about to say his na but stopped herself. That familiar pang of fear thrashed her chest.
Maximilian noticed. Everything.
"Say my na, Catherine," he said.
He’d throw away all his principles if he heard her call his na.
Catherine’s fingers curled.
User Comments
0 comments from readers