Chapter 109: The Shape of Staying
The garden felt different after sunset — less like a home, more like a secret. Lanterns flickered along the path between the estates, casting amber halos onto the stone. Somewhere far off, a wind chime stirred.
Eva and Seraphina sat beneath the olive tree again, but this time wrapped in a soft blanket stitched with constellations. Eva leaned heavily against Seraphina's side, her feet curled under her, her head resting on her Ina's shoulder.
She had already read her poems. Three of them. Two new, one old but revised with more dramatic flair. She had also played a brief waltz she had written that afternoon on the violin, insisting it was a "dancing spell to keep Ina from ever leaving."
Now she was simply quiet. Still.
Seraphina kept her arm loosely around her waist, her thumb brushing over the soft linen of Eva's sleeve.
"You smell like lavender and ink," Seraphina murmured.
Eva's voice was small, almost proud. "Because I'm yours."
"I don't remember owning a lavender ink fairy."
Eva tilted her head up. "You do. I'm official. I even stamped it in my book."
"You stamped it?"
Eva nodded. "With Mère's wax seal. The one she uses for letters. I melted it myself."
"Oh, darling."
Eva beamed. "It says Property of Lady Seraphina Langford."
Seraphina's brows arched. "Lady?"
"You're my noble knight, my sword - saint, my light - lady," Eva recited breathlessly. "You deserve a title."
"You're a ridiculous, ridiculous moon creature," Seraphina laughed, pulling her close and pressing a kiss to her brow.
Eva melted, sighing. "Another one. On the cheek. Please."
"Demanding tonight, aren't we?"
"I'm always demanding."
Seraphina obliged, her lips soft against Eva's cheek. "There."
Eva sat straighter, nose twitching like a pleased rabbit. "Ten more and I'll write you a sonnet before breakfast."
From behind the hedge, Vivienne's voice cut through the moment like sunlight. "Bribing for kisses with poetry again?"
Eva startled. "Mère!"
Vivienne stepped into view, barefoot, a glass of wine in one hand and a silk robe trailing after her. "Should I be worried that my niece (daughter) is planning to elope with her Yue under a sky blanket?"
"We're not eloping," Eva muttered, burying her face in Seraphina's shoulder.
"Not yet," Vivienne teased. "But she did send me a handwritten list of baby names the other day. All based on L•••• flowers."
"Don't!" Eva squeaked, mortified.
Vivienne sat beside them and took a sip from her glass, smirking. "I think Lilium Cordis Langford was my favorite. So dramatic. Sounds like a saint."
"I like dramatic names," Eva whispered.
"And dramatic girls," Seraphina added, tugging gently on Eva's braid.
Vivienne watched them for a moment — her niece clinging like a vine, Seraphina calm as ever. Her smile softened. "It's a dangerous thing," she said lightly, "being loved so wholly."
Seraphina looked up. "Dangerous?"
"Not in a bad way. Just… a lot. It's a heavy kind of gift."
Seraphina didn't reply immediately. She leaned her head against Eva's and closed her eyes.
"I know," she said at last.
Later that night, long after Eva had fallen asleep on the sofa wrapped in a knit throw, Vivienne wandered into Evelyn's room.
The door creaked as it opened. Evelyn looked up from her journal, brow furrowed.
"Still awake?" she asked.
"I could say the same to you."
Vivienne moved quietly, with that same feline grace that made her seem to float. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it, arms crossed.
"I needed air," she said. "And wine. And you."
Evelyn gave a long - suffering sigh, but it melted into a smile. "You're impossible, Vivi."
"I know." Vivienne stepped forward and sat on the edge of the bed, one hand reaching to trace the collar of Evelyn's robe. "But I'm yours."
There was silence, filled only by the hum of the warm house around them.
Then Evelyn's fingers came up to catch Vivienne's hand. She pressed it to her lips, held it there.
"You make it very hard," Evelyn said quietly, "to let go."
"Then don't," Vivienne whispered.
"I have to." Evelyn's voice broke just slightly. "I need to go back. To—"
"Don't say it."
"You know where."
"I hate it there."
"I know. But they need me."
Vivienne lowered her gaze. "I need you."
And Evelyn — who had always kept her heart behind logic and long schedules — leaned forward and kissed her wife with a kind of desperation that hadn't been there in months.
It was slow at first. Then deeper. Hungry. Full of all the things they hadn't said aloud during their quiet breakfasts and careful co - parenting routines. Full of guilt and longing and the ache of people who had once been flame, now trying to find their way back through smoke.
Vivienne didn't speak again. She pulled Evelyn's robe gently from her shoulder, tracing the familiar skin beneath. Her kisses moved downward — slow, reverent — like prayers offered to the altar of someone she had once vowed to follow anywhere.
And Evelyn let herself lean back. Let herself forget the next plane, the next meeting, the next cause. For a little while, there was only this room. This night. This fire.
Later, tangled in sheets and silence, Evelyn lay on her side, facing the window. Vivienne curled behind her, arm draped over her waist, breathing slow and steady.
"I never stopped," Vivienne whispered.
"I know."
Evelyn turned to face her. "And you?"
Vivienne kissed her gently. "Always."
"Then why does it feel like we're still saying goodbye?"
"Because you keep leaving."
Evelyn didn't answer. Her throat was tight. She pressed her forehead to Vivienne's and closed her eyes.
"I'll come back sooner this time," she said at last.
"You always say that."
"I'll mean it more."
Vivienne smiled sadly. "Alright."
The next morning, Eva awoke in Seraphina's bed.
She wasn't quite sure when she had been carried there, but the blankets smelled like wisteria and mint shampoo, and Seraphina's arm was curled around her protectively.
She blinked once, then twice, then burrowed deeper with a sigh.
"Ina," she mumbled. "Ina."
"Mmm?"
"Still here?"
"Yes, little moon."
Eva was quiet. Then: "Don't let Mère take me away."
"She won't."
"And don't let Maman leave again."
Seraphina didn't speak. She just held her tighter.
"I'll write another song today," Eva promised against her shoulder. "Something so good no one will ever leave."
Seraphina kissed her hair. "Alright."
Ainsley Mansion, Vivienne poured coffee for Evelyn and said nothing about the night before. But when she passed her a croissant, their fingers lingered together just a moment longer than necessary.
And Evelyn, eyes tired but warmer than they had been in weeks, said softly, "Stay with me until I go."
Vivienne sat down. "Always."