Chapter 113: Echoes of Affection
The Ainsley estate settled into a late spring hush, one of those quiet seasons where everything seems to bloom at once — petals like silk unfolding, breezes like secrets. It was a rhythm Eva had come to love. It began in the hush of dawn with her slippers on the hardwood floor and the weight of books far beyond her years in her arms.
She was six years old, and she knew the names of stars, the causes of wars, the structure of financial derivatives, and the anatomy of a Bach fugue. She understood melancholy — not as adults did, but as only children could: as the sharp ache of beauty unshared, the loneliness in brilliance.
And so she wrote.
"Vox tua — aurora in tenebris,
mihi spes, cum omnes dormiunt.
Tactus tuus — melos sine fine,
resono te in corde secreto".
"Your voice — dawn in darkness,
my hope, while all others sleep.
Your touch — an endless melody,
I echo you in my secret heart."
She handed the small folded paper to Seraphina under the olive tree that afternoon, the same place they always met. Seraphina read it in silence, her fingertip brushing the ink as if to trace the shape of Eva's longing.
Earlier that day, Eva had driven herself over from the Langford side of the estate in her custom - made electric navy blue with matted black accent — , with a hand - painted crest and a soft interior lining her Mére had insisted on. After months of requests, Maman and Mére had finally paid a private contractor to construct a paved path connecting the two estates. It wound gently between the trees, slightly elevated and edged with embedded solar lights that lit up in soft amber at dusk. It made the journey easier — and safer — especially when Eva snuck out after bedtime.
The path wasn't just for convenience. The electric fencing that now lined either side (subtly distanced from the walkway itself) deterred predators and wandering strays. And just in case the Langford girl had any ideas of sneaking over — Seraphina being as reckless with her silences as Eva was with her affections — Mére had said it made the journey mutual.
Eva adored it. Every bumpless meter made her feel independent. Powerful. Grown. She giggled every time she hit the final curve that pointed straight to Seraphina's garden gate, braking with a tiny dramatic flair as she parked her car beneath the wisteria arch.
Seraphina didn't say much — she never said much when Eva gave her poems — but her smile, faint and glowing, was enough.
"I think I'll make that one into music," Eva murmured.
"You already did," Seraphina replied. "You just haven't heard it yet."
Eva crawled up into her lap like she always did. No invitation needed. Her little arms curled around Seraphina's neck, her cheek pressing against the older girl's collarbone, sighing contentedly.
"I don't want anyone else to read my poems, Ina," Eva whispered.
"They're safe with me," Seraphina promised, tucking the paper gently into her book.
From the library window, Mére — Aunt Vivienne quietly zoomed in with her phone and tapped record. In the video, Eva had her legs loosely dangling across Seraphina's lap, her nose buried in her neck, murmuring something that made Seraphina chuckle and pat her hair. Vivienne added a caption and sent it to Evelyn:
"Our daughter's new hobby: professional lap - nesting."
And a minute later:
"She also helped me pick three biotech winners this morning. 4% return in an hour. Who is she?"
Evelyn responded with a row of heart emojis, then:
"Take care of our genius baby. She's got your mind and my drama."
Later that afternoon, as Vivienne scanned the financial dashboard while making lunch, Eva climbed up on a stool beside her, fork in hand and curls still damp from her post - fencing bath. Fencing had not gone well. She'd taken three hits to the shoulder and muttered dramatically the entire walk back.
Her Papa had insisted she continue — private sessions in form, footwork, and the offensive arc of a blade. Unlike Seraphina's training, which was calculated and fierce under the sharp discipline of the Langfords' instructors, Eva's regimen was technical, steady, and rooted in structure. She hated most of it. But she did it anyway.
"I want him to see me," she told Vivienne once, after practice. "Not just wave from a screen."
She never asked Seraphina to watch her lessons, though sometimes she caught her shadow leaning against a far wall when the matches got intense.
While eating slices of pear off Vivienne's plate, Eva tapped at her tablet. "Maman owns fuel shares already, but the N——— group dropped twelve points this morning. Everyone's panicking."
She giggled. "We should buy. It's still oil. The world runs on it. Always will."
Vivienne raised a brow. "You want to buy more fossil fuel?"
"For a little while. While it's down. Then we sell when everyone realizes they still need to drive to work."
"And what about the planet?"
Eva tilted her head. "We use the profits for green energy later. You have to outplay the wolves before you save the sheep."
Vivienne shook her head, laughing softly. "Your maman's going to cry when she hears that one."
Eva's days were full. Mornings began with G•••• myths and algebra. Her schedule was filled with private tutors, though Aunt Vivienne had taken over half the subjects now, dismissing the others if they bore Eva.
"She doesn't need padding," Vivienne told the head of tutoring once. "She needs depth. Give her Petrarch and quantum theory. She'll chew it."
But Eva never let the books keep her long. Once her work was done — sometimes precisely on the hour, sometimes two hours early if her brain was sparking — she sought Seraphina like iron drawn to a magnet.
And always with more words in her heart.
"Rosa sine spina,
es tu in somniis meis —
pax et incendium."
"Rose without thorn,
you are in my dreams —
peace and fire."
One morning, Mère — Aunt Vivienne sat her down at the breakfast table with a spreadsheet, coffee steaming beside her.
"Alright, wunderkind," she said. "Here are three companies. They all just dipped. Why?"
Eva scanned the tickers, frowning.
"Investor panic," she said. "This one missed earnings. This one lost a patent. This one just got downgraded, but their core product still outperforms. Buy the third."
She pointed. "Sell this one. It's emotionally inflated. The panic will settle, and it'll fall further. Then we buy it back later."
Vivienne grinned and typed in the order.
She told no one that 60% of every dollar earned was quietly funneled into a bank account under Eva's name. It was an account Eva wouldn't touch until she was older. The rest — the 40% — was Eva's "fun money," though she rarely spent it. Occasionally she used it for ribbons, expensive fountain pens, and once, a secondhand leather - bound copy of Dante's Inferno she refused to lend.
But for now, she was still a child. A child with unusually elegant handwriting and an increasingly lyrical understanding of love.
Seraphina was painting her nails on the veranda when Eva skipped over with a fresh page.
"You want to hear another?" she asked, already settling in beside her, chin tilted, eyes glowing with unspent joy.
"Always."
"Capilli tui — ignis in sole,
oculi tui — portae caeli.
Si peribo, fiat in lumine tuo."
"Your hair — a fire in the sun,
your eyes — the gates of heaven.
If I perish, let it be in your light."
Seraphina said nothing at first, but reached out and gently pinched Eva's chin.
"I don't know what I ever did to deserve you," she said.
Eva only beamed. "You were born. That's enough."
Eva didn't remember much about the day her parents left — only the way the air seemed thinner, the way the light felt different. She'd overheard a conversation, misinterpreted a quiet word.
"Back home," they had said. "To settle affairs, indefinitely."
The word stuck. Indefinitely.
She thought it meant she would go too.
For hours, she held it inside. A storm she couldn't voice. She packed her ribbon box and her red shoes. She stopped reading halfway through a sentence. She didn't eat her strawberries.
When Seraphina found her in the corner of the study, Eva was curled up beside the bookcase, chin on knees.
"Little one?"
Eva looked up, eyes already shining.
"I don't want to leave you," she said. "Please."
Seraphina knelt beside her. "You're not leaving." "Remember I told you last time"
"But they said they're going back. I thought—" Her voice caught.
Seraphina pulled her into her arms, holding her so tightly Eva could feel the beat of her heart.
"They're going. But you're staying. You're ours now, remember?"
Eva sniffled. "Really?"
"Really."
That night, she refused to sleep in her own room.
She clung to Seraphina like ivy, wrapping herself around her waist as they sat on the sofa. When it was time for bed, Eva climbed into Seraphina's lap again, arms around her neck, murmuring softly.
"Ina," she whispered, half - asleep. "Don't let me go, okay?"
"I never will."
Vivienne caught it on camera again. The caption this time read:
"Velcro Child: Exhibit #17."
The next morning, Eva was back to writing.
"Si mundus ardeat,
serva me in amplexu tuo —
ibi salus est."
"If the world burns,
keep me in your embrace —
there lies salvation."
Evening fell gently that day. The olive tree was glowing gold, and Seraphina had brought out a thick book of Romantic poetry. Eva nestled in beside her, dozing slightly with her head on her lap.
"You're spoiling her," Vivienne said from a distance, arms crossed.
Seraphina smiled, brushing Eva's hair back from her face. "She's worth spoiling."
"She's also six going on thirty."
Seraphina looked down at the tiny girl sprawled across her lap, murmuring fragments of Latin in her sleep.
"Maybe. But she still falls asleep with her thumb tucked under her chin like a baby bird."
Vivienne smiled. "And birds grow wings."
"Let her stay grounded a little longer."