210
Emilia’s POV
Francesca’s laughter was the sweetest sound I’d heard in days. She sat cross-legged on the floor of the living room, surrounded by a fortress of pillows and blankets Alaric had helped her build this morning. She was still a little pale, but the fever had broken overnight, and her energy seemed to return with every hour.
I leaned against the doorway, watching her pretend to serve tea to her stuffed animals. Alaric sat nearby, awkwardly holding a tiny porcelain cup, his large hands looking almost comical against the delicate dishware.
“Would you like more tea, Mr. Bear?” Francesca asked, her voice full of the exaggerated politeness she thought adults used.
“Of course, Francesca,” Alaric replied in a deep voice, mimicking the bear. “But only if you save me one of those biscuits.”
She giggled, picking up an imaginary biscuit and handing it to him. “Here you go!”
I couldn’t help but smile. The last few days had been a whirlwind of fear and exhaustion, but seeing her so full of life again made it all worth it.
“She’s definitely feeling better,” I said, stepping into the room.
Alaric looked up, his expression softening when he saw me. “She bounced back faster than I expected,” he admitted. “Tough little thing.”
“That she is,” I said, sitting on the arm of the couch.
Francesca noticed me and lit up. “Mommy! Come have tea with us!”
“How could I say no?” I teased, sliding down to sit on the floor beside her. She handed me a tiny cup, and I held it delicately, playing along.
As we sipped our imaginary tea and made small talk with Mr. Bear and his friends, I couldn’t help but marvel at how different my life had become. Almost a year ago, I never could have imagined myself here-sharing a home with Alaric, caring for Francesca, building a life that felt almost…normal.
Later, after Francesca had tired herself out and gone to bed, I found myself in the kitchen, washing up the remnants of dinner. Alaric joined me, leaning against the counter with a glass of whiskey in hand.
“She’s finally asleep,” he said, his voice low and warm.
“She wore herself out,” I replied, glancing over my shoulder at him. “I think she’ll be back to full speed by tomorrow.”
He nodded, taking a sip of his drink. For a moment, we stood in comfortable silence, the weight of the past few days hanging lightly between us now.
“You were amazing with her,” he said suddenly, his tone sincere. “I don’t know how you stayed so calm through all of it.”
I shrugged, turning back to the sink. “I didn’t feel calm. I was terrified. But I knew she needed me to be strong.”
Alaric set his glass down and stepped closer, resting a hand on my shoulder. “You kept us both together, Emilia. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
I paused, letting his words settle over me. “You’d figure it out,” I said softly. “You’re stronger than you think, Alaric.”
He didn’t respond right away, and when I turned to look at him, his expression was unreadable. There was a depth to his gaze that made my chest tighten, a mixture of gratitude, affection, and something deeper I couldn’t quite name.
“I mean it,” he said finally. “You’ve changed everything for me. For Francesca. For all of us.”
I felt my cheeks heat under his intense gaze, and I looked away, focusing on the suds in the sink. “You’ve changed me too,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.
It was true. The person I was when I first met Alaric felt like a distant memory now. I’d been so unsure of myself, so weighed down by fear and uncertainty. But now…now I felt strong. Capable. Loved.
I finished the last dish and dried my hands, turning to face him. “Thank you,” I said, meeting his gaze.
“For what?” he asked, his brow furrowing slightly.
“For letting me be part of this,” I said, gesturing around the room. “For trusting me with Francesca. For trusting me with you.”
His expression softened, and he reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “It’s not trust, Emilia. It’s just…you. You’re the only person I want by my side.”
My heart skipped a beat, and I found myself searching his face for some clue, some indication of what he was thinking.
“Alaric,” I began, but he shook his head, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
“Not tonight,” he said quietly. “Tonight’s just about us.”
I didn’t press him, but as I lay in bed that night, his words replayed in my mind. The way he’d looked at me, the way he’d spoken-it felt like he was trying to tell me something, something he wasn’t ready to say out loud yet.
The next morning, I woke to the sound of Francesca giggling. I found her in the living room, sitting on Alaric’s lap as he read to her from one of her favorite books. They both looked up when I entered, and Francesca waved me over.
“Look, mommy!” she said, holding up a picture she’d drawn. “It’s us!”
I knelt beside her, taking the paper from her hands. It was a child’s drawing, all colorful scribbles and mismatched proportions, but it was unmistakably the three of us. Alaric, Francesca, and me, all holding hands under a bright yellow sun.
“It’s beautiful,” I said, my throat tightening.
Francesca beamed. “I’m going to put it on the fridge!”
She hopped off Alaric’s lap and ran to the kitchen, leaving the two of us alone.
“She adores you, you know,” Alaric said, watching her go.
“She adores you more,” I countered, smiling.
He shook his head, his expression soft. “You’re the one who brought the light back into her life. Into both our lives.”
I felt a lump form in my throat, and I reached out, taking his hand. “We’ve done it together, Alaric. All of us.”
He squeezed my hand, his gaze steady. “And we’ll keep doing it together.”
There was something in his tone that made my chest tighten and I found myself wondering what was going on in his mind.