The Pedros' mansion had been waiting for them.
That was the only way to describe it. The way James had arranged things, the flowers at the entrance, fresh and full and chosen with the care of someone who understood that arriving home after something enormous required the house to meet you halfway, made it feel less like returning to a building and more like being received. Like the house itself had been holding its breath.
The staff had lined the entrance hall.
Not formally, not the stiff, uniform arrangement of people performing welcome, but warmly. The gathering of people who had genuinely been worried and were now genuinely relieved, and were not quite able to keep that relief from showing on their faces.
