Christabel woke up screaming.
Not from a nightmare.
From a memory.
The memory of her mother's hands around her father's throat.
And she realized she had never truly mourned him.
---
The scream tore through the penthouse at 3 AM.
Lena woke up crying.
Damien was awake in an instant.
"Christabel!"
She was sitting up. Her hands were clutching the sheets. Her face was pale. Her eyes were wild.
"I saw him," she gasped.
"Saw who?"
"My father. The way he looked at her. Before she—"
She couldn't finish.
Damien pulled her into his arms.
"Breathe."
"I can't."
"Breathe with me."
He held her tight. His chest against her back. His hand on her heart.
"In."
She breathed in.
"Out."
She breathed out.
"In."
"Out."
"In."
"Out."
---
Lena was still crying.
The nanny rushed to the nursery.
Christabel flinched.
"I woke her up."
"She's okay."
"I scared her."
"She's okay."
He took her face in his hands.
"Look at me."
She looked at him.
"I'm here. You're here. We're both here."
"My father isn't."
"No."
"He died because of her."
"Yes."
"And I never mourned him."
"Then let's mourn him now."
---
She cried.
Not the silent tears.
The kind that came from somewhere deep.
Somewhere that had been hurting for years.
Damien held her.
He didn't speak.
He didn't try to fix her.
He just held her.
---
When the crying stopped, she was exhausted.
Her eyes were red.
Her face was blotchy.
Her nose was running.
"I'm a mess," she said.
"You're human."
"Same thing."
"Different intention."
---
She almost smiled.
Almost.
"I want to remember him."
"Then remember him."
"The good parts."
"Then remember the good parts."
---
They sat in the dark.
The city hummed below them.
Lena had stopped crying.
The penthouse was quiet.
"He used to hold me like that," Christabel said. "When I was scared. When I was sad. When I didn't know who I was."
"What did he tell you?"
"He told me I was strong. He told me I was brave. He told me I could do anything."
"He was right."
She looked at him.
"I miss him."
"I know."
"I miss him so much it hurts."
"I know."
---
The sun began to rise.
Pink and gold through the windows.
"I want to do something," Christabel said.
"What?"
"I want to honor him. Not with tears. With something else."
"What?"
She was quiet for a moment.
"With life."
---
Damien stood.
Took her hand.
"Then let's live."
---
He led her to the bathroom.
The tub was already filled.
Not with water.
With oil.
Warm. Scented. Golden.
"What is this?"
"Argan oil. For your skin. For your body. For your grief."
"When did you—"
"I planned it. After you fell asleep. I wanted to take care of you."
---
He undressed her slowly.
Not rushing.
Not methodically.
Reverently.
Like she was something sacred.
Her nightgown. Her underwear.
She stood before him in nothing but skin.
"You're beautiful," he said.
"I'm broken."
"You're healing."
"Same thing."
"Different intention."
---
He led her to the tub.
The oil was warm against her skin.
She stepped in.
He stepped in behind her.
His chest against her back.
His arms around her waist.
His lips on her neck.
"I love you," he said.
"I know."
"I love taking care of you."
"I know."
"I love watching you heal."
---
She turned in his arms.
Faced him.
The oil was everywhere.
Between their bodies.
Between their legs.
Between their hearts.
"Then watch," she said.
She moved against him.
Her body sliding against his.
Slick and hot and desperate.
He grabbed her hips.
She grabbed his shoulders.
They moved together in the tub.
Slow at first.
Then faster.
Then slower again.
---
He entered her.
The oil made everything slick.
She gasped.
"Damien."
"I'm here."
"I need—"
"I know."
---
He moved inside her.
Not fast. Not slow.
Somewhere in between.
The way she loved.
She met every thrust.
Held him tight.
"I love you," she said.
"I know."
"I love you so much it hurts."
"I know."
"Don't stop."
"I won't."
---
She came apart in his arms.
Whispering his name.
Holding him close.
He followed.
And when it was over, they lay in the tub.
The oil was everywhere.
The sun was rising.
"I love you," she said again.
"I know."
"I love you in ways I didn't know I was capable of."
He kissed her forehead.
"I know. Because I love you the same way."
---
They didn't get out of the tub.
Not right away.
They stayed in the oil.
Touching. Breathing. Healing.
"I want to remember him today," Christabel said.
"Then remember him."
"I want to be happy today."
"Then be happy."
"I want to feel alive."
He pulled her closer.
"Then feel alive."
---
They got out of the tub.
The oil dripped from their bodies.
They didn't dry off.
They didn't get dressed.
They walked through the penthouse.
Naked. Slick. Alive.
Damien led her to the living room.
Rose petals were scattered on the floor.
Red. Pink. White.
The same roses from the garden.
"When did you—"
"While you were sleeping. I wanted to surprise you."
"You wanted to seduce me."
"I wanted to love you."
"Same thing."
"Different intention."
---
He laid her on the floor.
The rose petals crushed beneath her back.
The oil still on her skin.
The scent of roses everywhere.
He kissed her neck.
Her collarbone.
The space between her breasts.
She gasped.
"Damien."
"I'm here."
"I need—"
"I know."
---
He moved lower.
His mouth on her stomach.
Her hips.
Her thighs.
The oil tasted like flowers.
She was shaking.
"Please."
"Please what?"
"Please touch me."
He touched her.
His fingers found her center.
She was wet. Ready. Wanting.
"You're so beautiful," he said.
"Then love me."
---
He entered her.
Slowly.
Deeply.
She wrapped her legs around his waist.
Pulled him closer.
"This is what I needed," she whispered.
"What?"
"You. Us. This."
---
He moved inside her.
Not fast. Not slow.
Somewhere in between.
The way she loved.
She met every thrust.
Held him tight.
"I love you," she said.
"I know."
"I love you so much it hurts."
"I know."
"Don't stop."
"I won't."
---
She came apart beneath him.
Whispering his name.
Holding him close.
He followed.
And when it was over, they lay on the floor.
Rose petals crushed beneath them.
Oil on their skin.
Scent in the air.
"I love you," she said again.
"I know."
"I love you in ways I didn't know I was capable of."
He kissed her forehead.
"I know. Because I love you the same way."
---
They didn't stay on the floor.
They moved to the kitchen.
Rose petals on the counter.
Oil on the tiles.
He lifted her onto the island.
Spread her legs.
Entered her again.
She cried out.
"Damien!"
"I'm here."
"I need—"
"I know."
---
He took her on the counter.
Then against the refrigerator.
Then on the table.
Then on the stairs.
Then in the hallway.
Then against the window.
Every corner of the penthouse.
Every surface.
Every room.
Rose petals everywhere.
Oil everywhere.
Them. Everywhere.
---
They ended in the nursery.
Not to make love.
To check on Lena.
She was asleep.
Her tiny chest rose and fell.
Christabel stood over the crib.
Naked. Slick. Alive.
"I'm sorry I woke you," she whispered.
Lena didn't stir.
"I'm sorry I'm not perfect."
She touched Lena's cheek.
"But I'm trying. I'm always trying."
---
Damien appeared in the doorway.
"She's asleep."
"She's perfect."
"She's ours."
He walked to her.
Took her hand.
"Come to bed."
"I'm not tired."
"Then come lie with me."
---
They lay in bed.
Naked. Tangled. Together.
Rose petals on the sheets.
Oil on their skin.
Scent in the air.
"I feel different," Christabel said.
"Different how?"
"Lighter."
"That's good."
"That's terrifying."
"Same thing."
"Different intention."
---
He pulled her close.
"I love you."
"I know."
"I love you in ways I didn't know I was capable of."
She touched his face.
"I know. Because I love you the same way."
First Line of Chapter 155 (Teaser):
"The one hundred ninth week, Christabel visited her father's grave. Not alone. With Lena. She wanted her daughter to know where she came from. She wanted her daughter to know that love could survive anything. Even death."