“I can’t wait,” Celeste said, and her voice had gone soft in a way she’d deny if asked. “To see the angel you’re bringing home. I’m so glad you’ve decided to move on, Caelum. It’s good for you. And for Wren.”
Wren. The name landed in his chest the way it always did – not painfully, exactly, but with weight. His daughter. Thirteen years old. Lydia’s eyes in a face that was slowly becoming her own. A girl who’d lost her mother at eleven and had spent the last two years building walls that made Marlowe’s look like garden fences.
“How is she?” he asked, and heard the worry in his own voice before he could smooth it out.
“Better.” Celeste chose the word with care. “Her grades have improved. She’s talking more – not a lot, but more. She still has that look sometimes, you know the one. Like she’s waiting for something that isn’t going to come back.”
Caelum closed his eyes.
“I just hope,” Celeste continued, and now her voice had that quality – the one that meant she was about to say something important and wanted it to land precisely, “that your new wife can be what Wren needs. Not a replacement – that’s impossible and I’d never ask it. But a presence. Someone warm. Someone who stays.”
“She will, Mom.” And as he said it, he realized he believed it – not with the calculated confidence of a businessman, but with the reckless, irrational faith of a man who’d watched Marlowe cry for her brother and laugh with Sable and fight for her own dignity in a situation designed to strip it away. If anyone could reach Wren, it was a girl who understood what it felt like to lose the people you loved most. “She’s… she’s extraordinary.”
“Extraordinary.” Celeste tasted the word. “That’s a new adjective from you.”
“It’s a new feeling.”
Another silence. Longer this time. And when his mother spoke again, her voice was different – not softer, but deeper, as though the words were coming from a place she usually kept locked.
“I’m glad,” she said. “Don’t ruin it.”
She hung up. Classic Celeste.
Caelum sat with the phone in his hand for a moment, his mother’s words echoing. Don’t ruin it. Simple advice. Enormous in its implications.
He had a date tonight. A real date, with a woman who’d set conditions and demanded honesty and kissed him on the cheek she’d slapped, and the thought of it made his pulse do things that would concern a cardiologist. He needed a venue. Somewhere impressive. Somewhere that said: I’m taking this seriously.
He dialed Lysander.
The voice that answered was warm, loud, and carried the particular energy of a man who’d turned his love of food into a small empire. “Caelum! Brother! It’s been ages. What’s the occasion?”
“I need a favor.”
“Name it.”
“A table. Tonight. Six o’clock sharp. Something private, elegant. For two.”
The briefest pause. “A date?”
“A date.”
“Caelum, is this – are you telling me you’ve actually-“
“Lysander. Table. Six o’clock. Can you do it?”
A laugh – full and delighted. “Consider it done. I’ll set you up in the private dining room. The one with the city view. Candles, the works. She must be something.”
“She is.”
“Then she deserves my best. Six sharp. Don’t be late.”
“When have I ever been late?”
“There’s a first time for everything. Especially when a woman’s involved.”
Caelum ended the call with a smile he couldn’t suppress and a feeling in his chest he couldn’t name. He glanced at the clock: 3:47. Two hours and thirteen minutes. Enough time to shower, dress, and have a small existential crisis about what tie to wear.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.