The office was quieter than usual one morning a couple of weeks after she returned from Paris — there was a lull between projects, the phones hushed, the hum of the office had calmed.
Isabelle was reviewing misfiled documents at her desk when Richard walked by. He stopped mid-stride, his brow furrowing slightly.
"Hold on," he said, his voice half-amused, half-incredulous. "What's that?"
She looked up, startled. "What's what?"
He nodded toward her left hand. "That little sun you're wearing."
She followed his gaze and felt a blush rise before she could stop it. The diamond caught the light — subtle, elegant, but impossible to miss.
"Oh," she said softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "That."
Richard's eyebrows shot up. "Yes. That." He leaned forward against the edge of her desk, folding his arms. "You don't just show up with a ring like that and expect no one to notice."
She hesitated, smiling shyly. "Robert and I…" She paused, the words almost fragile in the air. "We're engaged."
For a moment, he only stared at her — as if the words hadn't quite landed. "Robert... Blake? Engaged?"
She nodded, the blush deepening. "He asked me in Paris a couple of weeks ago."
"Paris?" Richard let out a soft, incredulous laugh. "Of course it was Paris." He shook his head, still grinning. "And when exactly did this start? I thought you two were —"
"Just colleagues?" she supplied, her smile turning wry. "We were. For a long time. After he left here, we… reconnected and started seeing each other... properly."
Richard exhaled, his expression softening into something warm, almost paternal. "Well, I'll be damned, he finally did it." He looked at her for a long moment, his voice gentler now. "He's a lucky man, Isabelle."
"Thank you," she said, her tone quiet but full. "I think I'm the lucky one."
"Oh, no, he's definitely the lucky one. You're a gem, Isabelle. I'm happy for you."
She blushed again and thanked him quietly.
Half an hour later, Richard was in his office, staring at his phone with an expression somewhere between disbelief and affection. He hit the call button.
Robert answered on the second ring, his voice brisk, distracted. "Richard. To what do I —"
"You got engaged," Richard interrupted. "To Isabelle. In Paris."
There was a beat of silence. Then a soft laugh. "Ah," Robert said, his tone low, amused. "So she told you."
"She told me because you didn't," Richard said. "I'm one of your oldest friends, and you 'forgot' to mention you'd proposed to Isabelle in the most romantic city in the world?"
"I didn't forget," Robert said, though his voice betrayed him. "I just… got distracted. She has that effect on me. Everything else sort of falls away."
Richard leaned back in his chair, shaking his head with a grin. "My goodness. You've gone completely soft."
"Possibly," Robert admitted. "Happily so."
"Well," Richard said, his tone turning fond, "then congratulations, my friend. You deserve it. And so does she."
"Thank you," Robert said quietly. "I know she does, I still can't believe she said yes."
"Neither can I!" Richard exclaimed with a loud laugh.
When the call ended, Richard sat for a while, staring at the rain streaking the window. Then he smiled — that rare, quiet kind of smile that came from seeing something right in a world that so often wasn't.
A little while later Isabelle's phone buzzed beside her as she worked. She smiled the moment she saw his name on the screen.
Richard called me.
She paused, amusement tugging at her mouth.
Ah. I suspected he might.
You told him.
He noticed the ring. I wasn't exactly hiding it.
A moment passed before his next message appeared.
He congratulated me. Said you told him about Paris.
Did he sound surprised?
Stunned. Delighted. And slightly offended I hadn't told him first.
She laughed under her breath, typing back quickly.
You really didn't mention it? To one of your oldest friends?
I meant to. Then you smiled at me, and everything else stopped mattering.
Her heart gave a small, traitorous flutter. She stared at the message for a long moment before replying.
That's a very good answer, Mr. Blake.
I thought you might approve, Mrs. Blake-to-be.
She felt the warmth spread through her chest, soft and certain.
I do.
Keep practicing saying that, my love.
The words lingered on the screen, simple, but perfect. She leaned back in her chair, her thumb tracing the ring absently — the weight of it, the meaning of it, the life waiting just ahead. She felt that everything — every mistake, every heartbreak, every long road back to herself — had led her exactly here.
That evening, the light lingered long after the city should have become dark. London in July had a rare gentleness — the air warm, the streets unhurried, the horizon brushed with pale light.
Robert pulled up outside the office building just as Isabelle stepped out, her hair cascading freely down her back, her jacket folded over one arm. She smiled when she saw him, that quiet, knowing smile that always made something in his chest ease.
"Right on time," she said, slipping into the passenger seat.
"I don't like to keep my girl waiting," he replied lightly, his eyes softened when they met hers.
They drove through the city, the hum of traffic distant, windows open to let the breeze in. It had become their small ritual — that pocket of calm between the end of her workday and the start of the evening, when the world seemed to shrink to the sound of their voices, their laughter, the easy rhythm of them together.
She leaned back, glancing at him. "Richard said he still can't believe we managed to keep it quiet for so long."
Robert smiled. "He'll recover. He always does."
"He told me to make sure you don't disappear on him again. Apparently, he's still not over you leaving Hale."
"I think he's just jealous," Robert said, his tone teasing. "You've stolen his favourite consultant."
"Stolen?" she echoed, turning to him with a raised brow. "You were hardly reluctant."
He laughed, the sound low and easy. "No, I wasn't. You make it hard to want anything else."
Her cheeks warmed, and she looked away, watching the sunlight spill across the buildings. "You say things like that," she murmured, "and then expect me to be sensible."
"No need to be sensible with me," he said. There was playfulness in his voice now — something she still hadn't gotten used to yet.
She smiled to herself, shaking her head, but the air between them had shifted slightly, charged with that familiar, delicate electricity.
When they reached her street, the world seemed to slow. The row of townhouses glowed in the late light, the scent of summer in the air.
He stopped outside her door and turned to her, resting his arm on the steering wheel.
"Come in?" she asked, unbuckling her seatbelt, her voice barely above a whisper.
He hesitated for only a heartbeat before nodding. "I thought you'd never ask."
As they walked towards her door, he reached for her hand, brushing his thumb lightly over the engagement ring, "I'll never get used to seeing this here," he said softly.
She looked down, then up at him again, smiling. "You'd better. It's not going anywhere."
His expression softened. "Good."
As they stepped into her flat and were greeted by her mother and children, he thought, not for the first time, that this — the quiet routine, the laughter, the simplicity of it all — was the kind of happiness he'd stopped believing in long ago.
And somehow, she'd brought it back.