The September evening was golden and soft, the air still warm enough to carry the scent of cut grass and the faint sweetness of late roses.
At the old country house they'd rented for the weekend, the rehearsal dinner was in full swing; laughter spilling through open doors, fairy lights glowing in the garden, glasses clinking in a lazy rhythm of celebration.
Robert and Isabelle moved through it all with the ease of two people who had already built the life they were here to celebrate.
She wore a pale blue dress, soft and simple, her hair twisted loosely at her nape.
He had their son, two-month-old Michael, cradled against his chest in a sling, the baby fast asleep despite the noise.
Becca darted past in a spinning cloud of white tulle. "Daddy, look! I'm practising!"
"You're doing perfectly," Robert said warmly.
Luke followed, clutching a velvet box with both hands. "And I've got the rings. Well… the practice ones," he clarified with great seriousness.
Robert crouched to their level. "Excellent work, team. Very professional."
He straightened, lowering his voice to Isabelle. "This little one has been asleep for three hours. We may need to check he's not just pretending to avoid the chaos."
"Hmm, he might be," she replied. "He takes after you."
Robert pressed a hand to his chest. "Unfair. I'm heroic in chaos. Remember: I adopted this chaos."
And he had — officially.
Just after Michael was born, Robert had completed the adoption process for Becca and Luke.
Clive didn't protest; if anything, he seemed relieved that someone else was stepping into that role. Robert was more than capable, stable, and utterly devoted to the children.
Later, as the sun dipped lower, their guests began drifting toward the terrace.
Helene sat near the table, feeding Michael his bottle, the baby blinking up at her with lazy curiosity.
Richard arrived a little late; traffic, he claimed, though Isabelle suspected he'd spent half an hour debating tie versus no tie. One of the many things he couldn't ask Wendy, who still terrified him slightly.
"You made it!" Isabelle said brightly as he approached her.
"Wouldn't miss it," Richard replied. "Where's that beautiful baby of yours?"
Isabelle gestured toward her mother — and Richard turned, saw Helene, and stopped dead.
Helene looked up at that exact moment and something subtle, but unmistakable shifted in the air.
She was nothing like the polished corporate women Richard usually met at work events. Her beauty was quieter: softer, warm eyes, a grace and calmness that made you feel respect for her immediately.
"You must be Helene," he said, his voice unexpectedly gentle.
"And you must be Richard," she answered, her cheeks turning a little red. "Isabelle speaks very highly of you."
"Only good things, I hope," he teased.
"All good," she assured him.
He glanced at Michael in her arms, then back at her. "I can see where Isabelle gets her charm and beauty from."
Helene's cheeks warmed. "You're very kind, Mr. Hale."
"Richard," he said quickly. "Please."
From across the terrace, Robert leaned in to Isabelle, barely containing a grin. "He's gone."
"Completely," she whispered.
"And your mother's gone too," he added lightly.
"Not quite," Isabelle said, biting back a smile. "She's just startled."
"Mm. Startled. And glowing."
Isabelle shot him a look. "Behave."
"Never," he whispered. "You knew that about me," he added smugly.
She nudged him with her shoulder. "What I know, was I had to make the first move, because if we'd waited for you, we'd still be circling each other in a conference room somewhere."
"I'm eternally grateful," Robert said with a playful solemnity.
Dinner was served beneath strings of fairy lights, the table buzzing with conversation. Becca insisted on sitting between Robert and Richard. Luke attempted to smuggle three extra bread rolls, failing miserably.
Helene took a seat on the other side of Richard, who suddenly displayed immaculate posture and a rather polite enthusiasm for French, teaching, and gardening woes.
Isabelle caught her mother smiling; a soft, shy smile she hadn't ever seen on her mother.
Robert leaned close. "She definitely likes him."
"I think she's trying not to," Isabelle whispered.
"That never works," he said knowingly. "I know that first-hand."
Later, when Michael woke with a sleepy murmur, Richard offered, "May I?"
Helene hesitated, then handed the baby over gently.
Richard held him like he'd been doing it for years. Michael blinked once, then yawned, and Richard's face softened into something warm, open, almost tender.
"You and I," he told the baby, "are going to get along very well."
Helene looked at him, really looked — and something shifted in her eyes.
Across the table, Isabelle rested her chin in her hand, her heart swelling.
Robert leaned in. "Just so you know, I've already begun drafting my best man speech for their wedding."
"Stop," she whispered, giggling. "You're terrible."
"Nope. He teased me about you, I'm going to have fun with this."
By the time the night wound down, the stars were out in a velvet sky.
Helene stood on the terrace, rocking Michael gently.
Richard joined her.
"Beautiful night," he said softly.
"It is," she replied.
He paused, then added, "I'm not usually one for long dinners. But I'm glad I came."
Helene met his eyes, and this time she didn't look away.
"So am I."
Inside, Isabelle and Robert exchanged a quiet glance.
They had their story.
And now, wonderfully, unexpectedly, they were watching another begin.