The night had softened. The men were finishing a quiet conversation near the fireplace. Anna was speaking with Malcolm.
August caught Celine's eye from across the room.
"Come," he said quietly.
She followed him upstairs.
The hallway was quieter now, the house dimmed into evening calm. He stopped in front of a door at the end of the corridor.
"This used to be mine," he said.
Used to.
He pushed it open.
The room wasn't flashy. It wasn't grand. It felt… real.
Shelves lined one wall, cookbooks stacked neatly. A few framed photos. A medal from a junior culinary competition. A worn-out desk.
Celine stepped inside slowly.
"You kept it," she said softly.
"My mom refused to change it," he replied. "Said it reminded her that I was once small."
She smiled.
He walked to the shelf and picked up a picture, a younger version of himself, flour on his face, grinning wildly.
"She used to worry I'd fail," he said quietly. "Leaving the company. Choosing kitchens over boardrooms."
Celine looked at him.
"But you didn't," she said.
He shook his head slightly. "That's not what she was afraid of."
He looked at her then.
"She was afraid I'd get hurt again."
The air shifted.
Celine stepped closer.
"I don't want to hurt you," she said honestly.
He studied her face, not searching for performance, but truth.
"I know," he said.
And that was it.
Not dramatic.
Not rushed.
Just quiet understanding.
He reached for her hand, not possessive, not desperate, just steady.
"You handled tonight well," he murmured.
"So did you," she replied.
He smiled faintly.
"You know," he added softly, "bringing someone up here means something."
Celine's pulse fluttered slightly.
"And what does it mean?" she asked.
"It means," he said, voice low but calm, "I don't see you as temporary."
She turned.
He was closer than she expected.
Not crowding her.
Just… there.
"You're very calm for someone whose mother just interrogated my heart," she murmured.
"She approved," he said quietly. "That's rare."
Her chest tightened slightly.
"That important?" she asked.
He nodded once.
"Very."
There was a pause.
The kind that stretches but doesn't feel awkward.
Just charged.
Celine's eyes flickered to his lips before she could stop herself.
He noticed.
Of course he noticed.
His hand lifted slowly, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered just a second longer than necessary.
"You're thinking loudly," he said softly.
Her breath caught. "Am I?"
"Yes."
His thumb brushed lightly along her jaw.
And then he hesitated.
Not unsure.
Just giving her space.
Her heart was beating too fast now. She stepped closer, barely, but enough.
"August," she whispered.
That was permission.
His hand slid gently to her waist, pulling her just enough to close the distance. His forehead rested against hers first, slow, intentional.
"Still here?" he murmured.
"Yes."
That was all he needed.
He kissed her.
Not rushed.
Not aggressive.
Just warm.
Soft at first, testing.
Then deeper, slower, like he had been holding that back all evening.
Her fingers curled lightly into his shirt, grounding herself as the world outside that room seemed to fade.
When he pulled back slightly, his voice was lower now.
"You have no idea," he murmured, brushing his thumb across her cheek, "how hard it was not to do that downstairs."
She laughed breathlessly.
"Malcolm would've fainted."
He smirked faintly. "Worth it."
He rested his forehead against hers again, calmer now.
"No pressure," he said quietly. "No rush. I just… wanted that."
Celine smiled softly.
"I wanted it too."
And this time, when he kissed her again, it wasn't tension.
It was certainty.
The second kiss didn't stay soft.
It deepened.
August's hand slid from her waist to the small of her back, pulling her closer. Celine's fingers curled into his shirt again, and this time she didn't hesitate. She melted into him.
He tilted his head slightly, his lips trailing from her mouth down to her jaw.
"August…" she breathed, but it wasn't protest.
His lips brushed the curve of her neck, slow and deliberate, before pressing a warm kiss against her collarbone.
Her knees nearly forgot their job.
He murmured something low and amused when she shivered, clearly enjoying the effect he was having.
Then,
Knock knock.
They both froze.
August didn't move.
"Ignore it," he muttered softly against her skin.
Another knock.
"August," Celine whispered, flustered now, trying to regain a fragment of composure.
He lifted his head just enough to look at her, eyes darker, amused.
"They'll go away."
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Persistent.
"August," she hissed quietly, trying to push him back a little.
He leaned in and kissed her again, effectively shutting her up.
Her hands pressed lightly against his chest this time, not resisting, just overwhelmed.
The knocking continued.
August finally groaned under his breath. "Unbelievable."
He stepped back reluctantly, running a hand through his hair.
"Give me a second."
He gently adjusted her blouse, smoothing the fabric down like he was fixing something fragile. Then he tried to tuck her hair back into place, but one stubborn strand refused to cooperate.
"You look fine," he said.
"I do not," she whispered, cheeks flushed.
He opened the door.
"Enter."
Malcolm stood there.
Grinning.
Wide.
Slow clap energy.
"Well," he said calmly, leaning against the doorframe. "I would gladly tell Mom you were up here making babies."
Celine's face turned a dangerous shade of red.
"Malcolm!" she gasped.
August groaned. "Seriously, Mal?"
Malcolm walked in halfway, eyes scanning the slightly rumpled room.
"Liam would be thrilled," he continued. "Finally a little sister."
"I will throw you down these stairs," August said flatly.
Malcolm raised his hands dramatically. "Wrong timing. I know. My bad."
August grabbed the nearest object without looking.
A small Spider-Man toy from his childhood shelf.
He launched it.
Malcolm dodged effortlessly.
"You still can't aim!" Malcolm laughed, already backing into the hallway.
"Get out!"
"I'm going! I'm going! Tell Celine welcome to the family!" he called before sprinting off.
The hallway echoed with his laughter.
August shut the door slowly.
Silence.
Celine covered her face with both hands. "I cannot face your family again."
August stepped back toward her, gently pulling her hands down.
"You're fine," he said, fighting a smile.
"My hair—"
"Cute."
"My blouse—"
"Still intact."
She narrowed her eyes at him.
He leaned closer again, softer this time.
"You okay?" he asked quietly.
She nodded, still flustered.
"You?" she asked.
He smirked faintly.
"Very much not okay."
She laughed despite herself.
He didn't kiss her again immediately this time.
He just pulled her into a loose embrace, resting his chin lightly on her head.
"We should probably go downstairs," he murmured.
"Before Malcolm starts narrating imaginary grandchildren?"
"Exactly."
She looked up at him.
"You're trouble."
He smiled slowly.
"Only with you."
***
They walked back into the lounge hand in hand, trying very hard to look normal.
Malcolm looked up first.
Smirk.
August ignored him.
Anna's eyes lifted slowly from her wine glass… and landed directly on Celine's flushed cheeks.
"Oh dear," she said lightly. "You look… refreshed."
"Mom," August warned.
"What?" she asked innocently. "The air upstairs must be very invigorating."
Celine tried, and failed, not to smile.
Malcolm coughed into his drink.
August's father adjusted his glasses, clearly pretending to focus on nothing in particular.
Anna leaned back in her chair, swirling her wine thoughtfully.
"You know," she began casually, "when your father and I were your age…"
August groaned softly. "Please don't."
"Oh hush," she waved him off. "We used to sneak off during family gatherings too."
Celine's eyes widened slightly.
Malcolm perked up immediately. "Oh, this I need to hear."
Anna smiled, completely unbothered.
"There was a stone bench in the garden at my parents' house," she continued. "Hidden behind the hedges near the fountain."
August's father cleared his throat. "Anna."
"What?" she laughed. "It's true."
She turned to Celine.
"We would disappear for 'fresh air' every thirty minutes."
Celine covered her mouth, trying not to laugh.
"Mom, please," August muttered.
Anna ignored him.
"Your father once nearly got caught because he couldn't stop fixing my lipstick afterward."
Now even Malcolm burst out laughing.
August's father sighed, but there was the faintest smile at the corner of his mouth.
Anna tilted her head at Celine.
"So really, dear… you're doing just fine."
Celine's face flushed deeper, but this time she wasn't embarrassed, she was amused.
"Thank you… Anna," she said softly.
August looked at his mother. "You are unbelievable."
Anna shrugged elegantly. "Young love is supposed to be slightly reckless. As long as it's respectful."
August squeezed Celine's hand.
"It is," he said calmly.
Anna's teasing softened then.
"I know," she replied.
Malcolm leaned forward, grinning. "So is there a sport bench on this estate we should be worried about?"
August grabbed another cushion.
"Don't test me."
Laughter filled the room.
The tension from earlier? Gone.
Now it was just warmth. Family. A little embarrassment. A lot of acceptance.
Anna raised her glass.
"To young people who think they're subtle."
August shook his head.
Celine laughed.