(Scarlett’s POV)


    The Cross family home is everything I expected and nothing I prepared for.


    Crystal chandeliers cast warm light over faces that smile too warmly. Everyone speaks in measured tones, their words careful and calcted. It’s like watching a y where everyone knows their lines but forgot to


    feel the emotions.


    “So you’re the famous baker everyone’s talking about,” says a woman who introduces herself as Aunt


    Margaret. Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “How… quaint.”


    I force my own smile to stay in ce. “Thank you.”


    “Margaret.” Dorian’s voice carries a warning.


    Sheughs, the sound like breaking ss. “Oh, don’t be so serious, darling. I’m just making conversation.”


    But Elena Cross saves me from more of Margaret’s passive–aggressivements by taking my arm and


    leading me away.


    “Don’t mind her,” she whispers. “Margaret’s been bitter ever since her divorce cost her half the family fortune.”


    Elena is different from the others. Her warmth feels natural, not forced. When she looks at me, I see genuine


    interest instead of calction.


    “Dorian tells me you have a daughter,” she says as we sit in the sunroom. “Lily, isn’t it?”


    “Yes. She’s four.”


    “You must bring her next time. I adore children.” Elena’s eyes crinkle with real joy <i>as </i>she says. “Dorian was


    such a sweet boy at that age.”


    She pulls out her phone and shows me pictures. Dorian as a toddler, covered in chocte cake. Dorian at


    five, missing his front teeth. Dorian at ten, holding a trophy for some schoolpetition.


    “He was always so serious. Even as a child. I worried he’d never learn to have fun.”


    I study the photos, trying to match this carefree boy with the confident, imposing man I know. “He seems happy now.”


    “Does he?” Elena tilts her head. “I hope so. This family… we don’t make it easy to be happy.”


    Before I can ask what she means, Dorian appears beside us.


    “Grandma, are you embarrassing me with baby pictures again?”


    “Always,” she says with a wink


    “It’s my job.” <fn63e5> Checktest chapters at </fn63e5>


    He grimaces, and I smother a chuckle. Dorian grins and offers me his hand. “Mind if I steal Scarlett for a few


    minutes?<b>” </b>


    “Go, go. But bring her back. I want to hear more about this bakery of yours.” Elena waves us away.


    Dorian leads me upstairs, past family portraits that look more like board meeting photos than memories. His room surprises me – it’s simpler than I expected. Clean lines, muted colors, books scattered around.


    “This is nice,” I say, running my fingers along the spine of a well–worn copy of “The Great Gatsby*


    “You sound surprised.”


    “I am. I guess I expected something more… shy.”


    Heughs. “My mother wanted to hire a designer. I told her I could pick out my own furniture.”


    “Rebel.”


    “That’s me. Living dangerously with my own decorating choices.”


    I turn to face him, and something in his expression shifts. The easy humor fades, reced by something more intense.


    “Scarlett.”


    “Yeah?”


    “Thank you. For tonight.”


    “It’s fine. Your family is… interesting.”


    “That’s one way to put it.” He sighs, then grins. “But they seem to like you.”


    “Even Aunt Margaret?”


    “Especially Aunt Margaret. Trust me, if she really didn’t like you, you’d know.”


    We stand there in the quiet of his room, and I’m suddenly aware of how close we are. I shift, feeling awkward.


    “Scarlett.”


    “Dorian…”


    We say at the same time, then our gazes meet, and we break intoughter.


    “I know this started as pretend. But my family really does love you.” Dorian reaches for my hand, his fingers warm against mine. “And so do I.”


    My breath catches. “I….”


    He steps even closer. “I know you’re not ready for a rtionship, and Lunderstand. But can you consider giving me a chance?”


    “Dorian, I can’t-”


    “I’m not asking you to marry me tomorrow.” His thumb traces circles on my palm. “I’m asking if you’d consider


    making this real.”


    My heart pounds so hard I’m sure he can hear it. Part of me wants to say yes. To fall into this easy warmth


    he offers. To let him take care of me.


    But another part – the part that’s been burned before – whispers warnings.


    “I’m not ready,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m still figuring out who I am without… without him.”


    Disappointment flickers across Dorian’s face, but he nods anyway. “I understand.”


    “Do you? Because I don’t want to hurt you. And I will, eventually. I don’t know if I can ever love again.”


    “No.” His voice is firm. “It’s not that you can’t love, but that you’re afraid to love again. But that’s fine. I’ll wait


    for you to open your heart to me.”


    The certainty in his voice makes my chest tight. He’s a great guy. Caring, protective, considerate. And because he’s everything I’ve ever wanted in my life–partner, I feel even more unworthy of him.


    “I can wait,” he reiterates. “However long it’ll take.”


    “What if I’m never ready?”


    “Then I’ll deal with that when it happens.” He lifts my hand, his eyes never leaving mine. “But I don’t think


    that’ll ever happen.”


    Before I can respond, he presses his lips to the back of my hand. The kiss is soft, reverent, full of promises.


    And for the first time in months, I don’t pull away.


    Violet Moon


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