Chapter 95: A Promise for Monday
The rest of the day went by in a way that almost felt unreal. No drama, no sharp words, no glares across tables. Just me and Val... being us.
We laughed more than we probably should’ve. Talked about things that didn’t even matter. Things that didn’t need to matter. At one point, she leaned across the couch and tugged at my shirt just to tell me she thought my hair looked funny when it stuck up in the back. Then she laughed like it was the best joke she’d ever made.
Another time, she decided my handwriting was too "boring," so she stole my notebook, wrote "Kai is mine" in her ridiculous bubbly letters across the margin, and handed it back proudly as if she’d just signed a masterpiece.
And then there was the moment she put a blanket over Duchess, whispering, "Shh, she’s dreaming," like our cat was the most precious royal in the kingdom. Which, apparently, she was in Val’s head.
I just watched her. Sometimes laughing, sometimes shaking my head, sometimes both. She had this way of making the air lighter without even trying.
---
"Do you ever think about what you said last night?" I asked quietly, not even sure why I brought it up.
She tilted her head, halfway through braiding a tiny section of her hair. "What did I say last night?"
"You know..." My throat went dry, and I rubbed the back of my neck. "The fort. The whole thing about... me being your—"
She cut me off with a grin, the kind that carried both mischief and something softer underneath. "My fortress?"
I nodded, unsure what else to do.
She hummed, leaning her chin into her palm like she was thinking about it all over again. "Well... it’s true. So don’t forget it, okay?"
And then, just like that, she shifted the conversation to Duchess—how our cat used to be sleek and quick, but now waddled around like a queen who’d retired from hunting. "She doesn’t even run anymore," Val teased, giggling. "Her tail just... wiggles like a broom someone forgot to use."
Because that’s who Val was. She could toss out something heavy, something real, and then cover it with laughter before I had the chance to sink into it.
---
Night came quicker than I thought. Maybe because we’d spent most of the day tangled up in nonsense conversations, or maybe because time just moved faster with her.
I stretched on the couch, letting out a quiet groan. "It’s getting late. You should probably go home before it gets too dark."
The room went still.
Val blinked at me, slow, like she didn’t process it at first. And then her lips parted. "What?"
I sat up straighter, suddenly uneasy. "You should head home before it gets too late. You know how—"
Her jaw dropped, eyes going wide like I’d just announced I was running away forever. "Excuse me?"
Oh no.
I realized instantly what I’d done. I’d forgotten. I’d actually forgotten.
Her voice pitched up, sharp but not truly angry—more like the start of one of her infamous storms. "You promised!"
I winced. "Promised what?"
Her eyes narrowed to slits. "Don’t play dumb, Kai. You promised I’d stay an extra week. A week. And now you’re trying to kick me out like some guest?"
I raised my hands defensively. "I didn’t try kicking you out—"
"You basically did!" She grabbed a pillow off the couch and smacked me with it, light but quick. "You traitor husband!"
"Val—"
"No! Don’t ’Val’ me." Another smack. This one to my shoulder. She pouted hard, cheeks puffing. "Do you know how much I rearranged my whole life for this week? I planned it. A whole week. I even told Duchess to clear her schedule. And now you’re telling me to leave?"
I couldn’t help it—I laughed, even as I tried dodging her half-hearted pillow swings. "Duchess doesn’t even care!"
"She does care!" Val shot back instantly, hugging the pillow to her chest dramatically. "She told me with her eyes. Don’t slander her!"
I rubbed my temple, muttering, "You’re impossible."
"And you’re heartless." She dropped the pillow, crossing her arms in a full sulk. "Making me think I had one more week and then snatching it away like some cruel villain."
"I just forgot," I said quickly, trying not to smile at the way her lower lip jutted out. "That’s all."
Her pout softened into something sly. "You’re not very good at being a husband, you know."
That one stung—until I saw the tiny smirk tugging at her mouth, giving her away.
"You’re evil," I muttered.
> "And you love me."
She leaned in, smug and certain, then leaned back like she’d won a battle no one else even knew existed.
---
Later, when we finally made it to bed—yes, still in the fort, because apparently it was now a permanent fixture—I found myself staring through the little square of ceiling framed by blankets overhead, long after her humming faded into sleep.
She’d fallen asleep smiling. Even after all that.
And me? I was smiling too, though mine felt different. Softer, heavier.
But then the weight crept back in.
The reminder of things waiting outside our little fortress walls.
Marina. Trent. The silence that had stretched too long. The tension that hadn’t gone anywhere.
Tomorrow was Monday. School.
And I had a bad feeling the peace we’d built today wasn’t going to follow us there.
---
Morning came too quickly.
The sun broke through the curtains in thin slants, cutting across the fort we’d half-torn down before bed. The rest still clung stubbornly to the furniture like it refused to be forgotten. We’d gotten dressed in the middle of that mess, stepping over pillows and folded blankets, like the fort was quietly watching us prepare to leave it behind.
I was already done—shirt buttoned, bag slung over my shoulder. Celestia stood by the mirror, leaning in just enough to touch up her lips. She pressed them together once, then angled her face this way and that, clearly satisfied with what she saw.
I should’ve looked away. Should’ve grabbed the keys or my phone. Instead, my eyes stayed glued to her reflection.
She noticed. Of course she noticed.
Her gaze flicked up, catching mine through the mirror. The corner of her mouth curved as if she’d been waiting for it. "What?" she teased, tilting her head, "Can’t take your eyes off a pretty girl?"
I tried for a smile, light and casual, but it didn’t quite land. "Something like that."
The problem with Val was simple—she never let things slide. Not when it came to me. Sometimes the way she read me, the way she caught things I hadn’t even said out loud, it felt like she’d taken a whole degree in Kai Studies. Top of her class. First-class honors.
My shoulders tensed. She’d caught it. She always caught it.
She set the gloss down, finally turning fully to face me. "What’s wrong?"
"Nothing," I answered too quickly.
Her brows drew together. She studied me the way she studied a math problem she secretly didn’t want to solve. Then she walked over, slow and steady, until she was standing right in front of me. Close enough that I had to breathe her in.
"You look bothered," she said softly.
I shook my head. "I’m fine."
She wasn’t buying it. She tilted her head, studying my face like she was peeling back layers. "Kai..."
Her voice was gentle, not sharp, not demanding. Just there, pressing in like the weight of a blanket.
"I am fine, really." I said, maybe a little too quickly.
Her brows rose. "No, you’re not."
"I am."
> "You’re lying."
"I’m not."
"Yes, you are." She folded her arms, leaning her hip against the dresser like she had all morning to peel me open.
I dragged a hand through my hair. "Val..."
She leaned in, eyes glinting. "...Kai."
"Don’t do that."
"Don’t do what?" she asked, tilting her head, all innocent.
"That thing where you act like you know me better than I know myself."
Her lips curved, soft but sure. "Because I do."
I tried for a smile, but it slipped somewhere along the way.
She saw it—of course she did. She always saw it.
"I’ll worry if you don’t tell me," she murmured.
That hit harder than I wanted it to. I sighed, trying to shake it off. "That’s blackmail."
Her lips curved, smug again for half a second. "Maybe," she admitted. But then her eyes softened. "Still. I’ll worry."
The thing about Celestia was... you couldn’t lie to her for long. My face slipped before I even realized it. The effort to keep steady just crumbled, and she caught it instantly.
"So..." she leaned in, quiet, steady, "spill."
I looked at her for a moment, then finally forced the words out. "I just... I don’t want what happened with Marina to... to weigh on you today. Or make things harder for you. You’ve been happy. I don’t want that to change."
For a second, silence. Then she smiled. Not the smug one. Not the fake one either. A soft one, small and real.
She stretched her pinkie out toward me, holding it up like an offering.
I blinked. "What’s that for?"
> "A pinkie promise."
My brows lifted. "For what?"
"That I won’t let anything weigh me down today," she said firmly, her voice stronger now. "No matter what happens."
I stared at her pinkie, then at her face. She wasn’t joking. She meant it.
Slowly, I lifted my hand and hooked my pinkie with hers. It was stupid. Childish. And yet, it felt like the most important contract I’d ever signed.
She sealed it with a nod, then leaned up and kissed my cheek.
I barely got to feel the warmth before she was wiping at it with her thumb. "Lipstick smudge," she explained quickly, though her smile gave her away.
"Thanks," I muttered.
Her voice dropped, softer than before. "Thank you. For always worrying about me."
I opened my mouth to answer, but she was already grinning, adding, "Even though I’d probably still run the world without you."
A laugh slipped out of me. "Yeah, until you trip over your own shoelaces."
"Good," she said brightly, satisfied with herself. "You’re laughing. That’s better." She clapped her hands together, stepping back. "Now let’s go before we’re late."
We left the fort as it was, a half-finished monument to the weekend. At the door, Celestia bent down, calling out, "Bye, Duchess!"
The cat flicked her ear, meowed once, and promptly rolled over with her back to us, as if to say she wanted to be left alone.
"Rude," Val muttered, but she grinned anyway.
We stepped out into the morning air, walking side by side toward the car. She swung our joined hands lightly, humming under her breath.
And me?
I found myself thinking—
Maybe today wouldn’t be perfect. But she was happy. And I was happy.
And maybe that was enough.
Because if she could smile like that, then today didn’t stand a chance of breaking her.
---
To be continued...