Chapter 100: Happiness on Borrowed Time
The funny thing about planning is... Val doesn’t half-ass anything.
If she decides something’s worth doing, she’ll flip the whole damn world upside down until it bends her way. And Marina? She’s the type to roll her eyes, call her crazy, and then somehow help draw the blueprint for the upside-down world anyway.
That’s why the past few days felt like I’d been third-wheeling a relationship I wasn’t even part of.
No, scratch that—sometimes it felt like they were the actual couple and I was just... there. The extra. The guy who got invited out of pity.
Because since Wednesday, after the whole "birthday revelation," they’ve been on turbo mode.
"Venue first," Val had said.
"Food first," Marina had argued.
"Venue."
"Food."
And then, in perfect sync—
"Fine, both."
I’d just sat back, quietly, watching the war break out like a tennis match.
By Friday they had a list—yes, an actual list—with headings, bullet points, underlines, even stars for priority. It looked like some military campaign. A campaign for balloons, cupcakes, and DJ selections.
Friday bled into Saturday. And Saturday? Marina showed up at my place. Not just for an hour. Not just to check in. She came over at noon and didn’t leave until almost midnight.
I swear, those two didn’t even breathe between words.
Val tapped her pen against the notebook like it was the most serious thing in the world. "Invites?"
Marina didn’t even look up, scrolling on her phone. "Digital or print?"
Val shot her a flat stare, like the answer was obvious. "Both. Duh."
That earned a tiny smirk from Marina as she finally glanced up. "What about plus-ones?"
Val’s eyes narrowed instantly. She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "Depends if they’re hot."
Marina shot her a look over the rim of her phone. "Celestia."
Val only shrugged, deadpan. "What? I’m not sharing my cake with randoms."
From the couch, I lifted my head, a small smile tugging at my lips as I watched her.
She caught it instantly, and for a beat her own lips curved—soft, almost shy. The kind of smile that slipped through before she could stop it. The kind that said, he’s here, he’s watching me... and that’s enough.
Then, just as quick, she turned back to the papers in front of her, pretending nothing happened.
It was endless. Themes. Cakes. Guest lists. Music. Decorations. Party favors. Emergency exits. Backup plans. Backup backup plans.
By the end of it, the dining table looked like a war room. Papers everywhere, pens scattered, Marina’s laptop open with tabs on tabs on tabs. Even Duchess had given up pretending to care. She jumped onto a chair, curled up, and slept through their "high-level operations."
Me? I just sat on the couch, head leaning back, listening to the sound of them bouncing off each other like they’d been doing this forever.
Yeah, it was absurd. The birthdays were still weeks away. They were planning like the President was coming. But I couldn’t even complain. Not really.
Because Val’s face lit up.
She was sharp, bossy, a little bratty—nothing new there. But in between her eye rolls and Marina’s sarcasm, she’d smile. Not the usual smug one. Not the practiced one she gives to anyone trying to impress her. This one was softer. Real. Like she forgot she was supposed to be untouchable.
And sitting there, catching those small moments, it was hard not to feel it in my chest.
Saturday ran late. They laughed. They argued. They laughed again. Marina eventually packed up her laptop, gave me a tired wave, and finally left. The apartment felt quieter after that, like the storm had passed.
Now it’s Sunday morning. The sunlight’s spilling in through the blinds, Duchess is pawing at her food bowl, and Val’s curled up on the couch with her phone—already texting Marina about "finalizing the playlist."
Finalizing. A month early.
Girls, am I right?
Still... seeing her this happy? Yeah. I’ll take it.
---
I finally pushed off the couch, stretching a little before walking over to her. She was still hunched over papers and her phone like she was drafting some royal decree. I dropped into the seat beside her.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
She didn’t even look up. "Deciding the fate of humanity, obviously."
I raised a brow. "Oh?"
"Mhm." She flicked her hair back like she was dead serious. "Theme colors, guest list, cake flavors. If we don’t make the right call now, civilization as we know it could collapse."
I smirked. "So no pressure, then."
"Exactly." She jabbed her finger down at her phone. "Look at this—Marina thinks red velvet, but I say chocolate fudge. And then she says no, because apparently chocolate is ’predictable.’ Which is insane, by the way. Chocolate is classic. Timeless. Iconic."
I nodded solemnly. "Very high-stakes debate."
Her eyes narrowed at me, catching the sarcasm. "Don’t mock me, husband. I’m trying to build history here."
I lifted both hands. "Wouldn’t dream of it."
She leaned closer, showing me her screen like I had a choice. "Okay, so what about this? Guest list draft number three. Number one got too long, number two got too short, so this one’s the balance. See? Organized chaos."
I skimmed the names, recognizing less than half. "You really need three drafts for this?"
"Four, technically," she said, scrolling quickly. "But you don’t want to see number four. Marina wrote that one. It’s—" she scrunched her nose, "—chaotic evil."
I chuckled, shaking my head.
She lit up like I’d just agreed with her in a national debate. "See? You get it. You always get it."
She kept talking, words spilling faster than her breath, about playlists and candles, even balloon colors. I didn’t stop her. I just sat there, watching, letting her voice fill the room.
Because this—her eyes glowing, voice quick, hands moving like the air couldn’t keep up with her—this was her. The real her. The one I hadn’t seen much of since everything that happened. Happiness looked good on her.
Halfway through another rant about party favors, she froze. Her eyes flicked to me.
> "You’re staring, husband."
I blinked. "I’m not."
"Yes, you are." Her lips curved slow, smug but soft. "You’re not very good at lying, you know."
I tilted my head. "Maybe I just like the sound of your voice."
She blinked. Then giggled—bright, sudden, like she hadn’t expected me to say that. Her hand smacked my arm. "Cheesy."
Her face went pink, and she ducked her head like maybe if she looked at her lap hard enough, I wouldn’t notice.
I leaned in, grin tugging wider. "Cheesy works on you though. You’re literally blushing right now."
She broke into laughter, covering her face with her hand. "Shut up—no, I’m not!"
I chuckled. "You so are."
She kept laughing, shaking her head until it finally softened into a small smile I almost missed. Her fingers dropped to her lap, fiddling with the edge of her sleeve.
"Ca..." she started, then stopped, eyes falling to her nails. "Can I stay a little longer?" Her voice was quiet. Softer than usual.
I exhaled. "Val, we agreed."
"I know," she murmured, still not looking at me.
"Your parents will probably say something, won’t they?"
She nodded, shoulders rising in a little shrug. "But they won’t get mad mad. Just... mad."
"Val." My tone was firmer this time. "You’ve still gotta go home."
She let out a long breath, lips pressed tight. The confidence she wore like armor slipped, piece by piece, until all that was left was the girl underneath.
"I know you’re not on good terms with Lucien right now," I said carefully. "But it’ll never get better if you don’t try talking it out. Besides, he might even be over it by now."
That’s when she finally lifted her gaze. Her eyes caught mine, soft in a way that made my chest ache. She nodded once. "Okay."
But I could feel it. There was more behind that nod. More she wasn’t saying.
Silence stretched, heavy but not uncomfortable. Just honest.
"Val," I tried again, gentler this time.
She blinked fast, then straightened, her voice suddenly bright. Too bright. "If I’m going, then I’m going with Duchess."
The mask slipped back on like nothing had happened.
I let out a breath, shaking my head, but smiled anyway. "Deal."
She looked way too pleased with herself, already turning back to her phone, her fingers tapping fast like she’d never been vulnerable at all.
I leaned back, watching her in silence.
But I had no idea.
No idea why she didn’t want to go home. No idea it wasn’t just about Lucien.
I thought it was a fight, the kind that siblings have and forget a week later. I thought maybe she was just being stubborn, dragging it out because that’s what Val does sometimes.
But what I didn’t know... was that home wasn’t really home for her. Not the way it should be.
I couldn’t see it—the cold halls, the way her parents looked at her like a name and not a daughter, the brother who now judged instead of protected. She never let me.
She wouldn’t say it. Not to me. Not to anyone. Because she didn’t want me to worry.
And so I stayed blind. Thinking it was something simple. Thinking she’d be fine once they talked it out.
But what waited for her in that place wasn’t comfort. It wasn’t warmth. It wasn’t family.
And maybe that’s why sitting here, on this couch, talking about cakes and birthdays and nonsense, she looked more like herself than she ever did anywhere else.
I just wished... one day, she’d let me in. So I could be more than the guy she hides behind. So I could be her anchor. Her shield.
Even if I had no idea how.
---
To be continued...