Chapter 88: Celestial Devotion
Late morning in the Ainsley estate meant light — the kind that spilled like honey over silk drapes and lavender walls, settling on polished oak and quiet breath. The house, swaddled in peace, murmured with distant wind and the faintest sounds of life. Evelyn stood barefoot in the kitchen, sleeves rolled above her elbows, grinding coffee with the old copper mill she insisted on using, even though Vivienne teased her mercilessly for it.
"You look like someone's beloved peasant wife," came Vivienne's voice from the doorway, lazy and amused.
Evelyn didn't look up. "And you look like someone's temptation."
Vivienne chuckled, stepping into the room with the kind of feline grace that made her look sculpted for slow-burning sin. Her lavender dress clung to her hips in a way that defied good manners, the neckline suggestive but subtle. No shoes — just bare feet and that absurdly delicate silver anklet Eva had made her last spring, the one with a tiny crescent charm that glinted like mischief.
Evelyn glanced up, eyes narrowing in mock accusation.
"You've been parading past my meetings like this all morning."
"Have I?" Vivienne leaned against the island, head tilted. "I hadn't noticed."
"You liar." Evelyn turned off the grinder with a sharp twist. "Like a cat in perfume. Distracting everyone. Especially me."
Vivienne's eyes sparkled. "I missed you."
She stepped closer, slowly, every movement an invitation. Evelyn reached behind her, yanked the hem of her dress just enough that the back caught on the curve of her thigh.
Vivienne let out a half - scandalized gasp. "You little heathen."
Evelyn kissed her just below the jaw. "You started it."
"Oh, did I?" Vivienne murmured, her hands cradling Evelyn's face, lips brushing once, then again, deeper — pulling her in with the casual dominance of someone who knew her wife would melt with a single touch. The kiss deepened with an ache that felt familiar, lush, and whole.
Vivienne teased her. She always did.
Her mouth wandered — softly at first — pressing kisses down Evelyn's neck, across the slope of her collarbone, murmuring sweet, wicked things between every pause.
"I swear," she whispered, grazing her teeth lightly across skin, "you wear effort like an art form."
Evelyn's breath hitched. "Flattery will get you absolutely — ah — everywhere."
Vivienne chuckled, amused at the way Evelyn's body leaned into hers. "And yet you still grind your own coffee like a 19th - century dairymaid."
"Because I have taste."
"And a very spankable backside when you're this smug."
Evelyn laughed, flushed, and then — when Vivienne's hand slipped beneath the back of her shirt — she exhaled something more primal.
"Upstairs," she said, voice husky now, threading their fingers together. "Now."
Vivienne's bedroom was cool and dim, the curtains drawn to hush the brightness outside. The lavender scent clung to everything — her perfume, her sheets, the air that hung heavy with promise. Evelyn pushed her gently back onto the bed, wrists pinned to the mattress in playful restraint.
"You were being cruel," Evelyn whispered into her ear. "You know exactly what that dress does to me."
"Good," Vivienne purred, arching beneath her. "I wanted to see you snap."
Evelyn kissed her, slow and hot, then slower still, unhurried in her devotion. She touched Vivienne the way one might handle a secret — carefully, hungrily, reverently. Each sigh was earned. Each moan coaxed and built, not by force but by the kind of teasing that bordered on unbearable.
Vivienne gasped when Evelyn bit down, just softly, against the inside of her thigh.
"Don't you dare stop — " she started, only for Evelyn to hush her with a press of tongue and mouth that turned the sentence into a trembling cry.
Vivienne teased with her words, but Evelyn teased with her body — fingers drifting, lips lingering where breath caught deepest, always threatening retreat and then staying until Vivienne shattered beneath her.
When she came, she did so sobbing Evelyn's name — twice, once like a plea, and once like a promise.
Later, breathless and limp, Vivienne let herself be pulled into the tangle of sheets and limbs. She curled against Evelyn's chest, hair mussed, eyelids fluttering. Her bare thigh draped over Evelyn's hip, anchoring them together.
Evelyn stroked her hair, kissed the crown of her head.
"I love you most when you're shameless," she whispered.
Vivienne, drowsy and smug, murmured, "Then you must love me terribly often."
"I do," Evelyn said simply, and meant it.
*****
Elsewhere in the estate, Eva sat curled in the sunroom window. Her sketchbook lay open on her lap, but she wasn't drawing. Her pencil tapped against the edge of the page in a slow rhythm, like a clock ticking inside her.
The house was quiet — maman and mère - auntie off somewhere, probably kissing each other cheeks or arguing or doing both at once. The staff was invisible as usual. It was a pocket of stillness, and Eva liked those. Especially when her thoughts turned toward Seraphina.
She often thought of her Ina when the world felt soft. Today, she imagined her smiling — not the professional kind, the crisp and polished one — but the real one. The rare, crumpled kind she wore the night Eva gave her the ruby ring.
That smile — bright and startled and so full of light — had stayed in Eva's chest like a sacred memory.
"I want her to be happy all the time," she whispered aloud to no one. "So she's never lonely again."
She closed the sketchbook carefully.
"I'll give her everything I can."
That afternoon, Eva slipped away.
By the time she reached Langford, the estate was already golden with late light. She knew exactly where to go. Seraphina's quarters. The door creaked open.
Inside, steam filled the tiled bath. Seraphina's body shimmered through the mist, skin pale against the warm marble, her head resting back, eyes closed.
Eva knocked once.
"Can I come in?"
Seraphina's eyes fluttered open. She smiled.
"Of course, my heart."
Eva didn't bother undressing fully. She tugged off her shoes, stripped to her sundress and underthings, and climbed into the water with the clumsy grace of a child unafraid of rules. She curled up against Seraphina's side like a small, determined seal pup.
Seraphina wrapped an arm around her, lips brushing Eva's damp curls.
"You smell like roses," Eva mumbled.
"You smell like mischief," Seraphina replied, flicking water onto her forehead.
They giggled, soft and close. For a long while, they simply soaked. Eva played with the ends of Seraphina's damp hair, twirling them around her fingers. Seraphina let her, eyes half-lidded in quiet contentment.
Later, wrapped in thick towels, Eva insisted on wearing one of Seraphina's oversized cotton button - ups.
"It smells like you," she said solemnly.
"You always say that."
"It always does."
Seraphina smiled, buttoned the shirt herself, and rolled the sleeves up to Eva's elbows.
That night, Eva curled under the silk sheets in Seraphina's bed. She was already half-asleep when Seraphina slipped her phone out and dialed Vivienne.
"She's with me," she said, quietly. "Asleep already."
Vivienne's voice purred through the line. "Of course she is. The little moonbeam always drifts to you."
Evelyn called from somewhere in the background, "Thank you for letting us know, Sera. Truly."
"She's safe," Seraphina said simply. "She always will be with me."
*****
In the training courtyard the next morning, Eva danced.
Not the delicate kind, but the kind with a sword. She slashed forward with her foil, narrowly avoiding her instructor's blade. Her heart pounded. Sweat clung to her back.
"I'm getting better," she said, breathless and flushed.
"You're getting sharper," the instructor agreed. "Still a long way to go."
Eva grinned. "Can I duel Ina next week?"
"You'll have to ask her," the woman said, raising her blade again. "But you're definitely getting close."
Fencing wasn't just a skill for Eva. It was a conversation. A secret one. Every clash of blades with Seraphina was like speaking a language only the two of them knew. It was how they talked without words. How they got closer.
But later — later, everything soured.
In the gymnasium, under fluorescent lights and stone - faced instructors, the air grew cold. Eva's body ached. Her muscles screamed. The self-defense routines were relentless. Her knuckles were raw.
The instructor barked in clipped F•••••, correcting every move the second she found joy in it.
"No complacency," he muttered. "Your father insists."
"She's too soft," another said. "Just like he warned us. She must be hardened. Broken."
Eva gritted her teeth. Her face flushed with anger.
Papa Reginald. Always demanding more. Always changing the rules the moment she caught her breath.
She didn't hate training. She hated not being allowed to love it.
By the end, she sat alone on the cold bench, towel limp around her shoulders, blinking hard against the sting in her eyes.
"I don't want to be his soldier," she whispered. "But for Papa… I'll persevere."
That evening, when the house quieted once again, Eva found the conservatory.
She curled into the velvet cushions of a window seat, sketchbook in hand, graphite smudging her fingertips.
She didn't draw weapons. Or faces. Or rings.
She drew swans.
They floated on imagined lakes, their wings outstretched, their feathers turning to stars. One of them looked a little like Seraphina, if you squinted. Proud. Serene. Alone, but radiant.
Eva smiled faintly, her strokes slow and careful.
She imagined her Ina watching. Smiling.
She would keep drawing.
Keep trying.
For her Ina.
Always.