CHAPTER 84: THE PERFECT PRESENT

Lucien’s POV

The party had thinned into something almost intimate. Most of the guests had gone.

Devon and his daughter were among the last to leave because Celeste wanted to catch up with my Braelyn and Genny.

The three of them chatted a lot towards the end of the party. She looked genuinely happy. It was worth planning this birthday party after Genny accidentally mentioned it

Music still played low from the speakers and empty cups, ribbons, and confetti were scattered around, but the laughter had died down.

One guest after the other slipped out into the night until it was just the four of us remaining. Joey and Genny were sprawled across the living room pulling down the birthday banners while I found myself heading to the kitchen with a stack of plates

I didn’t know the last time I did something this domestic. Olivia would probably faint at the sight but I couldn’t leave Braelyn to handle everything. She was determined to help, and it led to Joey and me staying back to help.

I could hear the bickering pair arguing from the sitting room. "I think this is the last one," I said, placing a pile of plates beside her. Her gaze was focused on the plate. She had packed her messy black hair into a ponytail although some still stuck to her face.

Her lips were pursed as she looked lost in her task, despite it all, she still looked alluring. She might be a spoilt princess who couldn’t cook but she was talented with the dishes. I wanted to taunt her about that, but changed my mind at the last minute.

"Are you sure you can handle all these?" I muttered, rolling off his sleeves to help her rinse, but got no response from her.

"I can handle it." She finally said placing a plate into the next sink on the washed pile I had to rinse. Her sleeves were rolled up with soap almost reaching her elbow.

She had said she didn’t like leaving Genny’s place in a mess. I could tell it wasn’t just politeness, she needed the distraction. So did I.

The dishwasher was broken and we were stuck using our hands. She washed and I rinsed, Her hands moved slowly it was obvious she wasn’t used to doing chores

I had watched her earlier from across the room while the party was still loud and alive. She was smiling. Not the polite, controlled one she wore around Raphael and his perfect, curated world. The one she held for appearances.

This one was softer, her eyes had a little crinkle by the side. I let her have that moment. I didn’t interrupt it. I just stood there, quietly leaning against the wall with a drink untouched in my hand, and let the memory stick to my mind.

Call it a spur-of-the-moment, during the funeral, when she got into a fight because of that photograph, the same one she carried the torn pieces around..I had gotten curious, nothing much really, about the picture

The torn remnants she’d hidden away like something she wasn’t allowed to mourn. At the back of one of the pieces, I spotted the faint print of the studio name on the back and I remembered it.

It was a foreign studio, one that changed location a few years back, but I had seen another picture from that same studio. It was an old picture of Dad, Gregor and his friends.

Dad said it was taken during his college days. The colours weren’t really good, but it held memories. In the picture, a lady was standing at the corner. Immediately I saw I knew she was Braelyn’s mother.

Since the picture was old and I didn’t want to ruin it, I found a new studio to edit the picture and get the lady out of it. What I didn’t expect was to run into the old photographer there.

He recognised her immediately. The photographer says he still remembers the session. It was after their convocation ceremony that a bunch of students came to take pictures. Then he was a teenager but he remembered that particular lady

" The woman who looked like a painting," he had called her. Her smile had been fragile but breathtaking. And the resemblance... God. It was like staring at a mirror the world had cracked.

The same face, just different eyes and hair. Braelyn’s mother was blonde with dark brown hair.

Instead of editing Gregor’s old picture he had mentioned something I didn’t expect. He had a photograph of Brealyn’s mother. He explained that back then, because of how pretty she was, he had asked her if he could take an extra one to use as a model.

That same picture was hung on his walls for years. It wasn’t the exact one Braelyn has of her mother at a farm.

This one was taken a few years prior, she was younger in the photograph a new university graduate

It cost a bit to get the picture and it was worth it. The image was well maintained for years, and now, standing beside her, the warm kitchen light casting a gentle glow over her frame, I realised I didn’t know how to give it to her.

"Happy birthday, Braelyn," I said finally, the words coming out quieter than I intended. "I hope you get whatever you wish for," I said drying my hands before reaching for the picture in my jacket

She looked up, water dripping slowly from her fingertips back into the sink. Her eyes fell on the picture in my hand, face pale.

I held the picture out to her, my voice low. "I didn’t know what to get you, but I.."

Before I could finish, she moved. She didn’t hesitate. She didn’t think. She just jumped forward and wrapped her arms around my shoulder, pressing her face against my shoulder

For a moment, I didn’t understand what was happening. Her body trembled and something wet fell on my shoulders.

I froze because I wasn’t used to handling fragile emotions like this. My hands tried to reach for her back but froze.

My breath hitched as my hand slowly wrapped around her waist. "You shouldn’t be crying on your birthday." I laughed awkwardly.

Her voice came out choked. "I can’t help it." I hiccuped. "It is the best gift ever. Thank you for everything." She was really crying.

I could count the number of times I had smiled without forcing it since the incident years ago, the one no one asked about and I would never talk about.

"A simple thank you would be better than crying," I said awkwardly but my hand on her back tightened. I could feel the thin material of her dress and the warmth beneath it. She smelled faintly of vanilla and dish soap and something softer I couldn’t name.

I slowly pushed her against the counter, where she sat, and her eyes slowly met mine. The tears made them glisten under the light. I reached out to wipe them with my thumb rubbing her cheeks softly.

"Thank you..." She finally said but I really didn’t need those words from her. Honestly, I didn’t expect anything when I did it.

"It’s fine, you..." For the first time, Braelyn shut me up. Her fingers curled the edges of my collar. She placed a soft peck on my cheek. It was innocent but I wasn’t.

It left me stunned, I smiled. "Forgive me." I rasped. She blinked, confused, but I couldn’t stop myself. My lips smashed against hers .... hot and breathless. I finally gave in to the temptation.