Page 60 of Goldrage (The Chrysophilist Trilogy #3)

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

AURELIA

S unlight streams through the kitchen windows, painting golden stripes across the marble counter. Lorenzo flips pancakes while Roby colors at the breakfast bar. The smell of butter and maple syrup mingles with fresh coffee. Life here is so normal that it still catches me off guard some mornings.

It’s been four months since we buried pieces of ourselves alongside Julian and Valentine in that cold cemetery ground. Some days it feels like yesterday. Others, like a lifetime ago.

“You’re burning them,” Eleanora says from her perch beside Roby. Her coffee mug is cradled between her hands.

Lorenzo doesn’t even glance her way as he slides another pancake onto the growing stack. “Stop. They’re perfectly golden.”

“If you consider charcoal a shade of gold.”

Roby snorts into his orange juice .

I reach for the syrup. “Can you two go five minutes without bickering?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Eleanora’s lips quirk.

Completely ignoring the tension between the adults, Roby says, “Can we go to the zoo today?”

Before anyone can respond, Adrian steps into the kitchen. His presence soothes me to the core as we drift to each other. Then I’m in his arms and he’s kissing the top of my head.

“Lorenzo and Eleanora could take you to the zoo,” Adrian tells Roby, “But Aurelia and I have plans.”

I smile up at him. “We do? What might those be?”

“I thought Pike Place. We can try something new there.”

Roby leaps from his chair and runs over to Adrian. “I wanna go!”

Lorenzo is quick to sweep Roby into his arms. “I thought you wanted to see some animals?”

“Yeah.”

“Let’s do that and we’ll go to Pike Place another time. Here.” Lorenzo gives Roby the spatula. “Flip the pancake.”

Roby attempts to do that but he flips too hard and it goes flying. It splats on the floor and we all laugh.

Eleanora moves to clean up the mess and says, “Good. One less burnt pancake for Lorenzo to force us to eat.”

“You know you love my pancakes,” Lorenzo says to Eleanora as he wiggles his eyebrows.

She blushes but then quickly hides it by throwing a wadded up paper towel at Lorenzo’s face. He yelps and jumps back, wielding the spatula like a shield. Roby dissolves into laughter, the sound bright and unguarded in a way that makes my heart squeeze.

This is healing. Not the absence of pain, but learning to laugh around it. Building something new in the spaces loss carved out.

But God, I wish she would just admit her feelings for him already. She’s not fooling anyone.

I turn my attention back to Adrian. “I’d love to visit Pike Place. Let me shower and get ready.”

“What about breakfast?” Lorenzo asks with a pout. “I made all these delicious pancakes.”

I look at the stack which is, sadly, very blackened. “Uhhh… yeah, I gotta go.”

Eleanora and Adrian laugh as I make my escape and flee down the hallway.

Soon, I’m in my bathroom undressing. Steam fills the space, fogging the mirror until my reflection disappears. I step under the spray, letting hot water relax my muscles.

This time next year, we’ll be in Italy. That’s the goal. Right now, Adrian and I are taking our time because there’s no rush, but when we’re both ready, we’d like to move to Italy where my family lives. I can’t wait to meet them all.

I lather my hair, rinse, repeat.

I’m so focused on washing my curls that I miss the sound of the door opening. A sudden rush of cooler air, and then Adrian’s silhouette is there, sharp and dark through the haze. He’s already naked, which means he’d planned this, the bastard .

“Move,” he orders and my thighs instantly clench.

He hasn’t been so commanding in a while but I’m completely here for it. I step aside, and he steps in, crowding me into the tiled corner, bracing one hand beside my head. Water pours over his shoulders, turning his hair coal black and dripping down the hard lines of his body.

“Bold of you to invade,” I say, but my voice is tight, already breathy.

“Bold of you not to invite me to join.” He slides a palm up my spine, not gentle, and pushes until my back is flush to the cold tile and he’s pressed against me.

“You said we had plans,” I say, as his mouth finds my throat. He bites, not hard but enough to make me gasp.

“We do,” he says into my skin. “But you’re not walking out of here until you scream.”

I snort, defiant, and he rewards me by pinning my wrists above my head with one large, wet hand.

The other traces my ribcage, slow, making me shiver despite the steam.

My nails scrape at the slick wall as his fingers move lower, skimming over my belly, hips, the inside of my thighs.

I want to bite him back but all I can do is arch into his hand and try not to beg.

He lets go of my wrists, only to turn me around so I’m facing the tile, hands braced on the ledge where I keep my shampoo. His other hand slides deeper between my legs, and I hear him laugh as he feels how slick I already am.

“Still so impatient,” he says, his mouth at my ear.

I should respond, but the words dissolve. His fingers slide inside me and I bite back a moan. I press my forehead to the tile, eyes squeezed shut, as he works me apart from behind.

“You like when I handle you,” he says, and it’s not a question.

I grunt, bracing harder against the ledge as he slides in and out, two fingers curling until I can barely hold myself upright.

The tile is cold and slick under my palms. Adrian’s chest is heavy against my back; I can feel the tremble in him as much as in myself.

My breath comes as short, ragged gasps, every nerve in my body bracing from the ruthless rhythm of his hand.

He fucks me with his fingers until I’m shaking, until my knees start to give and I whimper for him without dignity.

I can sense his grin against my shoulder, the smugness of it, and it would piss me off if I weren’t already halfway gone.

My hips buck into his hand, greedy for more, and he gives it without hesitation—his thumb circling my clit, fingers pushing deeper on every thrust. I try to stifle a scream but it erupts anyway.

“Good girl,” he says as my body pulses around him.

He doesn’t let me come down gently. He grabs my waist, yanks me backward, and lifts me. My toes barely skim the puddled floor before he pushes me forward, bending me over the built-in bench. I brace myself, body still spasming, and I know what’s coming.

I crave it.

He slides himself inside me in one hard, brutal thrust.

I cry out. It’s overwhelming. He’s thick, hot, relentless, and he uses the leverage of my hips to drive deeper.

I can feel the edge of the bench dig into my thighs, the slap of skin on skin reverberating in the steamy air.

The shower hisses around us, water sliding over my back.

His hands pin me exactly where he wants.

“Is this what you wanted?” he grits, voice rough. “To be fucked until you forget your own name?”

I try to answer but all that comes out is a sob. And he loves it; he pounds me harder, one hand winding into my hair and pulling until my neck arches. His teeth scrape the side of my throat, marking me, and I clench helplessly around him.

He slows, just for a second, grinding deep and swirling his hips. It’s torture. I whimper, desperate for friction, and he rewards me by reaching between my legs again, thumb finding my clit.

I explode, again, so hard I swear my vision becomes white. He keeps fucking me through it, relentless, not letting up until he’s shaking too, breath ragged in my ear as he comes with a guttural curse.

When he’s done, he slaps my ass then gathers me into his arms and holds me upright when my legs refuse to work. Adrian cradles my head against his chest and we just enjoy holding each other in the afterglow.

I’ll never get tired of how this man fucks me. Loves me.

After a long, deep kiss, he doesn’t even help clean me up, just slips out.

“Hey!” I shout after him and he laughs.

I’m a little annoyed but still grinning as I lather more soap and clean myself. I start humming, loving the ache between my legs. Loving that I get to wake up each morning to that man .

After I’m done with the shower, I wrap my hair in a towel that smells like the lavender detergent Eleanora insists on using. I squat to grab a new bottle of styling gel from below the sink. As I’m reaching into the cabinet, my hand brushes against a box of tampons.

I suddenly realize it feels like a while since I last needed one. When was my last period?

I remember having one shortly after the funerals but after that…

I find my phone and check my period app. Wow, it’s been over two months. Maybe my body is still recovering from all the grief? I’ve definitely missed plenty of periods due to stress or not eating enough. And I only recently started eating better again.

But a whisper in the back of my mind won’t quiet. A possibility that feels too fragile to voice, even in the privacy of my own thoughts.

I get dressed and then slip out of my room in search of Maria, one of the household staff.

“Oh, good morning, Miss Aurelia,” the older woman says.

“Hi, um, I need...” The words stick. “Could you do something for me? Quietly?”

The wrinkles around her brown eyes crinkle with concern. “Of course.”

“I need you to go to the pharmacy.” My cheeks burn despite the steam still clinging to my skin. “For a pregnancy test.”

To her credit, Maria’s expression doesn’t change. “Any particular brand? ”

“Whatever’s most accurate. And Maria?” I catch her sleeve. “Please don’t mention this to anyone.”

“My lips are sealed.” She squeezes my hand gently. “I’ll be back within the hour.”

I return to my bedroom to dry my hair and apply makeup, but the wait feels eternal. I don’t even want to dare to hope, so I try to ignore my thoughts and just focus on getting ready for the day.

Finally, a soft knock breaks through my nervousness. Maria slips inside with a small brown bag. “Three different brands,” she says quietly.

My hands tremble as I take the bag. “Thank you.”

“I hope you get the result you’re hoping for, Miss Aurelia.”

She leaves but her words follow me back into the bathroom. What am I hoping for?

I follow the instructions. Cap on. Wait three minutes. Three minutes to potentially change everything.

I set my phone timer and close my eyes, but that only makes the pounding of my heart louder. In my mind, I see Adrian, only Adrian. Do I dare to hope that we’d be blessed with a family so soon, when we’ve only begun to break through the haze and dream of what comes next in our lives?

The timer beeps.

My eyes open.

Two lines.

The test clatters into the sink as my knees give out. I’m on the bathroom floor, tears streaming, chest heaving with sobs that feel pulled from the very center of my bones .

Pregnant.

It’s not grief delaying my body’s rhythms. Not stress shutting down systems. Life. Actual life growing inside me.

I grab the second test with shaking fingers. Then the third.

Positive.

Positive.

Positive.

My hand drifts to my still flat stomach. “Hi,” I whisper to the life that’s just starting to grow. “I’m your mom.”

Hope blossoms inside me and I don’t try to stop it. After everything, Adrian and I get the most precious gift.

I dress in soft jeans and a green blouse. My fingers linger on my abdomen, still amazed by the secret it holds.

The house feels different as I walk through it, trying to find Adrian. I spot Lorenzo still in the kitchen and he says he thinks Adrian is in the library.

I find Adrian folded into the leather chair by the window with a book I doubt he’s actually reading. He does this sometimes, holds books like props while his mind wanders darker paths.

“Hey.” He looks up as I enter, and his face transforms into a smile.

“You look beautiful,” he says.

The new secret I carry is too big to wait to tell him. I could surprise him over dinner or hand him a box with the pregnancy test inside, but I simply need to get it out. “ Adrian.” His name feels different in my mouth now. Father of my child. “I need to tell you something.”

The book closes. He’s on his feet in one fluid motion, crossing to me while looking worried. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” My voice cracks. “Everything’s… Adrian, I’m pregnant.”

His eyes widen. “Pregnant.” He says it like he’s tasting the word. “You’re sure?”

“Three tests sure. I just found out. In the bathroom upstairs. Maria had to… it doesn’t matter. Adrian, we’re having a baby. You’re going to be a father.”

His hands frame my face as tears fill his eyes. “A baby.”

“I know it’s soon. I know we’re still… everything’s still so raw. But?—”

He kisses me. Deep and desperate and full of promise. When he pulls back, his cheeks are wet. “Say it again.”

“We’re having a baby.” The words get stronger each time. “We’re pregnant. You’re going to be a father.”

He sweeps me into his arms for a spin and I giggle. After he sets me down, his hand drifts to my stomach. “How far along?”

“I don’t know. Two months maybe? Everything’s been such a blur.” I cover his hand with mine. “But… I think I know what we should name the baby.”

“Already?”

“If it’s a boy…” I swallow hard. “I’d like to call him Julian.”

Adrian’s breath catches. His forehead drops to mine, and I feel more than hear his sob. “And for a girl? ”

“Juliana.”

He’s crying now, silent tears that splash onto our joined hands. My own tears start again.

“A baby. Our baby.”

“Our baby.”

He drops to his knees suddenly, pressing his lips to my stomach through the fabric of my blouse. I sob, unable to contain my joy.

When he stands, pulling me against him, I feel it—that shift in the universe. The axis tilting toward tomorrow instead of yesterday.

“I love you,” he says against my hair. “Both of you.”

“We love you too.”

A happy future is just within reach, growing below my heart with each breath. Our son or our daughter is a promise that love is stronger than loss. That life, stubborn and insistent, finds a way through even the darkest soil.