Chapter 282: Her Sadness

Fitzgerald peeked through the slightly open door.

Inside, Catherine sat nestled in Maximilian’s embrace, the two speaking softly in a language he could not understand. Maximilian looked exhausted, but unmistakably awake—alert enough to hold her close, answer her, even smile.

Fitzgerald blinked.

Only a few hours ago, the man had been unconscious. Now he was talking. Walking. Holding Catherine as though nothing had happened.

There was only one logical explanation, Occam’s razor and all.

Catherine was a witch. An actual witch.

He folded his arms thoughtfully.

That explained the impossible recovery... and probably those increasingly bizarre dreams he kept having around her too.

Yes.

Voodoo.

Definitely voodoo.

"Have somewhere to stay?"

Alexander’s voice pulled Fitzgerald out of his increasingly scientific conclusion.

He turned to find Alexander leaning against the wall in plaid flannel and jeans, casually rolling up his sleeves. The relaxed clothes did nothing to soften the loaded pistol resting openly at his hip.

Samantha’s uncle...

"I..." Fitzgerald cleared his throat. "I’ll stay at a hotel."

Alexander shook his head. "We’ve got plenty of rooms, buddy."

He patted Fitzgerald’s shoulder. It was friendly, firm... and just intimidating enough to remind Fitzgerald that the man probably knew seventeen different ways to make someone disappear without leaving evidence.

Fitzgerald studied him for a moment.

The invitation wasn’t hospitality. It was surveillance.

Alexander didn’t trust him. He wanted him somewhere he could keep an eye on him.

Fitzgerald couldn’t exactly blame him. Besides... As long as Samantha didn’t discover he existed, he could tolerate almost anything.

"Aren’t you newly married?" he asked. "I’d rather not intrude."

"I don’t mind, buddy." Alexander simply started walking.

After taking one last glance through the doorway at Catherine, Fitzgerald followed.

"Does your family know you’re here?" Alexander asked as they reached the truck.

"Not yet."

That, at least, was the truth.

The drive ended far later than Fitzgerald expected. Alexander stopped before a modest wooden cabin surrounded by trees.

Fitzgerald stared. "...Really?"

He looked from the cabin to Alexander. Then back to the cabin. He had expected Capitol Hill’s most feared attorney to own something considerably larger.

"Is there even a guest room?"

Alexander ignored him and climbed out.

Fitzgerald slowly followed, eyeing the porch suspiciously before testing it with one careful foot. "The floor isn’t going to collapse... right?"

No sooner had the words left his mouth than something large, white, and astonishingly fluffy bounded toward him.

He jerked upright.

"A Borzoi?" His eyes widened. "Maximilian’s dog?"

Alexander offered no explanation.

He simply unlocked the front door and disappeared inside, leaving Fitzgerald alone with what appeared to be an aristocratic ghost disguised as a dog.

The Borzoi stood in the doorway like an immovable palace guard.

Fitzgerald looked at the dog. The dog looked back.

"...Am I supposed to request permission to enter?"

The Borzoi remained perfectly still.

Fitzgerald sighed and walked past it. To his surprise, the dog merely fell into step behind him.

Alexander noticed. Arcturus had never warmed easily to strangers. The dog possessed an almost uncanny instinct for ill intent.

If he wasn’t growling... perhaps Fitzgerald truly wasn’t dangerous.

Inside, Roxana sat at the dining table surrounded by stacks of legal documents.

The moment she noticed him, she quietly gathered everything into a neat pile before greeting him with a warm smile.

"Get cleaned up," Alexander said, returning from the hallway with a towel and a fresh change of clothes.

At least the clothes came from a brand Fitzgerald recognized. That was reassuring.

When he returned after washing, dinner was already waiting.

The table was small. The plates didn’t match. Nothing resembled the extravagant dining rooms he had grown up with.

Yet... It felt strangely comfortable.

The venison was perfectly cooked. He absentmindedly slipped a few pieces beneath the table. Arcturus accepted them with quiet dignity, as though such offerings were merely proper etiquette between gentlemen. No one scolded him. No one counted how much he ate.

No one discussed business over dinner.

They simply... ate.

Much later that night, Fitzgerald lay in a guest room barely half the size of his walk-in closet. By every standard he had grown up with, it should have felt unbearably cramped.

Instead... It was the most peacefully he had slept in years.

Curled beside the bed, Arcturus kept silent watch through the night like a loyal sentinel, guarding a man he had known for only a few hours.

-----

The next morning, Catherine woke nestled against Maximilian’s chest.

For a long moment, she simply lay there, listening to his heartbeat and his breathing. It was steady and alive.

A smile curved across her lips before she even realized it.

She closed her eyes again for one brief moment, silently savoring the warmth she had nearly lost forever.

Then she checked the time. Reality returned. She still had a war to win. Carefully, she tried to slip out of his embrace.

The movement stirred him. Maximilian slowly opened his eyes.

She paused. Those blue-violet eyes...

How could someone look at her so gently?

She leaned down and kissed him.

A soft knock came at the door.

Sophia stepped inside carrying breakfast in one hand and a neatly folded change of clothes in a bag.

The moment she noticed the two of them, an amused smile tugged at her lips.

Catherine lifted one of the blouses. "This one...?" she asked.

Sophia looked at it before nodding with a smile. Catherine walked over and hugged her aunt tightly. "I needed this today..." she said.

Her mother’s blouse... the one she wore for her first presentation... the one where she was left humiliated by Jonathan Vale and Ashley Renfield.

It was fixed!

"Be careful out there," Sophia whispered.

"I will."

Sophia gave Maximilian one last glance before quietly leaving them alone once more.

Silence settled over the room.

Maximilian watched Catherine for a long moment before speaking.

"Tristisne es quod multa non memini?"

[Are you sad that I don’t remember much?]

Catherine’s smile softened. "Paululum."

[A little.]

She intertwined her fingers with his, gently tracing the back of his hand with her thumb.

"Est tantum..."

[It’s just...]

Her eyes drifted to the morning sunlight spilling through the hospital window. "Tandem ad finem perveni eius rei, quam tam diu persequebar."

[I’ve finally reached the end of what I’ve pursued for so long.]

She looked back at him. There wasn’t an ounce of blame in her eyes. Only quiet affection.

"Tua vis me huc perduxit."

[It was your strength that brought me here.]

"Quaecumque feci... propter te tantum efficere potui."

[Everything I’ve accomplished... I could only accomplish because of you.]

Her fingers tightened around his. "Scio te laetaturum esse, si me vincere videres."

[I know you would be happy to see me win.]

She fell silent. A wistful smile touched her lips. "Sed..."

[But...]

Her voice grew quieter. "Multo pulchrius fuisset, si meminisses."

[It would’ve been so much more beautiful if you remembered.]

For a long moment, Maximilian said nothing. He simply looked at her. Something in his expression shifted—so small Catherine almost thought she had imagined it. Then, without a word, he pulled her into his arms.

The embrace was slow, almost hesitant at first, before tightening with quiet desperation.

Catherine melted against him, resting her forehead beneath his chin. "It’s alright," she whispered. "You don’t have to remember."

She felt his breath catch.

His hand slowly rose to cradle the back of her head, holding her as though she were the only thing anchoring him to the world.

A warm drop landed against her hair. Then another.

Catherine froze.

Maximilian wasn’t sobbing. He wasn’t even making a sound. Yet silent tears slipped down his face, one after another, soaking into her hair as he buried his face against the top of her head.

Neither of them spoke again. He simply held her... as though he never wanted to let go.

"I’m going with you," Maximilian said.

Catherine looked at him, her eyes wide. "With me?"