Evangeline
The gardens are a map of memory and small mercies—lavender hedges that smell like the sea at low tide, a fountain that still remembers childhood laughter, paths worn by a thousand quiet footsteps. The gardens really are beautiful, and I could spend hours here just admiring the flowers.
After last night, I feel as if the world has been rearranged into something softer; even the stone feels less sharp beneath my boots. Gods, last night was everything, romantic in a way I have never imagined. Though nothing s****l happened between us, we held each other all night long, and we both slept better than we have in longer than we can remember. I woke this morning to Christian watching me sleep, smiling when I opened my eyes, and kissing me softly as he told me he loved me. I’m so lucky
