Chapter 11
606 Words
*East Garden - 4 PM*
The air was cold. Winter was coming.
Reilly found the east garden behind a set of iron gates half-covered in ivy. Dead roses. Brown leaves. Everything the madame said it was.
She wasn't sure he'd come. "If you want," he'd said. That wasn't really an invitation. More like permission.
Footsteps on gravel behind her.
Liam. No jacket. Just a black sweater and the same tired look from breakfast. He stopped a few feet away, hands in his pockets. Didn't look at her. Looked at the dead flowers instead.
"You didn't have to come," he said.
"I wanted to." Reilly hugged her arms. "Mrs. Hemsworth said everything dies in winter. Doesn't mean it's not worth seeing."
He almost smiled. Almost. "She would say that."
Silence stretched between them. Not awkward. Just heavy.
Liam bent down, snapped off a dead rose stem between his fingers. "My mother planted these. Before the illness. She used to make me weed this garden every summer when I was 12. I hated it." He tossed the stem aside. "Now I'm the only one who remembers where she planted the white ones."
Reilly didn't know what to say to that. So she said nothing. Just stood beside him, looking at the same patch of dying flowers.
After a minute, he crouched and started clearing dry leaves from the base of a rose bush. Methodical. Quiet. Like he was used to doing this alone.
"You don't have to-" Reilly started.
"I know," he cut her off. Then softer: "But she'll ask if I showed you. And I'm tired of lying to her."
Reilly knelt too. Her fingers brushed his when she pulled a dead leaf from the same stem. He didn't pull back. Didn't say anything. Just kept working.
The sun was low. Gold light hit the bare branches and for a second, the garden didn't look dead. Just waiting.
"You slid me the sugar," Reilly whispered. She hadn't meant to say it out loud.
Liam's hands stilled for half a second. Then he went back to clearing leaves.
"Don't read into it," he said. But his voice wasn't sharp. It was quiet. Almost careful.
"I'm not," Reilly said. She stood up, brushed dirt from her skirt. "But thank you. For breakfast. For this."
He stood too. Looked at her finally. Really looked. Not _Easton's daughter_. Just her. Tired eyes, cold cheeks, locket peeking out from her sweater.
"You're shivering," he said. He shrugged off his sweater and held it out. Didn't put it on her. Just held it out. Like she still had a choice.
Reilly took it. It was warm. Smelled like his cologne and something clean, like rain.
"6 months, Reilly," he said as he turned to leave. "I meant what I said at H Holdings. Don't pretend this is more."
"I know," she said but something had changed between them.
He paused at the gate. Didn't turn around. "But... come back tomorrow. If you want. The white roses are behind that wall. They're dead now, but in spring..." He trailed off. "My mother would like that."
Then he walked away, hands back in his pockets.
Reilly pulled his sweater tighter around her. The garden was still dying. But for the first time since she got here, it didn't feel empty.
- Writer
