Chapter 719 Her Words, His Willing Hands
The wedding was set for October.
A week before Halloween, Henry and Amelia made a personal visit to the Penrose family. They arrived with ten carloads of gifts—and with them came their capable, hopelessly-in-love son, Avery.
Lila hosted an elaborate family dinner in their honor. She had her reasons.
In the kitchen, she ladled out a fragrant pot of chicken soup and made sure one plump drumstick found its way into Avery's bowl.
Everyone in the Windsor and Montague families knew Avery never touched drumsticks.
Yet tonight, he lifted it with deliberate appreciation, even calling out, "Mom, your chicken soup is exactly to my taste."
Jacob and Serafina exchanged a glance. Jacob promptly slipped his own drumstick into Avery's bowl with a sly smile. "Avery could use the extra nourishment."
Avery shot him a glare.
Lila's heart softened.
The meal was lively, full of easy conversation. Amelia was a natural at socializing, and Lila—since her release from prison—had kept her circle small.
Now, with Amelia and Sarah as company, she suspected she would soon be drawn back into society. For Serafina and Isadora's sake, she knew she should.
Later, on the lawn, Maggie led little Abigail by the hand, a spotted dog trotting at their heels. The dog belonged to the neighbor, a man named Cassius, and had wandered over uninvited.
Abigail, in her pretty dress, toddled toward it, chattering in her baby voice. Maggie scooped the dog up so she could see it better.
Watching them, Serafina turned to Isadora. "Are you and Avery planning on another child?"
Isadora smiled faintly. "We'll see what fate decides. If it happens, it happens."
Since Avery's proposal, they had stopped using contraception. His intentions were obvious. Isadora didn't resist the idea, though she knew pregnancy would mean Avery shouldering more of her company's work. If she carried a child, she planned to take two full years off.
Avery called it one of the privileges of being Mrs. Montague. If she chose never to return to the company, he would be just as content.
If anyone asked, Isadora would say she was happy—happier than she had ever been. Once she had learned to ask for what she wanted, Avery had given freely. They were better now than they had ever been.
One afternoon, they went to try on her wedding dress.
The gown was an exclusive creation by a renowned designer, the only one of its kind in the world. It had arrived by air that very morning, just two weeks before the wedding. Any adjustments would have to be rushed back immediately.
While Isadora disappeared into the fitting room, Avery waited in the VIP lounge. His own suit was already chosen; he was here simply to be with her. They were already legally married. She was, in every sense, Mrs. Montague.
Ten minutes later, she emerged, guided by two attendants. The white satin hugged her curves, the sheen of the fabric catching the light, her posture regal and poised. She was breathtaking—so much so that the room seemed to fade around her.
Avery had seen her in a wedding dress before, during a fitting with Tobias. Privately, he thought this was better. Isadora, as Mrs. Montague, had never looked more beautiful.
The moment felt almost sacred. Avery stepped to her, lifted the veil with deliberate care, and pressed a gentle kiss to the tip of her nose. "You look perfect, Mrs. Montague."
Her hands rested on his shoulders as she returned the kiss. "It fits well, though the hips feel a little snug."
"Really? Let me check." His hand slid toward her hip.
She swatted him lightly, narrowing her eyes. He only smiled. "You said it was tight."
"It's not that bad," she murmured. "A couple of pounds and it will be perfect."
She reached up to straighten his shirt collar, her expression softer than he had seen in years.
Beyond the floor-to-ceiling glass, Tobias sat in the back of a sleek black car, watching them. His wife, Ivy, had died the week before. He had buried her, brought his son Eugene back to Evergreen City, and upon his return, heard the news of Isadora's marriage.
He envied Avery. But deep down, he knew that if Isadora had married him, happiness would have been beyond her reach. At best, she would have had stability, but never the sweetness of love. Even if he gave her everything, she would not have felt it—her heart had always belonged elsewhere.
He watched until his eyes ached, then told the driver to go.
The Rolls-Royce rolled slowly over a carpet of golden autumn leaves. Tobias told himself there was nothing to regret. That day, he had made his choice. A man could not abandon his wife for another woman, not even for Isadora.
In Andoria, he had thought of her every day. The sun might be shining now, but all he felt was regret.
When Isadora and Avery left the salon, a gift awaited them, wrapped with care, the weight of it suggesting something valuable.
Isadora frowned. "Who could it be from?"
From the driver's seat, Avery glanced at the package with thinly veiled jealousy.
His hand brushed his nose, his voice dry, "It's not from an old flame of yours, is it?"
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