Chapter 142

Iris

I shut my laptop with more force than I should.

No. I refuse to give those comments another second of my attention. So what if the public thinks Veronica would make a better Luna? Arthur doesn’t think that. I certainly don’t. And that’s what matters.

Moving day arrives before I know it. Once all of Miles’ and my belongings are packed, it finally hits me. We’re doing this. We’re finally going to live the life I always dreamed of—the three of us together, as a family, sharing the home that Arthur and I once adored.

It feels unreal, but it’s not. It’s very much a reality now.

The one thing I’m bringing that requires special handling is my exhibition centerpiece—the painting of our family on horseback. I had it carefully wrapped and delivered to Arthur’s apartment this morning, planning to surprise him with it when we arrive.

“Is that everything?” I ask Miles, who has insisted on keeping several of his toys unpacked and clutched to his chest, “just in case they get scared in the box”. I don’t have the energy to insist that he’s more likely to lose his prized possessions if he doesn’t pack them up.

The drive to Arthur’s—our—place is short and familiar, and yet my stomach has butterflies the whole way. It’s silly, really. I’ve stayed over dozens of times in the past few months, used to live here, but this is different. This is permanent. This is coming home.

Arthur and Cliff meet us in the lobby, both grinning from ear to ear. Arthur scoops Miles up in one arm and grabs a box with the other. “Welcome home,” Cliff says, hugging me tightly, and I can’t help but smile.

We take the elevator up to the penthouse, and as the doors slide open, I’m greeted by the sight of our painting, already unwrapped and leaning against the wall opposite the door.

“Oh,” I say, suddenly nervous. “You weren’t supposed to see that yet.”

Arthur sets Miles down and turns to me. “Is this… for me?”

I nod. “For us, really. For our home.”

“But it’s your centerpiece. Your best work. I thought you were going to sell it.”

“Well, I’d rather give it to you,” I say simply.

Arthur steps closer to the painting, studying the details. “I can’t believe you’re giving this to me. It’s… it’s incredible, Iris.”

“Well, I thought your office needed something nice. To distract from your ugly face,” I tease, really more in an attempt to keep myself from crying than anything else.

He laughs and shakes his head. “Well, then it’s perfect for that purpose. I’ll hang it tomorrow.”

“You don’t have to—”

“It’s going in my office,” he says firmly. “Where everyone who comes to see the Alpha President can also see the most important thing in my life—my family.”

The word “family” makes my chest constrict almost painfully. How many times did I dream of this over the years? Of being a real family with Arthur and Miles? And now here we are.

Miles, oblivious to the emotional moment between his parents, tugs on Arthur’s pant leg. “Daddy, can you help me unpack my toys?”

Arthur chuckles, ruffling Miles’ hair. “Of course, buddy. Let’s get started.”

We spend the rest of the afternoon unpacking, not that there’s much to unpack. Since the residency apartment was furnished and we moved so much over the past nine months, it’s not like we had much left other than our most prized possessions. For Miles, it’s his toys. For me, it’s my art supplies. I feel overwhelmed with excitement and emotion as I carefully arrange everything in my old studio, already imagining what I’ll get started on tomorrow.

By evening, we’re exhausted but satisfied. The apartment already feels different—warmer, somehow, with touches of my life and Miles’s integrated into the space. Or maybe it just feels different because I know it’s permanent this time, not just a temporary living arrangement.

“What do you want for dinner?” Arthur asks as we collapse onto the couch. “We could order in.”

“Can we have pizza?” Miles pipes up immediately.

I laugh. “Pizza sounds perfect.”

While we wait for the delivery, Arthur disappears into his bedroom and returns wearing a grotesque monster mask. Miles shrieks with delight and takes off running, Arthur lumbering after him, growling, with his arms outstretched.

“I’m gonna get you!” Arthur growls, his voice muffled behind the mask. “I’m gonna eat you up!”

Miles’s giggles echo through the apartment as he darts around the furniture, occasionally hiding behind me for protection.

“Save me, Mommy!” he squeals, clutching at my legs.

I press a hand to my chest, feigning terror. “Oh no! A monster! What ever shall we do?”

Arthur approaches slowly, still growling, and I grab a throw pillow from the couch, brandishing it like a weapon. “Back, foul beast! You can’t have my son!”

This sends Miles into another fit of giggles, and soon all three of us are engaged in a pillow fight, chasing each other around the living room. By the time the pizza arrives, we’re all breathless and laughing.

We eat on the floor, picnic-style, in front of the TV. Miles chooses a movie—some animated film about talking animals—and we settle in for a cozy family night.

It’s such a simple thing—pizza, a movie, sitting together on the floor—but it feels perfect. Complete. As if all the scattered pieces of my life have finally clicked into place.

After pizza and during a lull in the movie, Arthur turns to me. “Oh, I meant to ask—have you thought about schools for Miles? He should be starting kindergarten soon, right?”

I nod, glancing at Miles who’s completely absorbed in the movie. “I’ve been looking into options. There’s a good public school not far from here, but…”

“But?” Arthur prompts.

I hesitate. “There’s also Wellington Academy. It’s private, and expensive, but their arts program is amazing.”

I’m worried Arthur might think I’m being elitist or that I’m trying to spend his money, but if I’m being honest, the things I learned about the fading arts programs in Ordan and the misallocation of funds is worrisome. Maybe it’s hypocritical of me, wanting to enroll my son in a school that doesn’t have those issues while simultaneously lobbying for improving conditions in public schools, but I just want the best for him. And we can afford it.

To my relief, Arthur nods enthusiastically. “Wellington is great. I’ve heard nothing but good things. And it’s close by, which is a bonus.”

“You don’t think it’s too… I don’t know, privileged?”

Arthur considers this. “I think what matters is the quality of education and whether it suits Miles’ needs. And from my research, Wellington has an excellent program for children on the spectrum. I think he would thrive there.”

I bite my lip. “I want that for him,” I murmur. “Plus, it’s within walking distance, so as he gets older he can walk to school himself…”

“Let’s schedule a tour,” Arthur says simply.

I nod. A tour sounds good. And even though it feels a bit… wrong to enroll my son in such a prestigious school knowing what the conditions in poorer districts are like, I still want the best for him. It’s a tricky situation, and I’m not sure if there’s a “right” decision.

After the movie ends, Miles is yawning but fighting sleep. “I’m not tired,” he insists, even as his eyelids droop.

“Time for bed, little man,” Arthur says, scooping him up. “You’ve had a big day.”

I follow them to Miles’s new room, watching as Arthur tucks him in, pulling the covers up to his chin. “Goodnight, buddy. Sweet dreams.”

“Night, Daddy,” Miles mumbles, already half asleep. “Night, Mommy.”

I lean down to kiss his forehead. “Goodnight, sweetheart. We’ll see you in the morning.”

We leave his door cracked, a night light casting a soft glow in the corner. In the hallway, Arthur pulls me into a hug, his chin resting on top of my head.

“Happy?” he asks.

“So happy I could burst,” I admit. “This is all I’ve wanted for so long. Us, together. A real family.”

He pulls back to look at me, and I’m stricken by how serious his expression is as he murmurs, “I’m never letting you go again, Iris. I need you to know that.”

“Good,” I say, “because I’m not going anywhere.”

We end up back in the living room, where Arthur puts on a record on low volume. He extends his hand to me. “Dance with me?”

I raise an eyebrow. “Haven’t had enough dancing lately?”

“Never enough.” He pulls me to my feet before I can fight it, not that I would anyway. One hand finds my waist, the other clasps mine. I tilt my head back and trace the subtle curls in the hair at the nape of his neck with my forefinger as we begin to sway.

It reminds me of all those years ago, dancing in this very spot, happy and in love and unaware of the challenges ahead.

But we’re different now. Stronger. We’ve weathered the storm and found our way back to each other. And as Arthur holds me close, humming softly in my ear, I can’t help but think that maybe the journey was necessary. Maybe we needed that time apart to truly appreciate what we have now.

“What are you thinking about?” Arthur murmurs, his breath warm against my hair.

“How lucky I am,” I reply softly. “How it feels like everything in my life was leading to this moment, even the hard parts.”

He pulls back slightly to look at me, his eyes so tender it nearly makes me burst into tears. “I think about that too. How every choice, every mistake, somehow led us back to each other.”

There’s so much I want to say, but words seem inadequate. Instead, I take his hand and lead him toward our bedroom, leaving the music playing softly behind us.