Three days passed in a warm haze for the Royal family—a rare stretch of uninterrupted togetherness amidst their perpetually busy lives.
The family rarely gathered, as they were usually busy with work and chores. So, the time they spent together was precious.
Blake and Catherine skipped elaborate vacations, opting instead to fill the estate with laughter.
They built snow forts with the children, baked gingerbread cookies in the sunlit kitchen, and read bedtime stories by the crackling fireplace. For Noah and Hedwig, these simple moments became their first true childhood memories.
On the third evening, as snowflakes settled like powdered sugar over the grounds, Catherine needed to discuss visiting her father abroad with Blake, but the words stuck in her throat like winter sap.
Blake definitely didn't want her to go far away, but she couldn't be trapped here forever just because she was afraid of the dangers outside.
That night, the snow stopped. Blake left the kids in the toy room and went to his wine cellar for a drink.
The cellar was warm. He took off his coat, revealing a white shirt, a gray-blue vest, and tailored trousers that showed off his long, muscular legs.
His natural elegance and maturity were captivating.
Catherine found him there.
She was drawn to his handsome face and felt a cool tremble in her heart.
"Found you," Catherine's voice echoed softly between oak barrels.
Blake glanced up, his storm-gray eyes softening. "Shouldn't you be chasing our little tornadoes?"
"I asked Dowen." She trailed fingers along dusty wine bottles, breathing in notes of oak and vanilla. "You've been hiding a treasure trove."
"Collecting is... therapeutic," Blake said, walking around his collection with a smile.
When she reached him, he caught her wrist, pulling her into the space between his knees. "Drink?
"Yes, please," Catherine said. She didn't feel the need to be reserved with him.
"Come here," Blake took her hand, feeling her soft skin, and playfully squeezed it.
Catherine frowned and glared at him.
"Don't get drunk. Just one glass," Blake poured her some red wine.
The single malt he offered burned sweetly down her throat. "Like liquid caramel. It's sweet," she gasped.
"Don't women all like this? Just like you, so sweet," Blake teased, twirling a strand of her hair.
Catherine smiled. "Am I sweet?"
"Reminds me of you," his thumb brushed a drop from her lower lip. "All warmth and hidden fire."
Catherine didn't pull away. Soon, their lips met, and the atmosphere grew hot.
Their laughter melted into a kiss that tasted of whiskey and unresolved words.
"Let's sit here and drink," Blake pulled her onto the sofa.
Catherine landed on his lap, feeling a bit dizzy.
"If I could spend every day like this with you and the kids, drinking and relaxing, that would be great," Blake said lazily.
"It's up to you," Catherine smiled.
"But I can't relax. I want to give you and the kids a better life," Blake said with a hint of bitterness.
Catherine stroked his face. "We already have a good life. I just want us to spend more time together."
"I'm in this position. I have no choice but to work hard. It's either success or failure. Do you fear being with me?" Blake asked.
Catherine shook her head. "No, I fear nothing with you."
Blake held her tight. "That's all I need to hear."
After a while, Catherine remembered why she came. "I want to ask you something. I plan to travel abroad in the next few days to visit my dad."
Blake's grip tightened on her waist. "Let me bring him here. Safer."
"He's seventy-two and still thinks airports are portals to alien abductions." Her smile faltered. "I owe him this."
Silence pooled between them. Somewhere, a grandfather clock tolled midnight—the sound of borrowed time running out.
"But I worry about you going out. You know what I'm afraid of," Blake said with concern.Catherine understood his worry but was determined to visit her father. She knew Blake would be anxious, but she hoped he would understand her need to see her dad.