The late morning sun leaked through Arthur's bedroom blinds as Rosie lay curled against him, their limbs still tangled under the sheet. The warmth between them wasn't just physical—it was thick with unspoken thoughts, questions neither of them dared ask out loud.
Arthur's fingers lazily traced circles on her bare shoulder. "They're really doing it, huh?" he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.
Rosie turned her head slowly, her brows furrowed. "Yeah. Engagement. Feels surreal."
He nodded, staring up at the ceiling like it held answers. "It's not like I didn't know they loved each other, but… now it's all real. Legal. Committed."
"It's not about them, Arthur," Rosie said quietly, voice suddenly brittle. "It's what it means for us."
He looked down at her, reading the weight in her eyes. "You think they'll find out about us now?"
She sighed, propping herself on one elbow. "I don't know. But something's changed. I can feel it. Maybe they'll expect more boundaries… maybe this thing—whatever we are—won't be able to survive under all the watchful eyes."
Arthur sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. "You know what scares me?"
Rosie didn't respond, just stared at his back, waiting.
"That I'll be stuck living under someone else's timeline. That we'll have to pretend we're still just 'family friends.' That what we have might be seen as wrong… again."
Rosie got up too, wrapping a sheet around herself. She walked toward him and placed her hand on his bare back. "You're not alone in this, Arthur. I feel the pressure too. But we either face it… or let it break us."
Arthur turned to her and pulled her in for a long hug, burying his face in her neck. "We're not breaking. Not after everything."
She clutched him tighter. "Then let's figure out how to keep this… us… safe."
That evening, the estate transformed into an elegant haven of candlelight, white florals, and champagne-tinted drapes. The staff moved with precision, guided by Jane's meticulous planning and Charles' relentless standards. A string quartet filled the garden with delicate melodies while only a select few guests trickled in—investors, old friends, close relatives. No social media. No public posts. Just intimacy, privacy, and class.
Rosie stepped out of her room in a sleek navy gown, hair loosely pinned, soft curls brushing her collarbones. Arthur stood waiting at the bottom of the staircase, dressed in a fitted charcoal tuxedo. When he saw her, his jaw clenched briefly—like he was trying to keep something from falling out. Maybe a word. Maybe everything.
"You look..." he said, eyes raking over her.
"So do you," she replied, almost shyly.
They walked side by side into the glowing garden, not touching, not speaking. Just aware. Aware of the way they had to pretend to be what they weren't.
Charles took the mic as Jane stepped beside him, her ivory gown glittering like stardust under the hanging lights.
"Thank you all for coming," Charles began, his voice strong but calm. "This isn't just a celebration of love. It's a commitment. Jane and I have built a life together—through mistakes, through fights, through long nights and reckless decisions. And now, we're ready to build more."
Jane smiled, squeezing his hand. "We've done the chaos. Now we want the calm."
The crowd clapped gently, raising their glasses.
Arthur whispered to Rosie, "Didn't think they'd actually say it like that."
She leaned in, lips near his ear. "They deserve this. But it's not a fairy tale. It's work. Just like us."
A few moments later, Charles and Jane exchanged rings under the garden arch. The string quartet shifted to a warmer tune, something slower, nostalgic. Guests mingled, drinks flowed, and everyone played their part in the polished scene.
Arthur and Rosie moved through the event like actors between takes—smiling, nodding, but their minds far away.
Later, Arthur found her near the back patio, nursing a half-filled glass of wine, staring at the stars.
"Hey," he said softly.
She didn't look at him. "Do you ever wonder how long we can keep pretending?"
He sat beside her. "Every damn day."
She turned to face him, finally. "What if we don't hide? What if we tell them after all this settles?"
Arthur gave a dry chuckle. "You think tonight's the time to bring that up?"
"No," she replied. "But I'm tired of feeling like a secret."
He took her hand under the table, where no one could see. "We'll figure this out. One step at a time."
Rosie nodded slowly. "Just promise me... we'll never lose what we've built."
Arthur looked her in the eye. "Promise. I'd rather burn the whole plan down than lose you."
Meanwhile, Jane and Charles shared a quiet moment away from the crowd inside the study. Jane was seated on the couch, removing her heels.
"You really surprised me with that speech," she said, smiling tiredly.
Charles poured them both a glass of brandy. "I meant every word. This time, I want to do things right."
Jane accepted the glass. "It's strange. For once, I feel like we're ahead of the mess, not in the middle of it."
Charles leaned against the fireplace. "You know, sometimes I see Arthur and Rosie... and I wonder."
Jane raised an eyebrow. "Wonder what?"
"If they'll ever admit how they really feel. Or if we're just imagining it."
Jane's eyes lingered on her glass. "I've seen things too. Looks. Hesitations. A tension you can't fake."
"You think it's dangerous?" Charles asked.
"I think... it's real. And if it is, we owe them the same grace we gave ourselves."
Charles nodded, quietly absorbing her words. "Maybe they just need time."
By midnight, the guests had mostly left, and the estate was quiet again. Arthur and Rosie met by the pool, where the garden lights shimmered on the water.
She leaned her head on his shoulder, barefoot now, holding her heels in one hand. "It was a beautiful engagement."
"It was," Arthur said. "And scary."
She looked up at him. "We'll find our own way too."
He kissed her forehead. "Not if. When."