Selene's POV
The sun was just starting to dip low, casting amber streaks across the quiet neighborhood as Antonio and I stood on the front porch, our fingers loosely linked. Ayra and Eliot had left a little while ago after scrolling through endless listings and laughing over absurd house designs. One place had a heart-shaped jacuzzi. Another had a moat. A literal moat.
"At this point," Ayra had said, "I might just build a treehouse and call it home."
But now, the world was quieter. The laughter had faded into the gentle hum of dusk. I leaned my head against Antonio's shoulder as he traced slow circles against my hand with his thumb.
"They're really going to move close," I murmured.
"They belong here," he said softly. "Near us."
I nodded, a small smile forming. "Do you remember the first time we talked about homes? About living together?"
He turned slightly so I could see the twinkle in his eyes. "You said we should build a home before marriage."
"And you said you wanted to wait just enough… until the timing felt right," I added.
He tugged me gently toward the garden, the golden sky painting us in warm light. We walked slowly, like time had agreed to slow down for us. "We're getting there," he said. "Building it piece by piece. Every memory, every promise."
"I saw a sketch today," I told him. "It was in my studio—just something I doodled months ago. It was a little house surrounded by blooming lavender and a tiny swing hanging from a tree."
He smiled at the image. "And let me guess—you're already planning to turn it into a full-blown design?"
"I might," I grinned. "But maybe... maybe that swing is for someone else."
His eyes softened. "For Alex?"
"Or Sasha," I said quietly, letting the breeze carry the names between us.
Antonio stopped walking. He turned to me and cupped my face in both hands. "I want it all, Selene. Not just the house, or the business, or the nights we fall asleep tangled together. I want the quiet mornings, the messy lunches, the school runs, the family dinners. Everything."
Tears pricked the corners of my eyes. Not because I was sad—but because I felt it. That overwhelming sense of being loved, wanted, safe.
"I want it too," I whispered. "Even if we get there step by step."
We stood there, forehead to forehead, swaying slightly with the wind. And then, in the dimming light, he kissed me—not with urgency, but with the kind of certainty that said, You're it.
Back inside, while he made us tea, I checked my phone.
Ayra: Found three homes already. One is literally five steps away. Eliot says it's fate.
I smiled and replied.
Me: Call it fate, but you're stuck with us forever.
Ayra: Best fate ever.
Antonio returned with two mugs and sank beside me on the couch. We tucked ourselves under a shared blanket, the world outside quiet and soft. Inside, everything felt full—with love, with dreams, and with the comforting knowledge that we were slowly building a life we had once only whispered about.
Together. Always.