Juno didn't mean to wander far.
The villa at night was a dream — all low garden lights and rose wind. She'd followed the stone path past the koi pond, past the old orchard where the lemon trees leaned like gossiping aunts, until she reached the little bench by the fountain at the back edge of the estate.
There, she sat in the dark, hoodie pulled over her head, cradling her phone.
The FaceTime screen glowed.
Her kids.
Audrey, already trying to braid Milo's hair.
Otis screaming something about a frog in the backyard.
Leni holding a plastic tiara with furious dignity.
"Mommy, you missed pancakes day," Milo pouted.
"And Daddy didn't cut the bananas right," Audrey added.
"And Otis bit Leni," said Leni.
"Only a little!" Otis shouted from offscreen.
Juno laughed softly, her nose already pink, eyes already glassy.
"I'll be back soon," she promised, but the lie twisted in her chest.
She missed them. Missed them so hard it felt like a pulled muscle under her ribs.
What the hell was she doing here, in this marble dollhouse, pretending to be someone's fairytale when four actual people needed her spaghetti skills and bedtime voices?
Behind the hedge, Damien had been following her, watching her.
Or — well. Trailing her. For a man raised on diplomacy and discretion, he made a poor spy.
He hadn't meant to eavesdrop. But there she was — curled up like some teenage runaway, blinking hard, whispering into a screen that held her real world.
And for the first time in weeks, he did not feel like the villain because he was kind of a puppet master with too many strings, tugging too hard.
He took a step, rustled a bush, and made her jump.
"Jesus!" she said, wiping her face furiously.
"You cry so quietly," Damien remarked. "Like a polite ghost."
"How long were you standing there?"
"Long enough to witness you threaten Otis with the banana police."
"Get out."
"Wait, wait — I had an idea."
"No."
"You haven't even heard it."
"Is it about how to humiliate your family further?"
"Of course."
She stood, dusting herself off. The hoodie made her look about eighteen. The mascara under her eyes said otherwise.
"What is it this time? Should I start a podcast with your grandmother? Sell my guitar to Sotheby's? Marry your cousin Gérard for the citizenship?"
"No," he said. "We invite your kids here."
Silence.
Dead, horrified silence.
"You've completely lost it," she whispered.
"Think about it. Four adorable American children running around the villa? Sticky fingers on priceless wallpaper? Screaming at 7AM? My family will implode."
"They're children, Damien. Not... nuclear weapons."
"Exactly. Small, chaotic, and impossible to evacuate."
Juno stared at him, the tension in her jaw like a fault line.
"No. Absolutely not. This—this thing between us—this ridiculous engagement, this PR monster—my kids don't belong in it. They're not pawns."
"They're not," he said quietly. "But you are. And I brought you here. And I keep throwing you into fire and hoping it burns the right direction. This time, I thought maybe I'd bring you something warm."
Her mouth parted.
But the tears — she wasn't going to let those out again.
He stepped closer.
"You miss them so much."
"Of course I do."
"Then let me fly them here. Just for a week. Just to see you. You'll be their mother. Nothing changes that. But I'll be their... French inconvenience."
She narrowed her eyes.
"You're trying to look generous."
"I'm trying to destroy my mother's sense of peace."
"Same thing."
He smirked.
"The kids are coming. That's the plot."
"You're stubborn ."
"Je suis français. It's worse than stubborn."
***
The Next Morning
Madame Léonora was already in the conservatory, pruning her orchids.
She didn't look up as Damien entered.
"I heard footsteps in the lemon grove last night," she said mildly.
"Mmm."
"Did you push her into the pond, or merely lure her there with emotional sabotage?"
Damien poured himself a coffee.
"She was crying. I made it worse."
"Ah. Parenting practice."
"You're funny this morning."
She turned a little, watching her son through narrowed eyes.
"You're different."
"I'm tired."
"You're soft."
"I'm manipulative."
"You're in love."
That shut him up.
The orchids had no opinion.
She snipped one delicately, placed it into a glass vase.
"You're going to bring her children here," she said calmly.
He didn't answer.
"I suppose that means we'll need to childproof the Ming vases."
"Maman—"
"Don't. I'm already resigning myself. One must adapt to modern warfare. Just please — no stickers on the furniture."
YOU ARE READING
Fallen Kingdoms
RomanceOnce, she was the queen of his world. The woman behind the man everyone adored, the muse who gave up her own dreams to build his empire. She gave him her music, her body, her youth-and four children. Ten years later, her kingdom lies in ruins. He's...
