chapitre vignt-deux
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Sophie Marella Moreau made her grand entrance into the world on a balmy summer night on June 15th, 1938, in the heart of Paris, France.
She arrived healthy and radiant, her very existence a manifestation of her parents' boundless affection. With a spirit as lively as the bubbling fountains of the city, Sophie quickly revealed herself to be a delightful and vibrant addition to their family.
In those early days, Sophie undeniably inherited her mother's graceful beauty, yet her captivating blue eyes were solely her father's. Tarek and Samia often remarked that she looked doll-like.
Sophie's cries from the nursery easily stirred Isra awake. She believed it was one of those things mothers simply grew accustomed to over time. Despite Marcel having experienced his fair share of sleepless nights, Isra refrained from waking him during her recovery period. She cherished the solitary moments with Sophie and, with Marcel nearing the end of his residency, working longer hours alongside Tarek, she preferred not to disturb him in the middle of the night.
"Are you hungry, Sophie?" Isra inquired of her five-month-old, leaning into the crib. "You sure do eat a lot, don't you?"
Gradually, Sophie's sobs tapered into soft whimpers. Responding to her mother's calming presence, the baby began to whine, almost as if recounting her momentary distress. Isra chuckled softly, planting a gentle kiss on the baby's forehead.
Beneath her feet, the floor felt cold, a stark reminder of the November chill seeping through the walls; Isra fretted over whether Sophie would be warm enough tonight.
Seated in the rocking chair, cradling her daughter snugly, Isra lowered the neckline of her nightgown and guided Sophie's mouth to her nipple.
The little one suckled, casting a half-lidded gaze at her mother.
Isra smiled down at her daughter. "It's hard to believe you're mine," she murmured, her finger caressing the baby's chubby cheek. "You're such a fragile little thing. But don't worry, Mama and Papa will always keep you safe."
Then, like a gentle breeze that swept through her senses, Marcel's voice softly entered the room from the doorway. "I was wondering where you disappeared to."
He approached slowly, his steps unhurried, a sleepy calmness about him. "You look absolutely stunning."
"I'm just feeding our baby. Nothing extravagant or deserving of praise."
He knelt beside Isra, his fingers delicately brushing Sophie's hair as he marveled at the miracle in her arms. "This deserves all the praise. You're doing something truly remarkable. Being a mother isn't an easy task."
She recalled all he did for their family as well. "Being a father isn't easy either." She leaned in to place a tender kiss on his temple. "Thank you."
Sophie, intrigued by the sounds of her parents' voices, briefly released her latch on Isra's breast, turning her head towards him. "Looks like she's eager to join our conversations already," Isra remarked with a laugh.
"Sometimes it's still hard to believe. I mean, we're responsible for this little human being."
"But we're fortunate to have her," Isra said. She offered Sophie to Marcel to hold, and he eagerly accepted the warm bundle, cradling their daughter in his sturdy arms. He nestled Sophie against his chest, surprised by how tiny and fragile she seemed within his protective embrace.
He gently swayed Sophie, eliciting a contented sigh from her as her tiny fingers curled around one of his.
She nestled in closer, resting her head against his shoulder as they both admired their precious daughter.
"I was thinking we should go to Nice for Christmas with Sophie. My parents haven't seen her since July, and my mother keeps calling, asking when we'll visit," he suggested.
Pausing, Isra's mind wandered briefly to the idea of spending the holidays away from her own parents. While she had grown more comfortable with Marcel's parents over time, a sense of unfamiliarity and doubt lingered.
"Marcel, I'd love for Sophie to be with your parents," she began softly, her focus on their peacefully sleeping daughter in her father's arms. "It's just... spending Christmas..."
Understanding dawned in Marcel's eyes. "They don't have any issue with you, Isra."
She let out a sigh, her fingers stroking Sophie's tiny hand. "That might be true, but I still have concerns. I worry they might not fully accept our marriage, accept me."
His expression softened, and he adjusted Sophie slightly to free up a hand, using it to cup Isra's cheek. "Their opinions about us don't hold weight, and they're well aware of it. But since they've apologized to both of us, I believe we should give them a chance to prove themselves."
She knew he was right. Granting them another opportunity was important. After all, they were Sophie's grandparents.
"Okay then. We'll spend Christmas with them. It could be lovely."
"I'll inform my mother tomorrow," he said as he carefully placed Sophie in the crib. "She'll be thrilled. And my father too, though he won't admit it."
After giving their little one a final goodnight kiss, they both returned to their bedroom to rest.
The next morning, true to his word, Marcel called his mother to confirm their plan to visit Nice in December. Since it was a Sunday and he had the day off, he spent it entirely with Isra and Sophie, away from any other distractions.
Sounds of clinking dishes and the delightful aroma of breakfast drifted from the kitchen, where Marcel was busy. Isra had just finished nursing Sophie and carried her, engaged in conversation with her husband while observing him move about the kitchen with practiced ease.
As breakfast neared completion, Isra settled into a cozy armchair by the window in the sitting room, Sophie snuggling against her chest. The baby girl's bright blue eyes were wide open, observing the world with a sense of wonder.
Soon, Marcel emerged from the kitchen, balancing a tray brimming with a delightful breakfast spread. He carefully placed it on the coffee table before Isra. "Breakfast is ready, my loves."
The spread featured fluffy scrambled eggs adorned with fresh herbs, crisp slices of toast, a bowl of glistening mixed berries, and a steaming cup of coffee promising warmth.
"Quite the feast for breakfast, isn't it?" she teased.
He chuckled, joining her on the couch. "I've got to make sure my two favorite ladies are well-fed, right?"
The trio savored their meal together, enjoying effortless laughter and conversation. Her husband's continual ability to impress her filled her heart, deepening her love for him each passing day, pushing thoughts of Haadi and the life she once envisioned with him far from her mind.
Once breakfast concluded, Marcel lifted Sophie into his arms, playfully nuzzling her nose, eliciting a chorus of giggles. Isra seized the chance to tidy up the breakfast table, her heart swelling with affection witnessing the beautiful bond forming between father and daughter.
Following their breakfast, her husband proposed a leisurely stroll through the nearby park, an idea that thrilled Isra. Before long, they found themselves walking together, Sophie comfortably settled in a pram guided by Marcel's gentle hand.
Isra had taken care to dress Sophie in layers, ensuring she was shielded from the chill, wrapping her in a soft, knitted blanket crafted lovingly by Samia.
The air held a crisp coolness, and the grey skies hinted at an impending rainfall.
They paused to rest on a bench, Isra seating Sophie on her lap, pointing out the vibrant autumn leaves and occasional chirping birds. Marcel entertained them with stories from his medical practice, each tale drawing laughter from his wife. He had brought a camera, snapping pictures to immortalize the moments they were creating. They took turns pushing the pram along the winding paths, Sophie's eyes wide with curiosity as she observed the changing landscape. Pausing by a tranquil pond reflecting the sunlight, Isra leaned over to show a family of ducks to their inquisitive daughter.
As the afternoon sun began its descent, they made their way back home. They ate a late lunch together before Isra settled Sophie for a nap, gently humming a lullaby until her eyelids drooped and she succumbed to slumber. Meanwhile, Marcel retreated to his study to catch up on medical journals and update patient files.
Sophie woke from her nap around an hour later. They entertained her with the trinkets and toys gifted by her grandparents until she tired herself out and peacefully went back to sleep for the night.
This serene evening gifted Marcel and Isra with a rare and treasured opportunity—a dinner together, free from work commitments or the delightful but demanding responsibilities of parenthood. As much as they cherished their daughter, they craved moments of privacy and intimacy to reconnect.
Having transitioned from the dinner table to the cozy warmth of the fireplace, they sat nestled together on the sofa, bodies comfortably intertwined. While turning the pages of a captivating book, the outside world seemed to fade, leaving only the comforting crackle of the fire and the whispered tales of the characters they were discovering.
Isra sensed Marcel's hand gradually moving. Initially, she dismissed it as accidental, her attention still fixed on the words in front of her. However, as his touch wandered higher, tracing the softness of her thigh beneath her skirt, an undeniable sense of anticipation enveloped her.
Gradually, the book became forgotten, replaced by a shared understanding reflected in their eyes. Their lips met in a kiss fueled by desire and longing, eclipsing everything else.
Marcel's arms embraced Isra, effortlessly lifting her as he carried her towards their bedroom. Each step was punctuated by fervent kisses, each touch a testament to the passion between them.
"I love you," he whispered as they entered their bedroom, his gaze filled with a profound sincerity that stirred her soul. "And I want you."
Her response was a gentle exhale of desire, a mirrored emotion echoing the longing that had taken root within her. "I want you too."
As clothing cascaded away in a rush of movement, the barriers that had kept them apart dissolved, leaving only the unbridled essence of their desire.
Isra's head arched backward, a cascade of dark hair spilling like silk over the pillow, as an unrestrained moan of pleasure escaped her lips in harmony with his name. His urgent movements sparked a surge of sensation that pulsed through her, erasing any thoughts beyond their long-anticipated union. In response to her melodic moans, Marcel's lips sought the expanse of her neck, leaving a trail of fervent kisses and tender nips.
"You're so perfect like this," his voice was a husky murmur against her ear.
One of Isra's legs lifted, encircling his waist as if instinctively pulling him closer. "Marcel," she breathed, fingers threading through his hair, "I've missed you so much."
His lips grazed her collarbone. "I've missed you too, Isra. More than you can imagine."
Her figure carried the markers of motherhood, with healing scars and a lingering softness in her stomach, a departure from her previous slender form. However, Marcel's constant stream of affirmations, reassuring her that she was as stunning as ever, served as a soothing tonic for her insecurities.
Bathed in the gentle moonlight filtering through the window, their gazes remained locked on each other. Isra's eyes, deep wells of emotion, met Marcel's striking blue orbs. His slightly longer blond hair, now brushing against his ears, framed his face like a golden halo.
Following her climax, Marcel's release soon followed, and they lay entwined for a moment, their bodies still humming with the remnants of pleasure. As their breathing slowly steadied, he shifted to his side, pulling her close, their warmth mingling.
Brushing a stray lock of hair from her face, he met her gaze, his blue eyes shimmering in the soft moonlight. "I hope I didn't push too hard?"
"No, it was perfect."
"Are you sure?" he asked, still a bit uncertain and concerned.
She offered a tired smile. "Absolutely." Then, with a playful tone, she added, "I hope we didn't just make another baby."
Their laughter filled the room.
He shifted onto his side, supporting his head with his hand. "As much as I'd love to expand our family, maybe we should take a bit of time before considering another addition," he suggested sensibly.
She nodded, a contented sigh escaping her. "Agreed. One little Sophie is plenty for now." She nestled closer to him, feeling the reassuring thud of his heartbeat against her cheek. Weariness settled over her, an outcome of the eventful day they had shared. It wasn't usual for her to drift off to sleep so swiftly; usually, they relished these moments to converse and laugh late into the night. Yet, the exhaustion seeping into her bones was undeniable, echoed in Marcel's own drowsy state.
His fingers absentmindedly traced patterns on her back, a soothing gesture that helped lull her into a peaceful state. The room was quiet, save for the soft rustling of the sheets as they shifted, finding their perfect positions for rest.
Tomorrow held its own set of responsibilities and routines, but for now, they could forget about all of that and rest. He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead before allowing himself to close his eyes.
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"Would you look at that, it's a perfect fit!" exclaimed Samia as she pulled the little pink sweater over Sophie's head. "And I added a hood just in case."
Isra smiled at the baby on her lap, now clad in the brand-new sweater she had diligently knitted in preparation for the winter. It was only now, as a mother herself, that Isra truly understood the depth of Samia's feelings all those years ago. Raising a child was no easy task, but Samia had accomplished it with grace. Isra held a newfound admiration for her, determined to make her proud by taking excellent care of her own family.
"We'll be spending Christmas in Nice with Marcel's parents this year," she shared with her mother. As Sophie's fussing filled the air, Isra expertly scooped up her daughter—a gesture that came naturally after months of learning the nuances of motherhood. The cries of her baby had become a language of their own, and Isra had become fluent in its intricate melodies.
"It's both exciting and a bit nerve-wracking," Isra continued, her gaze shifting between her mother and her daughter. "I want everything to go well during our visit. You know how important it is for Marcel to spend time with his parents, especially now that we have Sophie." She undid the first few buttons of her dress, revealing her breast, and Sophie instantly latched on.
Isra idly twirled a lock of Sophie's curly hair. "I can't shake off these nerves. Marcel's parents haven't fully warmed up to me yet. And now, with Sophie..."
Her mother's understanding gaze offered reassurance. "Change is a challenge, Isra. But patience is key. I'm sure little Sophie has a special way of thawing even the iciest of hearts."
"I really hope so. I just want everything to go smoothly."
"It will be perfect because it's real," Samia said. "You, Marcel, and Sophie are a beautiful family, and that's what truly matters."
Isra's gaze softened as she looked at Sophie nursing contently. "You're right, Mama. No matter what, we have each other."
Her mother was right; she had to remain optimistic about their future. She was married to Marcel, they had their baby Sophie, and they were able to live in peace.
On the 20th of December, the trio found themselves aboard a train bound for Nice. Settling into their seats, Isra cradled Sophie, watching the passing scenery through the window. The rhythmic clatter of the train wheels provided a soothing backdrop, lulling Sophie into a peaceful slumber.
Beside Isra, Marcel leaned in to whisper softly, "She's sound asleep."
"Seems like she's taken quite well to traveling. I expected more of a fuss."
The train made intermittent stops, yet the journey remained remarkably smooth.
Upon arrival, they were greeted by Clarence, sent by Lucas to ensure their safe transport to the Moreau mansion, as it was too late to secure a taxi. They loaded into the car, luggage stowed, and began the journey to their destination.
Isra felt nervous anticipating the reunion, but she remembered her mother's advice, unwilling to completely dismiss Annette and Lucas. With Sophie by her side now, she hoped they could mend any rifts and find acceptance within the family.
The approaching estate exuded grandeur, its sprawling grounds adorned with opulent gardens and elegant architecture that whispered of wealth and privilege. The December air carried a chilly bite, infused with the fragrant scents of pine and crisp leaves. Isra's fingers intertwined with Marcel's. She stole glances at him, noticing the faint furrow of his brow hinting at his own nervousness.
As the car halted in front of the imposing entrance, he assisted her and Sophie out of the vehicle. They paused, momentarily taking in the sight of the mansion while Clarence retrieved their luggage from the trunk.
Marcel took Sophie from Isra's arms, adjusting her tiny coat. He grinned as she cooed, seemingly responding to his words. "Oh yes, you're about to meet grandma and grandpa."
Approaching the elegant doorway, he pressed the doorbell, its chime resonating through the quiet entrance. He sent a loving look at Isra and wrapped one arm around her shoulders while the other securely cradled Sophie against his chest.
The door swung open, revealing Annette, Marcel's mother, standing there with a warm and welcoming smile.
Isra's eyes widened in surprise as Annette extended her arms, enveloping her in a hug that felt like a reunion with a long-lost friend. The unexpected gesture momentarily left Isra stunned, her mind racing to process the embrace.
For a brief moment, she stood frozen in the woman's arms, uncertain of how to react. Gradually, she found her bearings and reciprocated the hug, her arms wrapping around her in a genuine hug.
"Oh, welcome! I'm so delighted you both could make it! Please, come in," Annette's warm voice effortlessly dispelled any lingering anxiety within Isra. Inside, the cozy ambiance of Marcel's childhood home embraced them.
"You must have had a tiresome trip. I hope the journey wasn't too challenging, though. Traveling in winter can be quite demanding."
Marcel exchanged a knowing glance with Isra. "It wasn't too bad, Mother. We made sure to keep Sophie comfortable throughout the journey. She's quite the trooper."
"Yes, Sophie was an absolute angel during the trip. She's a little traveler already," she added, her voice soft and affectionate, observing Annette's eyes light up at the mention of her granddaughter.
As if sensing she was the center of attention, Sophie gurgled and wriggled in her father's arms. Annette's hand delicately hovered over the small form, her fingers brushing against the baby's cheek with a tender touch.
"This is your granddaughter." He carefully adjusted his hold on the baby, allowing his mother to fully appreciate the sight of their daughter. "Sophie Marella Moreau."
"Sophie Marella Moreau," she repeated, looking down at the baby's serene face. "She's absolutely precious."
This was progress, Isra thought. Sophie really was all they needed to mend their broken relationship.
"She's inherited your eyes, Marcel," Annette observed merrily, her gaze lingering on the baby's features. "Oh, she is the cutest little thing I've ever seen!"
"Would you like to hold her?" Isra offered.
Remorse seemed to paint his mother's features momentarily, a complex mixture of feelings that she couldn't quite decipher. Yet, despite the fleeting sadness, Annette's nod was a clear and heartfelt affirmation.
"Yes, I would."
As Sophie settled into Annette's arms, the room seemed to hold its breath for a moment. It was a small but significant step—a bridge being built between two women from different worlds, finding common ground in the presence of a tiny life they both cherished.
"Come, let's sit down inside. Your father has also been waiting to see you."
Led by Annette, the trio crossed the threshold into the big sitting room. The soft glow of lamplight cast gentle shadows on the walls, and a fireplace crackled with a comforting warmth. Seated within this inviting tableau was Lucas, Marcel's father, a glass of cognac held in his hand, contemplative.
Isra locked eyes with Lucas, sensing a nauseating blend of anticipation and unease creeping over her. The room appeared to hold its breath, the stillness punctuated only by the dancing flames in the hearth. With deliberate grace, Lucas stood up, a dignified presence demanding attention. His eyes, akin to the hue of a summer sky, bore intensely into Isra's, causing her to swallow hard, feeling the weight of his scrutiny.
Yet, as Lucas stood before her, his visage portraying a multitude of emotions, Isra's breath hitched unexpectedly. Without uttering a word, he stretched out his arms, a gesture surprising in its openness. Caught off guard, she found herself drawn into his embrace, her body meeting his in a gesture unconventional for someone of his type. Slowly, her arms encircled him, her fingers tentatively resting against the fabric of his shirt.
After releasing her, Lucas's gaze carried a softness previously unseen. "Thank you. Thank you for giving us our granddaughter."
Her husband's intuition had been right—this simple gesture seemed to mend the fractures in the family.
Despite the late hour, Annette and Lucas bombarded them with questions about their marriage and Sophie's birth, eager to absorb every detail overnight. They were determined to catch up on every missed moment and create new memories.
Though not one to readily smile, a gentle warmth lit up Lucas's face as he cradled Sophie in his arms, his usually solemn expression softened by the presence of the little life he held. "She looks so French," he remarked.
Aware of her Algerian heritage in contrast to Marcel's French lineage, she briefly hesitated, unsure of how to respond to the comment. A faint, awkward smile touched her lips as she met Lucas's gaze.
"Father," her husband intervened, his tone firm and protective, sensing the subtle discomfort settling upon Isra. He promptly corrected him, "Sophie is as much Algerian as she is French. We'll teach her to embrace both sides of her lineage."
Annette gave her husband's arm a comforting pat but directed her words at Marcel. "Please forgive him. He's just... very overwhelmed. Take no offense, dear."
Lucas remained contemplative and thoughtful as he considered their response. "Have you been speaking to her in French?" he inquired, his curiosity evident.
"Yes," Isra responded, "French and Arabic."
His expression shifted to skepticism. "Why would she need to know Arabic? We're in France now."
"Because it's my wife's language too," Marcel retorted, impatience seeping into his words. "We want her to understand both."
His father arched an eyebrow, as if their reasoning sounded absurd. "Arabic, hmm. I suppose it's not truly essential for her to learn that language now that she's living in France."
Isra's smile tightened, her discomfort rekindled by Lucas's remarks, hitting a sensitive nerve. Before she could respond, he continued, "It's essential for her to be proficient in French. It's the language of culture and refinement, after all."
"Father, we won't tolerate disrespectful comments. Isra and I are responsible for her upbringing, and we'll decide what's best for her. If you can't treat Isra with respect, we'll have to leave."
Annette swiftly intervened, seeking to ease the tension. "Let's not argue on Sophie's first visit. We're all still adjusting. Let's focus on the positives, please."
Marcel's jaw clenched, his gaze anchored on his father a moment longer before reluctantly nodding. "Alright. But Isra deserves consideration. She's my wife, and Sophie is our daughter. I won't allow unnecessary discomfort for them."
After the tense conversation, the night fell with lingering tension. Feeling the discomfort, Annette offered apologies for her husband's behavior, attempting to mend the strained atmosphere. Though Isra appreciated the gesture, she felt utterly drained and too fatigued to delve further. Gathering Sophie in her arms, they bid their hosts goodnight and retreated upstairs to their familiar room.
Stepping into the room, both exhaustion and relief washed over them. Their bags, thoughtfully placed by Clarence, stood in a corner, patiently waiting. This time, a new addition graced the space—a crib. Marcel stared at it, a sliver of nostalgia shaping his expression. "It's my old crib from the attic. My parents must have brought it down for Sophie."
Isra changed and breastfed Sophie before laying her down in the crib for the night. She and her husband changed into their pyjamas, and they climbed into bed, ready to sleep.
"Tomorrow is a new day," her husband whispered to her.
"Mhm. It will be."
They closed their eyes and slept.
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Seated around the kitchen table, the Moreau family enjoyed a pleasant morning together.
Marcel sat beside his wife, using a handkerchief to wipe the milk from Sophie's cheek. The child, a picture of innocence and curiosity, rested on Isra's lap, her features glowing with wonder as she observed her father's every movement.
Annette couldn't contain her delight as she moved about the kitchen, humming a tune familiar to Marcel—a melody she often hummed when he was a baby. Meanwhile, Lucas, the typically reserved patriarch, found himself unable to resist stealing occasional glances at his granddaughter. His weathered features softened imperceptibly as his gaze lingered on the small child.
Taking a seat beside her husband and opposite Marcel and Isra, Annette set down a tray of tea. "So, my dears, any plans for the day?"
Isra smiled, cradling Sophie against her, the baby's curious gaze flitting between the faces around her. "We were thinking of staying in."
A contemplative pause remained until, just as Annette was about to sip her tea, Lucas made an unexpected proposal. "Isra, would you like to accompany me for a little trip into town? I need to pick up a few things for Christmas, and your company would be most welcome."
She exchanged a fleeting glance with Marcel, who was just as shocked by his proposition. It wasn't often that Lucas extended such an invitation, and the tentative bond between them left her both intrigued and hesitant. She adjusted Sophie in her arms, her fingers tracing the the baby's cheek as she pondered her response.
"Well," Isra started cautiously, "I suppose a bit of fresh air could do me good." Her gaze shifted between Lucas and her husband. "You'll manage with Sophie, won't you?"
Marcel gently patted their daughter's head. "Absolutely. I'll take great care of her."
After breakfast, Isra ascended the staircase with a sense of purpose, her steps light and her heart buoyant with the prospect of the day ahead. The chilly embrace of winter had painted the landscape outside with a delicate frost, but the winters in Nice were milder than those in Paris.
She selected a knee-length tailored wool coat in a rich shade of deep burgundy, which had been a gift from Aisha. Beneath the coat, she chose a tailored dress in a muted olive hue, the fabric medium-weight wool that provided insulation against the chill. The dress boasted a high neckline and long sleeves, adorned with delicate buttons at the cuffs. She slipped her feet into low-heeled leather boots, their supple texture offering comfort for the day's outing. A pair of sheer stockings, which were fastened with a discreet garter, provided an extra layer of warmth.
He had always admired the way her hair cascaded like a waterfall when left untamed, a sentiment that remained in Isra's mind as she stood before the mirror. She decided to heed his words, allowing her tresses to spill freely down her back. The final touch was fastening a delicate brooch to her coat's lapel, a sentimental piece that had been a gift from her husband.
Isra descended the staircase, her presence gracing the room, drawing the attention of both Lucas and Marcel. Marcel's eyes, like two pools of affection, immediately gravitated toward her. His features lit up with an admiring smile as he beheld her, his attention captivated by the interplay of her loose, curly black hair that framed her face. Plump lips, like delicate petals, brushed his cheek.
"Take good care of our little Sophie," she murmured.
Marcel acknowledged her request, his eyes lingering on her retreating figure as she joined Lucas. The two men exchanged a brief glance, a silent understanding passing between them, before Isra and Lucas stepped out into the crisp winter morning.
Much to her surprise, Clarence was already waiting by the car.
"Come," Lucas instructed her.
Isra snapped out of her daze and trailed after him to the car. Clarence opened the door and she stepped in first, followed by her father-in-law. And soon, they were off, driving away from the estate.
The car ride to town was a somewhat quiet affair, with Lucas maintaining a reserved and distant demeanor. Isra couldn't help but notice the contrast between him and Marcel—where Marcel exuded warmth, Lucas seemed to hold himself at a polite distance. As they navigated the streets, he initiated a conversation, his voice carrying a faint chill.
"So, how is life in Paris?" he inquired.
Isra met his gaze, her own curiosity piqued by his reserved demeanor. "Paris is bustling and vibrant," she replied. "It's quite different from Nice, but we've found our own rhythm there."
"And the trip from Paris to Nice? I hope it was a smooth journey."
She studied him discreetly, amazed by the physical similarities he shared with his son, such as his blond hair, which was now touched with strands of grey, indicating his mature age.
"The trip was manageable, thank you."
As the car rolled on, he spoke up again, catching her off guard. "You are very different from his late wife."
"I beg your pardon." Her attention snapped to him, her eyes meeting his from the corner of her own.
"My son's late wife, she was quite... lively, outspoken, more so than Marcel."
Isra's brows furrowed slightly, her mind processing his words as she searched for the meaning behind them. "I see," she murmured.
He continued, a thoughtful expression on his face. "They weren't exactly a good match, you know. Didn't quite fit together, I'd say."
"But you believe that we fit together?" she ventured cautiously, seeking to understand his perspective.
A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corners of Lucas's lips. "Yes. You and Marcel, you fit."
Just as she was about to speak, he said, "Did Marcel ever tell you about his late wife's infidelity?"
Isra's breath caught in her throat, her surprise evident as she turned to him. "I... No, he never mentioned it."
Lucas nodded, his gaze distant. Silence lingered before he spoke again, his tone softer this time. "But you should know... I found out one day, years ago. She had cheated on Marcel. I overheard them arguing. He made me promise not to tell anyone."
"I... I had no idea. But Marcel remained married to her until she passed away, didn't he?" Shock rippled through her.
"Yes, and she had been with child, but it wasn't his child."
She glanced out of the window, the passing scenery a blur as she grappled with this newfound knowledge. "I see..."
"It was a difficult time for him. I think it's why he's so protective of you. He doesn't want history to repeat itself."
"Thank you for sharing this with me," she said softly. "I appreciate your honesty."
"Isra, I want you to understand something. I will do everything in my power to protect my son and my granddaughter. Marcel has been through a great deal, and I won't let anything hurt him or Sophie."
Did he think that she would hurt Marcel or put him through that turmoil again? She loved her husband; she loved him more than she had ever loved another man. "I love Marcel, and I would never do anything to hurt him or Sophie."
"I hope you mean that, Isra. Because if I ever suspect that history is repeating itself—if you ever put Marcel through what he went through before—I won't hesitate to take action. I won't let Sophie grow up in an environment that's not right for her. I'll make sure of it, even if it means taking drastic measures."
She nodded slowly. "I understand, Lucas. I truly do. And you have my word that I will always put Marcel and Sophie first. I love them both more than anything."
His gaze held hers for a moment longer before he turned his attention back to the road.
In another ten minutes, the car came to a stop at the curb in front of a charming, modest shop. With a gracious gesture, Clarence opened the car door, allowing Lucas to step out first, followed by Isra. She followed Lucas inside. The chime above the entrance sounded as they stepped inside, and the shopkeeper, an old stocky man, smiled in greeting. She couldn't help but wonder why they had stopped at this charming establishment, where aged books, ornate picture frames, and other eclectic items found their place on dusty shelves.
Lucas's attention was absorbed by the various items on the shelves, his fingers occasionally brushing against a knickknack as he murmured to himself in contemplation. Isra stood to the side, feeling somewhat out of place amidst the array of vintage treasures that surrounded them.
Time passed in quiet exploration, the shop's ambiance punctuated by the soft rustling of Lucas's movements. Isra's patience held for a while, until her curiosity got the better of her. Although hesitant, she finally voiced the question that had been tugging at her thoughts.
"What exactly are we here for?"
Lucas regarded her as if she'd asked the most ridiculous question he'd heard in years. "What else would we be here for? Christmas shopping."
"But here of all places? I don't understand."
He let out a faint sigh, his breath a tangible exhalation of patience. "Antique shops like this, my dear, often hold the most remarkable treasures hidden in plain sight," he explained. "I've always believed that the most meaningful gifts are the ones with a history, a story to tell."
Isra's intrigue was piqued. She observed the shop with fresh eyes, suddenly aware of the potential of the eclectic collection surrounding them. Her gaze landed on a delicate locket resting on a shelf, its ornate design catching her attention. She picked it up and opened it, revealing a faded photograph of a soldier in uniform.
"I wonder who would give something like this away," she said out loud, though she meant to keep the words to herself. "Or perhaps they lost it. He looks to be a soldier."
The moment the words left her lips, she noticed a shift in Lucas's demeanor. His eyes, once distant and focused on the present, grew stormy as if a tempest of memories had been awakened. The lines on his face seemed to deepen, etching the passage of time and the weight of experiences long gone by.
His fingers curled into a subtle fist.
"You were once a soldier, weren't you?" The image of him donning the same uniform as the man captured in the locket seemed incongruous, difficult to reconcile with the man she now knew. Yet, the somber undertones that underscored his features spoke of a truth that couldn't be ignored—one of sacrifices made and a life reshaped by the crucible of war.
He began to walk around the shop again, and she helplessly followed him, clutching the locket in hand.
"You know, war changes a person," he began, his melancholy mirroring the shadows dancing along the walls. "It shapes your perspective, forces you to see the world through a different lens." He paused, his fingers brushing lightly against the edge of an aged book.
"It's hard to describe, really," he continued. "The camaraderie you forge with your fellow soldiers, the bonds you create out of necessity... But it's also the horrors you witness, the losses you endure. Those moments, they become etched into your very being, shaping who you are, even long after the last shots have been fired. We were young, caught up in a world that demanded everything from us. We did what we had to do, for each other, for our country."
As he spoke, Isra sensed the protective barrier he had erected around those memories, a shield that guarded against the pain and the ghosts of the past.
"I've killed with these hands. It's not something you ever forget."
She stared at the picture of the soldier. "No, it's not. But you had to survive."
"I suppose I did. In hindsight, it all seems unnecessary, the war. But it's the reason that we can all live in peace. If I had to, I would make the sacrifice again."
"You're very brave, Lucas."
With a terse nod, Lucas shifted his focus away from the heavy conversation, choosing instead to immerse himself in the curated collection of items that surrounded them. Isra followed suit, deciding to drop the subject for now.
Minutes passed before he finally settled on the gift to purchase. He left the shop with only an ornate silver pocket watch. Isra made her own purchase, buying the locket because she couldn't bear to part with it after seeing the image of the soldier. They left and went to the car, where Clarence waited, leaning against the front and smoking a cigarette as he absentmindedly studied the bustling town.
As usual, he opened the door for them to enter the car before they were off. Their next destination was a small bakery, and with Lucas's guidance, she sampled a delicate éclair and savored the rich flavors that burst upon her taste buds.
They continued their journey, stopping at a local florist where he selected a vibrant bouquet of fresh flowers—brilliant reds and snowy whites that would soon find their home in a vase on the dining table. Their final stop brought them to a market square adorned with twinkling lights. He didn't bargain with any of the vendors and bought everything at full price, which surprised her. She was so used to vendors trying to swindle customers with outlandish prices.
Their arms were heavy with bags and parcels as they made their way back to the car. On their way back to the mansion, the sun embarked on its graceful descent, painting the landscape with a luminous golden hue.
Upon their return to the mansion, a noticeable shift had occurred within Lucas. He became reticent, his once-active conversation tapering off into an almost sorrowful silence. The housekeeper, Lena, efficiently gathered the bags and parcels they had brought back, disappearing into the kitchen. Lucas, in an uncharacteristic move, swiftly ascended the stairs to his room, leaving Isra with a lingering sense of confusion.
However, Isra redirected her focus and made her way to the living room, where a grin instantly appeared on her face when she took in the scene before her. Marcel was seated before the crackling fireplace, cradling Sophie in his arms as he read her a story. She almost didn't want to interrupt them, but she had missed her husband and her daughter, and being with Lucas all day had put her on edge.
An impulse stirred within Isra, prompting her to break the silence that had settled over the room. "Oh, and what's this?"
Marcel's attentive gaze shifted from the pages of the book to her, a fond smile crossing his face. Sophie, recognizing her mother, responded with gurgles of delight, her tiny hands reaching out as if in greeting. Isra unbuttoned her coat and delicately draped it over the sofa, shedding the layers that had shielded her from the cold. Crossing the room, she approached the fireplace, and the pair nestled before it.
"It's good to be back," she said, resting her head against his shoulder.
"How was your time with my father?" he asked, a genuine curiosity gleaming in his eyes.
Isra offered a thoughtful smile in response. "It was quite enlightening, actually," she replied, staring at the flames as they danced. "I learned a lot about him, things I didn't know before."
"I'm glad to hear that. He's not one to readily open up, so it's a rare occurrence."
"Yes, it felt like we had a real conversation, not just polite exchanges. It was... nice." She replayed their conversations in her mind. "And how was your day with Sophie?"
At the mention of her name, Sophie cooed, giving Isra a toothless smile.
Marcel began recounting his day with Sophie, detailing their playful interactions and the little moments that had unfolded between them. "We explored the garden a bit," he began, a note of excitement in his voice. "I showed her the roses near the east wing, and she seemed quite fascinated by their colours."
"That sounds lovely," she murmured, smoothing down some of Sophie's unruly curls. "Did she enjoy being outside?"
"Very much," he replied and kissed her chubby cheek.
She lifted Sophie from Marcel's lap and held her in her arms, ready to feed her. She unbuttoned the first few buttons of her dress, her breasts full and slightly achy from a day without feeding. Sophie responded with eager suckling, her eyes fluttering shut in bliss.
Isra's face was a portrait of serene tenderness as she stroked her daughter's velvety cheek, her eyes locked onto her contented expression.
They sat in silence for the minutes to come, watching the crackling fire. Isra occasionally looked at her husband, admiring his profile and the way the light from the flames danced over his face.
How could someone have hurt him? How could his first wife have betrayed him without a care? She couldn't begin to picture how heartbroken he must have been discovering his wife and her lover in his bed. Marcel was a gentle soul, slow to anger, so he must have kept his emotions bottled up inside for the sake of not hurting the woman he loved.
Perceptive of her lingering gaze, Marcel turned his head, their eyes accidentally clashing. Isra looked away quickly. "What is it, love?"
Sophie had stopped suckling and was now fast asleep. "Nothing." She detached the baby from her chest and buttoned up her dress. "I was just lost in thought."
Her husband pursed his lips. "Are you sure?"
"Mhm. Yes."
Although it appeared that he didn't believe her, he didn't broach the subject any further. However, Isra, wanting to get a glimpse into what his life with his late wife might have been like, asked, "Can you tell me something about her?"
Marcel tore his eyes away from the fire, puzzled. "About whom?"
"About her... your late wife. You haven't even told me her name."
Her husband went silent and stared at the fire again.
"Marcel..."
"None of that is important at the moment, Isra. She's in my past."
Isra glanced at their sleeping baby. In that fleeting instant, a pang of jealousy flickered within her, an ache born from the realization that had circumstances been different, Sophie might never have existed.
"What was her name?" Isra's voice held a soft insistence, a gentle push against the barriers he had erected.
Seeing as she wasn't going to relent, he decided to tell her, his expression shrouded with memories of the past. "Her name was Noor."
Eager to know more, Isra ventured further. "How did you two meet?"
"I've already told you, Isra. She was a nurse, and I was volunteering in Morocco at the time."
He hesitated, his gaze momentarily dropping to the floor before he met her eyes again like he was afraid of what she'd see inside of them. "But our relationship wasn't as innocent as it might have seemed," he admitted, a shadow passing over his features. "At that time, she had a fiancé, and I was dating her as well."
It was a revelation that cast a different light on their history, a complexity that she hadn't expected. "You were both... involved with her?"
"Yes, it was a complicated situation. Our feelings for each other grew, and eventually, we found ourselves in a situation we couldn't easily extricate ourselves from."
Isra shifted uncomfortably, her fingers unconsciously fiddling with a loose thread on the carpet. "I see."
Panic flared up on Marcel's face. "I'm not proud of my actions. I knew that she was engaged, yet I persisted. I brought her to France, and she left her fiancé behind. I never said a word about any of this to my parents." A heavy sigh escaped him, as if the weight of those unspoken truths still burdened him. "But she was so different when we were together. I still loved her, but she had changed so much. She was a bit colder toward me. She made friends and spent most of her time in cabarets, pubs, and parties. I did too, I won't lie. I was very different back then. I did things that I'm not proud of. We were unfaithful to each other at times too..."
It was as if the image of the man she had known was suddenly shifting, revealing a past that had remained hidden until now. Sensing her inner turmoil, Marcel's expression shifted to one of guilt.
"Isra," he began gently, reaching out to touch her hand, "I need you to know that what happened in the past doesn't define who I am today. I would never dream of hurting you."
She believed him, but nevertheless, it was a lot of information to take in. Marcel being unfaithful? Marcel participating in an affair?
"I believe you, and I understand that we all have a past. It's just... a lot to process."
His eyes searched hers, his concern evident as he picked up on the subtle undercurrent of doubt. Panic flared within him, a fear of losing her grip tightening around his heart. Isra managed an awkward smile, her attempt at reassurance, though she was clearly grappling with her thoughts.
"I'm just a bit tired," she admitted. "I think I'll put Sophie down for a nap and lie down myself before dinner."
Marcel's worry deepened, a sense of unease settling within him as he feared that her decision to rest might be a sign of something more. As she stood up with a sleeping Sophie and turned to leave the living room, he blurted, "Isra, are you alright?"
She turned to face him. "I am. Just tired. We'll talk more later, okay?"
He nodded, though the unease lingered.
In the quiet solitude of their room, Isra gently placed Sophie into her crib, ensuring the baby was comfortable before turning her attention to herself. With a sense of weariness tugging at her, she began the task of unfastening the buttons of her dress, the fabric falling away. Just then, the door burst open, and Marcel entered the room in a frenzied hurry.
The suddenness of his entrance left her speechless. He closed the distance between them, his hands finding purchase on her shoulders, his grip firm yet trembling. "Oh, Isra, I'm so sorry. I can't believe I kept that from you, but you have to understand—I've changed. I've learned from my mistakes. I would never, ever betray your trust or hurt you in that way."
She reached up to gently hold his hands that clung to her shoulders, soothing his anxiety with a soft smile. "Marcel, I know you've changed, and I believe you."
Tears shimmered in his eyes as he nodded, his grip on her shoulders loosening as relief flooded his features. "I'm sorry."
"It's alright, my love. This doesn't change a thing. I still love you so very much. And I love our family too."
He looked like a scared little child, and it pained her. "Please don't cry," she implored sweetly.
His lips curved into a small, rueful smile, and he quickly brushed away the traces of his tears, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "Ah... I'm being so dramatic. I'm sorry."
Before he could continue, Isra's lips met his in a tender kiss, a wordless promise of understanding and acceptance. Yet, the kiss ignited a fiery passion between them, a surge of desire that couldn't be denied. Marcel's response was fervent, his own kiss carrying a hunger born of both love and longing.
His hands found their way to her waist, and as the intensity of their kiss grew, he guided her backward until the edge of the bed met the back of her knees. With a tender yet urgent fervor, he lowered her onto the soft expanse of the bed.
Desperation fueled her movements as she sought to rid herself of the constraining layers that separated their bodies. She skillfully undid his shirt and helped him out of his trousers. In the heat of the moment, Marcel pulled away slightly, his gaze intense as he took in her figure clad in her delicate lace undergarments.
"You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen," Marcel breathed out.
Without hesitation, she pulled him back to her, their lips crashing together once more in a kiss that ignited the flames of passion. Lying skin to skin, a suppressed moan of pleasure escaped her lips as she felt him enter her, tempered by the awareness of their surroundings. Determined not to disturb the other residents of the house, they both exercised a measured restraint, their gasps and whispers of pleasure muffled by their kisses. But Marcel's rhythmic motions elicited soft, involuntary whimpers from her, and occasionally a light grunt of pleasure from him.
As the heat of their desire surged, Isra's fingers dug into his shoulders, her nails leaving delicate imprints of her longing. Her eyelids instinctively closed as he guided her closer and closer to the height of pleasure, but his tender touch guided her chin upwards, compelling her to open her eyes. "Look at me."
She drank in the sight of him, every curve and angle of his body burning itself into her memory—the firmness of his abdomen as it brushed against the softness of her stomach, the smoothness of his palms as they trailed along her arms, and the silken tendrils of his hair grazing her skin as he kissed her throat.
They made love until the crack of dawn became visible before falling into a deep sleep, the troubles of the previous day forgotten.
━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━
As the sun spilled its golden hues over Nice, Marcel and Isra embarked on a day filled with shared activities alongside Lucas and Annette. The morning saw them gathered around the breakfast table, laughter and conversation flowing freely as they indulged in a hearty meal.
Afterwards, they decided to explore the picturesque town together, strolling through its cobbled streets adorned with quaint shops and charming cafes with Sophie in her pram. Isra found herself engaging in lively discussions with Annette, their shared experiences as mothers forming a bridge of camaraderie. Meanwhile, Lucas and Marcel's interactions held a quiet undertone, unspoken words, and shared glances hinting at a newfound understanding between father and son.
Upon their return to the mansion, Lucas requested a private conversation with Marcel, prompting his son to follow him into his office. It was a well-appointed room, adorned with rich mahogany furniture and bookshelves lined with leather-bound books. The faint aroma of cigars and cognac hung in the air around them.
His father took a seat behind the mahogany desk, in the desk chair, and folded his hands.
"What's the matter, father?" Marcel inquired, taking a seat in front of the mahogany desk, perplexed by Lucas's somber expression.
Lucas laced his fingers together and leaned forward. "This is an important matter, Marcel. I know you might find it hard to believe, but I've been hearing things, seeing signs. I believe that France will go to war with Germany by next year."
Marcel's initial response was a chuckle, a dismissive gesture. "Father, that's quite an absurd thought. War? What could Germany possibly do to us? They're concerned with the Jews, not the French."
But his father remained resolute, his voice firm. "Marcel, you must understand, the world is a tumultuous place. Politics, alliances, tensions... They can lead to unexpected outcomes."
His brow furrowed, his amusement fading. "Even if there were such a conflict, it wouldn't affect us. I'm sure of it."
Lucas' gaze bore into him, unyielding. "That's where you're mistaken, Marcel. If a war were to break out, and France were involved, you know what that would mean."
A heavy silence settled over the room, broken only by the distant hum of the wind tapping against the window. Marcel's thoughts raced, his heart pounding as the implications sank in. "You think I would be conscripted?"
Lucas's nod was solemn. "Yes, and you would be obligated to answer the call. Your duty to your country."
His jaw clenched. "And what about Isra and Sophie?" he finally asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
"That's what I want to discuss. If such a scenario were to unfold, they would be left vulnerable, Marcel. Isra and Sophie would need protection, stability."
"What are you suggesting, father?"
Marcel's thoughts swirled, torn between the duty he felt towards his family and the hope that his father's predictions were nothing more than baseless fears. It wasn't out of the ordinary for his father to act paranoid given that the Great War had left its lasting effects on him. He was always prepared for disaster, always ready with a plan.
"If the unthinkable were to happen, if war were to break out and France became embroiled, I suggest you bring Isra and Sophie here to Nice. This estate would be a safe haven for them, under my watch."
"You're suggesting that we leave Paris? That we come here?"
"Yes. This property has been in our family for generations. It's secluded, secure, and far from the chaos that a war might bring. It would ensure their safety."
Marcel hesitated, the responsibility of making such a decision pressing down on him. "But what about you and mother? And Clarence, Lena?"
Lucas's expression softened. "We will manage, Marcel. The estate is large enough, and we have resources. Our priority would be the safety of Isra and Sophie. You would be able to focus on your duties without worrying about them."
"It's a difficult decision to make, father. To upend our lives and leave everything behind."
"I understand, Marcel. But sometimes, difficult decisions are necessary to ensure the well-being of those we love. Besides, this is simply a precaution. My predictions may be incorrect, too. Let's pray that they are."
"I'll think about it," he answered quietly.
His father leaned back in his chair and rubbed his forehead. "Please do. I'd hate to see them hurt. Isra is a good woman and Sophie is my granddaughter."
Returning to the living room, he saw that Isra was seated on the floor, her attention fully captured by Sophie who was nestled in her lap. Together, they played with the toy blocks Annette had retrieved from the attic, blocks that had once been Marcel's own. Sophie's tiny hands reached out, grasping a block and giving it an experimental shake, prompting a musical chime that elicited delighted gurgles from her. Isra's laughter joined in, a sweet sound that resonated in the room.
The notion of war, of the potential upheaval it could bring, was a chilling reminder that the world around them was fragile, and that even their most cherished moments could be threatened by the forces beyond their control.
Marcel approached them, lowering himself to the floor and drawing his daughter's attention. She let out a delighted squeal, her chubby arms reaching out to him. "Well, hello there, little one," he cooed.
Isra's eyes sparkled with affection as she looked up at him. "There you are. You were gone for quite some time. What did your father speak to you about?"
He selected a colorful block and placed it next to the ones Isra and Sophie had arranged. "Nothing of importance. Don't worry."
"You're sure? You look a little pale." She cupped his cheek, and he turned his head, kissing the inside of her wrist.
"Hm, I'm sure."
Sophie's response was a cheerful babble, as if she was wholeheartedly endorsing his statement.
Marcel laughed, the sound ringing with genuine happiness. He reached for a block, attempting to create a tower, only for it to topple over, much to her amusement. "Looks like our architectural masterpiece needs a bit more work."
"Oh dear, a construction setback already?"
"Seems that way," he replied, his fingers deftly stacking the blocks once again, a determined glint in his eyes. "But fear not, I am undeterred."
Sophie, seemingly entranced by the colorful blocks, grabbed onto one. His attention was divided between the blocks and Isra, her concerned gaze not going unnoticed.
He paused, placing a block with exaggerated precision as he looked over at her. "My father did talk about something. He mentioned the possibility of war breaking out next year." He saw the flicker of worry in her eyes and quickly added, "But it's all just speculation and fearmongering, Isra."
"Do you truly believe that, Marcel?"
He turned to her fully, his expression earnest as he took her hand in his. "With all my heart. The world may be chaotic, but we have our own haven of happiness here. I won't let anything come between us and our family."
Her worry began to ebb away, replaced by a feeling of trust and reassurance that only he could provide. A gentle smile touched her lips as she squeezed his hand. "I believe you."
His father was wrong—his father had to be wrong. Life was too perfect for things to go wrong, especially at a time like this. No, nothing could shatter this illusion. Not mere speculations. Not Germany. Not even war itself. He had his wife and his daughter, and all was well. All would continue to be well.
Europe and the war be damned.
It wasn't going to happen.
His family would remain untouched.
━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━
On Christmas morning, the world outside seemed to hold its breath in anticipation, as if even the very air dared not disturb the magic of the day. A delicate frost painted the windows, creating intricate patterns that glistened like diamonds in the soft light of dawn. Within the mansion's walls, an aura of enchantment unfurled, as if the spirit of the season had woven itself into the very fabric of the space.
The crackling fireplace cast dancing shadows upon the walls, a mesmerizing ballet of light and darkness. A fragrant mix of cinnamon and cloves lingered in the air. The grand tree, resplendent with ornaments and twinkling lights, stood like a sentinel of joy in the corner of the living room.
Marcel and Isra found themselves surrounded by family, celebrating the most precious gift of all – their daughter, Sophie. The little one's eyes sparkled with innocent wonder as she reached out to touch the shimmering ornaments, her laughter ringing like silver bells in the stillness of the morning.
Annette's eyes lit up with delight as Lucas presented her with a silver pocket watch, a timeless treasure uncovered from the vintage shop he had visited with Isra days prior. In return, Annette's gift to Lucas was a case of cigars. Isra had presented Marcel with the locket she discovered. The photograph of the soldier had been replaced with a portrait of their cherished daughter, Sophie. Marcel, in turn, unveiled a gift that left Isra breathless – a necklace adorned with pearls that glowed like luminous moons, accompanied by matching earrings. And of course, little Sophie received a heap of toys and clothes to take back to Paris.
Lucas completed the circle of giving with a profound gesture. He handed Marcel a signet ring, a symbol of his family's heritage and legacy, a passing of the torch from one generation to the next. The ring held within its gleaming surface the unspoken promise of guidance and protection, a father's silent vow to stand by his son's side through all trials.
"This ring has been passed down through our family for generations," he began. "It is a tangible piece of history."
Marcel's eyes widened with both surprise and reverence as he accepted the ring. "Father, I... I don't know what to say."
Lucas's lips curved into a soft, almost wistful smile. "You don't need to say anything, my son. Just know that this ring holds the strength of our family's bond. Wear it with pride. And one day, you shall also pass it down to our little Sophie as well."
His fingers closed around the ring, the metal cool against his skin. He nodded, a lump forming in his throat.
Isra thought back to her own parents, who would be spending Christmas without her, Marcel, and Sophie, and she reminded herself to telephone them later to wish them a wonderful Christmas.
After opening gifts, they headed to the breakfast table to eat a meal prepared by Annette, since Lena was off spending Christmas with her own family. The day was spent in the company of one another. Lucas had played them a song on the piano in the music room, while Isra and Marcel danced and laughed and stole kisses to the music. The simple pleasure of being around each other was more than enough, and they all wished for it to last forever in spite of the atrocities being committed just beyond the border of their own country.
Later that evening, they gathered for dinner. The table was resplendent with an array of dishes that his mother had managed to prepare without Lena's aid. A succulent roast turkey, bronzed to perfection, took center stage, flanked by bowls of buttery mashed potatoes and rich gravy. A medley of seasonal vegetables was nestled in porcelain dishes.
Throughout the meal, Marcel's eyes would subtly gravitate toward Isra, and he'd hold her hand under the table, stroking her knuckles with his thumb. As the family shared anecdotes and laughter, Sophie's cheerful babbling interwoven with their conversation, elicited a laugh from Lucas—a man who hadn't laughed in what might have been years.
All was good in the world.
All was good with Isra, Marcel and Sophie.
All was good with the Moreau family.