The Art of turning heart

13 |

As Seraphina and I strolled down the bustling streets of London, I held her small hand in mine, guiding her safely through the morning crowd. Her golden curls, adorned with delicate ribbons, bounced with each step she took, reflecting the early sunlight in a way that made her appear almost ethereal. She was chattering away about something or other, her innocent voice a sweet melody against the backdrop of the city's noise.

Suddenly, she looked up at me with those wide, curious eyes of hers and asked, "Isabella, have you ever had your first kiss?"

The question caught me off guard, and I felt a rush of heat rise to my cheeks. My mind raced back to the previous day, to that moment with Edward—his lips on mine, the tenderness of the embrace, the undeniable truth that I could no longer ignore.

"Seraphina!" I exclaimed, trying to maintain composure despite the embarrassment coursing through me. "What a question to ask so early in the morning!"

She giggled, clearly pleased with the effect her inquiry had on me. "But have you? Was it romantic? Was it with a prince?" Her eyes sparkled with innocent delight as she awaited my answer, her imagination no doubt painting fanciful pictures in her mind.

I hesitated, unsure how to respond. "Well," I began slowly, searching for the right words, "a young lady's first kiss is a very private matter, not something to be spoken of so openly."

"But Isabella," she persisted, "you're always so proper! I bet it was wonderful! Was it like in the stories, with love and fireworks?"

I could feel my blush deepening. It seemed impossible to escape her probing curiosity. 

"Seraphina," I said, adopting a more serious tone, "sometimes it's best not to dwell on such things. Kisses and love—they're complicated matters, and not everything is like in the stories."

She pouted a little, clearly unsatisfied with my answer. I sighed, realizing there was only one way to distract her from this line of questioning. "How about this," I suggested, trying to sound as casual as possible, "if you stop asking me such questions, I'll buy you some sweets on the way to school."

Her face lit up instantly, all thoughts of kisses and romance forgotten in an instant. "Really, Isabella? Oh, thank you!" she exclaimed, her small hand tightening around mine in excitement.

I smiled down at her, relieved that the subject had been successfully changed. "Yes, really. But you must promise to keep this conversation between us."

She nodded eagerly, her golden curls bouncing again, this time with even more enthusiasm. "I promise!" she declared, her voice full of sincerity.

As we continued walking, her excitement over the promised sweets overtook any lingering thoughts of her previous question. But as I glanced down at her, I couldn't help but think of the innocence in her eyes, and how one day, she too would grow up and face the complexities of the world.

For now, though, I was content to simply hold her hand, guiding her through the streets of London, and cherish the simplicity of this moment.

After seeing Seraphina safely to school, I noticed a smudge of chocolate at the corner of her mouth, the remnants of the sweets I'd promised her. Smiling, I took out my handkerchief and gently wiped her face. "There, all clean now," I said, smoothing back a stray curl before ruffling her hair affectionately. "I'll be back to collect you after school, so behave yourself." She grinned up at me, her innocent joy warming my heart, and with that, I turned to leave.

As I made my way through the bustling streets of London, my thoughts wandered, and before I knew it, I found myself standing before the imposing gates of Hawthorn Manor. The grandeur of the estate loomed over me, its stately presence a reminder of the life I was soon to enter. My feet hesitated at the entrance, but I squared my shoulders. After all, I was to be his fiancée, was I not? Surely, I had every right to visit.