His name was Nathaniel

121

The scent hit her the moment she stepped into the kitchen.

Nathaniel, freshly showered and half-dressed, was humming quietly to himself as he adjusted the sleeves of his shirt and reached for the espresso machine. His signature cologne—woodsy, cool, expensive—hung in the air like a scent trail behind him.

Adaliya entered in her pajamas, hair twisted up into a bun, yawning through a stretch.

Then she sneezed.

Violently.

Twice.

Nathaniel turned, concerned. "Bless you."

She blinked, then made a face. "Ugh. That cologne."

He looked genuinely confused. "You like this one. You bought it."

"Yeah, well, I don't like it anymore." She waved her hand in front of her face dramatically. "It's like my nose decided to turn on me overnight. I swear I can smell what you had for lunch two days ago."

Nathaniel raised an amused brow. "That's oddly specific."

"I'm oddly specific now." She sniffled, grabbing a tissue. "If I start smelling emotions, we'll know something's gone too far."

"I guess I'll switch it up," he said, walking over to kiss her forehead gently. "Or stop using any altogether."

"Please do." She tilted her head. "Wait. Don't you have that unscented one? The one you called 'a crime against sensuality'?"

He sighed. "I'll go get it."

As he disappeared into the bathroom, she made her way to the kitchen.

And then stared blankly into the fridge.

"Ice cream," she muttered.

Nathaniel called out, "You want anything for breakfast?"

"Pickles and ice cream."

He poked his head back out. "Come again?"

She turned around, fully serious. "Pickles. With vanilla ice cream. Please."

Nathaniel paused. "You're joking."

"I am growing a whole human in my uterus. Respect the process."

He raised his hands in surrender and pulled out the jar. "If the baby ends up with weird taste in desserts, we'll know who to blame."

"Don't act like you didn't eat cereal cream cheese once because we were out of milk."

"That was one time."

She grinned, satisfied as he handed her the bowl.

—
Later that day, as they got dressed to visit Violet's family home, the tone of the morning shifted into something softer. Nathaniel stood in front of the mirror adjusting his cufflinks while Adaliya, now in a warm beige sweater dress, carefully reapplied a soft nude lipstick.

"Are you sure you're up for this?" he asked, glancing over.

"I want to meet the people who helped raise you," she replied honestly. "Especially since you always talk about how this was the first place that felt like home."

Nathaniel gave a quiet nod, but something flickered across his features—a distant shadow. She noticed, but didn't push.

They arrived just after three.

The Vanderbilt estate was smaller than the Donovan mansion but warmer. Tucked in a quiet, tree-lined neighborhood, the house had ivy climbing its stone exterior, flowerbeds still blooming from late spring warmth, and a soft hum of piano music drifting through the open windows.