[3] how did we end up here ;; nh

49 » Edinburgh Ballads & Stormy Day in London

◊ Niall ◊

Recently I began to understand something quietly profound about Avril; her love for red roses. To her, they are not simply flowers. They are a return. A constant. No matter how lavish other blooms may be—lilies with their elegance, peonies with their fullness—time always leads us back to red roses. They do not demand attention; they endure it. Classic not because they are common, but because they are timeless.

I hope I never let the roses in our home fade without replacing them. I am not a man of grand philosophies, but I know what I owe her. She is the one who leans down to the smallest fractures of my past, who kisses each wound as if it were something precious, until pain loosens its grip and memory learns to rest.

So this is what I give her.

God, I love her—more than I know how to say.

Today, I bought her roses. A hundred stems, if my memory serves me. Excessive, maybe. Unnecessary to some. But enough to surprise her and enough to say what words cannot. Today matters. To her. To me. Tonight, we will sit together and listen to my latest album—every song written for her, every note shaped by her presence.

My fiancée.

She's never heard a single note from this album; I never let her come to the studio, not even when my friends and I were writing music at my home in LA. I'd only work on it when she was traveling for work. Well, her schedule has been insane lately; she's constantly around the world for photoshoots, fashion shows, and promoting YSL, as she's the newest face for their makeup line.

And in the middle of all that, she's also handling our wedding preparations. I honestly don't understand how she manages it all. To be honest, I'd go crazy trying to balance business and being an artist at the same time.

After decorating and cooking our dinner in the dining room, I allowed myself to relax in the living room. My legs stretched out on the long sofa as I reviewed potential companies to invest in. I kept the room dim because I knew Avril was exhausted and hated rooms that were too bright.

But when I heard the door creak half an hour later, my eyes narrowed at my fiancée entering, slightly dazed and hurried. She didn't even notice I was there as she rushed through the living room. I could see her frown, focused on her phone.

It must have been a very exhausting day for her. Or maybe something was weighing on her mind.

I stepped forward slowly after standing up, wrapped my arms around her from behind, and kissed her neck—hoping she would feel at ease when coming home.

I love being her home.

"God, I miss you so much," I whispered into her ear. I could feel her body stiffening slightly as I gently rubbed her stomach with my thumb. "I've prepared everything for you. I can't wait for you to listen to my album," I said, trying to keep her mind off whatever the hell had happened today. And I knew she didn't want to speak right away about the bad day she'd been having. I had to wait for her to open up.

Then we talked a little, and she cried because I had made an album entirely dedicated to her.

And now we're sitting at the dining table. My steak has been gone for a while, while Avril's is still only halfway finished. We talk and she clearly has no intention of telling me what just happened to her. Well—she'll tell me eventually. Like she always does.

Sitting across from her, I watch her sweet face as she opens her mouth slightly and brings in a piece of the steak I cooked for her—well done, exactly the way she likes it. I had to throw away two steaks just to get the level of doneness she prefers. I'm a terrible cook, but I hope she likes it. And the fact that I wasted two pieces of meat because they were too burnt—I hope she never finds out. Or she'll scold me endlessly for wasting food.