Le's Soldier

Part 62

The morning was crisp, the kind of gentle spring chill that smelled faintly of wet grass and flowers. Leah leaned against the window of Lilly's car, a small travel pillow tucked behind her neck, still a little pale from yesterday, but calmer now.

Lilly drove steadily, eyes on the road, hands gripping the wheel, but her mind constantly flicking to Leah beside her. She kept her hand resting lightly on Leah's knee, small comforts, soft touches, grounding them both.

"I'm nervous," Leah muttered quietly. "What if I get sick in the car?"

"You won't," Lilly said firmly, though her thumb brushed soothing circles along Leah's leg. "I've got bags, towels, water. We'll be fine. Nothing's gonna ruin this, yeah?"

Leah smiled weakly, leaning closer. "Yeah... okay."

The countryside began to stretch out beyond the motorway — soft green hills, wildflowers along the edges, small streams sparkling in the sunlight. Leah pressed her forehead to the glass, letting herself take it in, feeling the tension of the city, the wedding, and all the months of planning slowly start to melt.

"You know," Lilly said after a while, "I've been looking forward to this more than I thought I would. Just... us. No one else. No media. No expectations. Just you and me."

Leah's lips curled into a small smile. "Best wedding gift ever."

"Shut up," Lilly muttered, though her eyes softened.

⸻

They stopped halfway for a quick lunch at a small roadside café. Leah kept it simple — crackers and ginger tea — and Lilly had a sandwich she barely touched because she was too focused on watching Leah.

"You're really good at this," Leah said quietly, gesturing toward the quiet care Lilly always seemed to show her.

"What?"

"Looking after me. Being... calm."

Lilly chuckled softly. "I've had practice. You know I've dealt with worse than morning sickness."

Leah laughed weakly, leaning into her shoulder for a moment. Lilly's hand stayed there, protective, gentle.

⸻

The cottage was exactly what they'd wanted — a small, stone-built place tucked among rolling hills, whitewashed walls, wildflowers climbing along the fences, and a tiny stream running behind it. The front door opened into a warm kitchen, with sunlight streaming through lace curtains. A fire burned faintly in the hearth, and everything smelled faintly of wood and spring flowers.

Leah stepped inside slowly, breathing in deeply. "This... this is perfect," she murmured.

Lilly set the bags down and pulled her into a tight hug. "Just like we planned."

Leah leaned her head against Lilly's chest. "No planes," she said softly. "Just the road."

"Best idea ever," Lilly whispered back. "You relax. I'll take care of everything else."

They spent the afternoon unpacking slowly, taking their time. Leah was still pale and weak, so Lilly handled most of the lifting. Every so often, Leah would smile softly, resting her hand on her stomach, feeling the small life growing there, a quiet reminder of why they were here, why every detail mattered.

By evening, the fire was crackling, soft light filling the cottage, and they curled up together on the couch. Leah leaned into Lilly's side, and Lilly's arm draped across her shoulders, holding her close.

"I could stay like this forever," Leah murmured.

"You can," Lilly replied. "And we will."

The week stretched ahead like a soft promise: long walks through the countryside, quiet mornings with tea and toast, evenings by the fire, laughter, whispers, and the slow intimacy of just being together without anyone else's eyes on them.

At night, in their new home-away-from-home, Lilly held Leah close in the bed, feeling the rise and fall of her chest, smelling the faint scent of spring in her hair, and whispered, "We've got all the time in the world now."

Leah smiled sleepily, pressing a kiss to Lilly's collarbone. "I love you," she murmured.

"I love you too. Always," Lilly said, pulling her closer, tucking her safely under the blanket, and letting the countryside quiet envelop them.

For the first time in months, neither of them thought about cameras, announcements, or schedules. It was just them. And it felt perfect.