1881 Hameau des Artistes -- Michaud Household

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Ashton Greene

Time seemed suspended as she looked at Lucian. That dejected face, those worried frown lines. Every inch of his face seemed more weathered and damaged in this this light than it ever had before Henry showed up. Every inch showed a mark that Henry was leaving, and Ashton sighed, realizing just how taxing her father’s presence really was.

Ashton could imagine her son, faceless for now, scraping his knee and running up to her in tears. She would kiss his wound, put a bandaid on it, and that would be that. No more pain, no more concern. She wished she could do that for Lucian now.

She stepped closer to him carefully as he could snap any minute. He had every right to. Ashton had built walls around parts of her past and pushed them so far away she often forgot they were even there. Lucian didn’t deserve that. He deserved the upfront, fun Ashton he thought he fell in love with, not the accidentally secretive and ruined Ashton he really had. She pressed her eyes closed to dam up tears.

“What about?”

She took a breath. Like he didn’t know what this was about. This was about the things she never told him, the things that never came up in conversation, or even in memory. This was about the little piece of coal of a fact her father let slip and made out to be this huge, big deal of a diamond. This was about the look of dread and worry he must have thought he was doing such a good job at hiding.

“I think you know,” Ashton said, reaching the bed now, hugging the post for safety. “Downstairs just now. What my father said. I just needed to tell you it’s true, but not at all how he made it sound.” Ashton moved her hand to reach out to him, but felt precarious on her feet and rested it on the bed post once more. “I honestly don’t even think about it anymore, haven’t for six years, since I found out it wasn’t true.” She rested her cheek against the cool, carved surface of the wooden pole. “Do you want me to explain? Ask me anything and I’ll tell you.”

She had used that line, honest and true, on his hill as they overlooked the sleeping city and sun that broke the barrier of the horizon. It was a line that still rang true today in the monochromatic palette of their private bedroom. He only needed to ask, and he would receive. Because Ashton was forgetful and needed provoking to conjure a memory, a secret, a fact to tell him. If she could only have them handy, she would willing relinquish them like old, worn clothes.

Surely he knew that, right?

[The Exodus]

Lucian Michaud

Ashton inhaled. Lucian could hear it in their otherwise silent room. He put his cellphone on the bedside table and looked at her.

“I think you know,” Ashton said, reaching the bed now, hugging the post for safety. “Downstairs just now. What my father said. I just needed to tell you it’s true, but not at all how he made it sound.”

Lucian lifted an eyebrow, but said nothing. It was true. He could hear little grenades going off in the back of his mind, telling him just how real Ashton’s other-future could have been. He breathed slowly through his nostrils, trying not to shake. It would have been a different configuration of all that Lucian had imagined, though, Ashton was insisting. Lucian wondered. Had another baby existed? Had Ashton, eighteen and scared, gotten rid of a baby? Or had there never been one at all? Just Henry, lecturing Ashton for experimenting and getting caught?

“I honestly don’t even think about it anymore, haven’t for six years, since I found out it wasn’t true,” said Ashton, putting her head against the bedpost. “Do you want me to explain? Ask me anything and I’ll tell you.”

Lucian bit his lip. He rolled onto his side, faced Ashton. He met her eyes for the first time since she’d walked into the room. His curiosity hadn't faded, but rather, intensified. It scared him, how little he knew about Ashton's life. He knew patches. Big swaths of time. Her childhood. And then a gap. Some of college. Gap. Their life together. Demons and monsters lurked in those shadowy patches. But they were part of the woman he loved, just as all the little holes in Lucian's life-- the things he didn't tell anyone, the things he only hinted at-- were part of him.

“I trust you,” he said softly. “I do. Please… Don’t let that be a mistake.”

He sighed.

"What don't I know that I should?"

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Ashton Greene

Lucian faced her now and she could see the hurt that lurked behind his eyes now, sending pangs and throes of failure and frustration with her through her gut.

“I trust you,” he said softly. “I do. Please… Don’t let that be a mistake.”

How could he suggest that it could ever be? Ashton would never hurt him and loved him far more than anything or anyone else. Her eyes widened and she rubbed them to keep them dry.

"What don't I know that I should?"

Ashton sighed, sitting herself on the bed. “Where do I start? How about that I’m an idiot when it comes to relationships? This is the second that I’ve been in in which I felt like I had actual worth, and the first one I’ve felt safe and loved in. I probably deserve half the things my father says to me because I made some mistakes and bad choices.” Ashton found herself fighting away tears. Crying had been a thundercloud that loomed over her head since Henry showed up, but she wouldn’t allow it to touch Earth. She’d keep it floating as best she could.

Ashton fished through her memories. Most of them were repressed and needed to be unfolded and ironed out flat for her to even read what they said, scribbled in running pink nostalgia. It was why she kept everything secret-- she simply couldn't remember. Ashton looked down at her nails, dejected. “I hate saying it out loud. I really do. But you’ve been so forthcoming about yourself, and I’m… too ashamed to even think about this sort of thing. And that’s not fair to you. You deserve to know it all. Like the fact that no matter what my father says, this is the only time I’ve been pregnant.” She looked up. “And I pray to God it’s not the last.” She was sitting now, stable on the bed. She reached for his hand.

Silent now, Ashton reveled in the feeling that was left. With her miniature speech, a wrecking ball was taken to the walls that concealed the things that made her Ashton from Lucian. She felt clean and light and free. There was more information lodged in there, but it wasn’t suffocating her. She could speak of it freely, without being begged. And she did it without tears.

She tried to smile at Lucian, but it came out weak, so she exhaled slowly, as if she was letting out the final dustings of her locked away secrets.

She felt a stirring within her and she smiled fully for a moment at the sign of life her son gave until he kicked her hard in the lung. Her body jerked at the surprise and the force. She put her hand on the place of impact. “Just… let’s hope the next one doesn’t turn my vital organs into a punching bag.”

[The Exodus]

Lucian Michaud

Ashton sank onto the bed. “Where do I start? How about that I’m an idiot when it comes to relationships?”

Lucian narrowed his eyes.

“This is the second that I’ve been in in which I felt like I had actual worth,” Ashton explained. “And the first one I’ve felt safe and loved in. I probably deserve half the things my father says to me because I made some mistakes and bad choices.”

Instinctively, Lucian shook his head. “No, Ashton—“

“I don’t know if you were ever much of a tabloid reader,” she said, cutting him off. Lucian shook his head. He avoided them the way recovering alcoholics avoided bars. When he’d first made a bid for parliament, he’d been obsessed with media coverage. Caring that much was tiresome. “But most of what they said was true. The parties, the drinking… just not nearly to the extreme they made it out to be. Which I don’t think my father knows.”

Lucian chewed his lower lip. He could hear his teeth scrape the inside of his mouth. He hadn’t seen Ashton as a partier, as a drinker. He supposed he couldn’t afford to be judgmental. Everyone had their reckless youth, complete with horror stories and highlights. Lucian’s own past was relatively clean. It had to have been; he knew that early on he wanted to be in the public eye. He’d been discreet; over-cautious for much of his youth. Opposites attracted, didn’t they?

“I hate saying it out loud. I really do. But you’ve been so forthcoming about yourself, and I’m… too ashamed to even think about this sort of thing. And that’s not fair to you. You deserve to know it all. Like the fact that no matter what my father says, this is the only time I’ve been pregnant.” She looked up. “And I pray to God it’s not the last.”

Lucian, despite wanting to be angry smiled. His heart, which had spent the last hour or so wrung tight and dry, plumped up and started beating again. Ashton put her hand in his. She jerked forward suddenly and rested her free hand on her baby bump.

“Just… let’s hope the next one doesn’t turn my vital organs into a punching bag.”

Lucian snorted. “Let’s hope.”

He squeezed her hand and went quiet a moment. Then, almost unthinkingly, blurted, “Be honest. You don’t think I’m… ‘robbing you of your twenties’ or anything. That’s all over, no regrets? And you want this—our family—more than anything?”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Ashton Greene

There was a silence in which Ashton would have been happy to sit in and soak up, just hold his hands, feeling both his and Gregory’s pulses beating against her skin. But Lucian broke the silence, which was just as well now that her fears were put to rest.

“Be honest. You don’t think I’m… ‘robbing you of your twenties’ or anything. That’s all over, no regrets? And you want this—our family—more than anything?”

Ashton smiled. “Robbing me of my twenties? God, no. If I wasn’t where I am now, I have no idea where i'd be, but chances are I wouldn't be nearly happy as I am. I get to be a lover and wife to the most wonderful man I've met, and mother to our son, and friend to Damien. I get a family that's there and supportive and that I can be proud of. That’s not robbing me of my twenties, that’s giving me the best twenties I could imagine. It may not be where I saw myself two years ago, but its definitely better."

Two years ago, if someone asked her where she saw herself in 15 years, she'd say "15 years? I don't even know what's for dinner!" If they asked her about her career, she'd always respond with something involved in music or ddance, famous for it even. As far as settling down went, she'd laugh and say "Never." But now she had Lucian, she had Gregory, she had Damien. She had someone to wake up to, someone to do things with and for, someone who loved her for her not for her money. She had people who saw her for the woman who loved cows and hated nail polish, who enjoyed naked gardening and piano playing, who in her free time fed fish and created love making mazes. She had people who cared more about how her day was and less about her bra size and bank account number. She had people who would do anything for her and knew but didn’t expect that she’d do the same for them. She had people who needed her.

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Ashton Greene

“Move you silly bugger, move!” Ashton pulled and twisted and prodded, trying with every laugh she could muster to keep her temper. But she gave up, blowing out her lips and sitting, legs sprawled on the hardwood floor. “Why are you so stupid?” But despite her yelling, the baby gate, like a white, folded up roadblock, wouldn’t budge.

“That’s good. Yell at the d*mn thing. That’ll get it to work.” Henry scoffed from the couch, which had become over the past week his secondary parking space, the guest bedroom being his primary. Ashton took a deep breath, mulling over the best ways she could silence the unwanted voice behind her.

“Dad, please. I’m trying to get things ready for my son. If you want to help, be my guest. But if not, please stop.”

Ashton resumed her work, wiping a glass bead of sweat from her cheek as she pushed and heaved and threatened the infernal and stubborn gate.

It snapped, finally, pinching the soft alabaster skin on her finger. Ashton yelped, ripping it out with a single tear, sucking at the red soreness of her fingertip. There was a time 20 years ago when the man behind her would be on his feet and rushing to kiss at the sore. There was a time 18 years ago when he’d say “Ashton, get your mum.” And there was a time 15 years ago when he said “Ashton, you’re too old for that nonsense.” But now, he sat there and thumbed through the weekly newspaper, pretending he knew how to read French, oblivious to much behind the grey and flimsy shield he held.

And Ashton promised herself she would kiss Gregory’s pinched fingers until he asked her to stop.

“Sweetheart?” Ashton called to Lucian and Henry gave a gagging sort of snort. “I need your hands, please.” Because really, baby gates were a necessary hassle and there was laundry to fold, table corners to cover, and other things that called for Ashton’s motherly attention and didn’t involve odd levers and plastic grasp-things and hinges.

[The Exodus]

Lucian Michaud

Most little boys were taught their way around a toolbox at a young age. If you asked many men of Lucian’s generation about their fondest memories with their fathers, you heard stories about sports, cars, and monkey wrenches. Lucian’s father, though, had been the Deputy Head of Mission for the French Embassy in London. He taught Lucian things like maps and how to speak to the Ambassador from a small Satellite Republic without offending. It wasn’t until Lucian had his own son that he had to learn to use his hands and the first few years of Damien’s childhood had been brutal. In a span of three years, Lucian had learned to fix a sink, assemble a bookshelf, and that electrical burns hurt too much to tackle rewiring the garage singlehandedly. But once Damien got a grasp on tools and surpassed Lucian in skill, the toolbox went away in some corner of the attic where most of Lucian’s “junk” ended up in Wiltshire. He would have forgotten about it, had it not turned up on his doorstep in March. The thing didn’t have an official home in the Paris house. Lucian was never quite sure what to do with it. Ashton didn’t use it, either. They had no need, really. No desire, either. It smelled like sweat, iron, and dirt. But now that they were baby-proofing the house, Lucian was facing his old acquaintance. The tools weren’t sleek like the things you saw in stores nowadays. They made Lucian feel old, outdated. He wondered if he ought to upgrade before this baby was born. Lucian was going to install safety latches on the cabinets today. Though he could easily phone Bill or Damien for help, he didn’t. He had some amount of pride; a good father provided for his children and a good man knew how to do the simple stuff.

Right now, Lucian was in one of the upstairs bathrooms, trying to attach the latch to the cabinets below the sink. Just as he might have figured it out, Ashton called out for him.

“Sweetheart? I need your hands, please.”

Lucian dropped his screwdriver instantly and darted down the stairs, lopsided and drunk-looking grin on his face. Ashton probably needed him to actually help her, but the usual tenor of housework here was one that gave way quickly to flirting, to touching, to laughing and kissing and leaving dishes undone because it was noon and Ashton’s hormones put her in overdrive. Lucian reached the bottom of the stairs and promptly tripped over a half set-up baby gate. He caught his balance with a yelp and a laugh and then took in his surroundings. Ashton was sitting beside the stairs. Lucian looked from her to the plastic carnage he left in his wake and then back again. He was acutely aware of Henry Greene only a few feet away, staring at them like Lucian was some giant buffoon and Ashton a hapless damsel in distress. His future-father-in-law’s presence wasn’t much a deterrent for Lucian. Rather, it made him want to push buttons. It made him on edge; competitive, challenged. Lucian’s grin pulled into a smirk as he met Ashton’s gaze now and he crouched beside her.

“Oh,” he murmured, just loudly enough for Henry to hear and just softly enough to sound like a lover’s purr to Ashton. He slid his hand down her back, fingers resting just above the waistline of her pants, touching the barely exposed skin there. “You meant that literally… My mistake.”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Ashton Greene

When Lucian entered the room, the usual flutter she got in her chest from looking at him was diluted with the heavy weight of her father’s eyes falling on them, and the butterflies that erupted in her stomach were crushed under the pressure.

But as Lucian slipped his hand in that familiar dimple on her back, Ashton felt a smirk wriggle onto her lips and the butterflies free themselves up with a vengeance.

“ “Oh, you meant that literally… My mistake.”

Ashton bit her lip playfully, but before she could speak, her father piped up from the other room. “Yes, Michaud. Your mistake. She needs you to put the blasted gate up, not create a twin.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works…” Ashton said demurely, but with a seductive growl, added “if it did, I’d be pregnant six times over. At least.” She could hear her father shift uncomfortably in his seat, the springs protesting as he moved, making Ashton wonder if they’d need to replace them before he left for London again.

Ashton looked at the baby gate. “If you wouldn’t mind, Lucian,” Ashton motioned to the crumpled heap of white plastic on the floor.

“You know,” Henry interjected. “When you and Delilah were growing up, we never had baby gates.”

“Yes, I know. And I got my head stuck in the railing how many times?”

“You deserved that, Ashton. You threw a fit because you didn’t like the nanny and rammed your head and stuck.”

“That was once. I also got it stuck while playing.” She smiled sheepishly at Lucian. “Anyways. That’s not the point. The point is Lucian and I want the best for our son and his safety. Gregory’s going to be set by the time Lucian and I are done with these gates… well,” Ashton laughed, taking Lucian’s hand in hers, “for the most part.” They still had a lot to do, but the gates was a step, one more thing they could mark off their list as they got closer to the arrival of their son.

“Gregory?” Henry asked, moving as if he would stand, but changed his mind, sitting back down. “You named him?”

“Typically, dad,” Ashton said, playing with the inside of Lucian’s thigh absently, “people like to name their children. Otherwise, we’d all have to go by our social security number, and those are just too long.”

Ashton was really starting to get tired of having her father here. The better they took care of him, the sooner he would be out their hair. So maybe her sarcastic tone wasn’t helping her goal much, but it all just rolled off the tongue so effortlessly that holding it back was almost painful. Surely Henry felt the same way, right?

[The Exodus]

Lucian Michaud

“Yes, Michaud. Your mistake. She needs you to put the blasted gate up, not create a twin.”

Lucian grinned lazily, but said nothing. Instead, it was Ashton who piped up.

“I don’t think that’s how it works…” she said. Then, purring, added, “if it did, I’d be pregnant six times over. At least.”

Lucian laughed. At least, indeed. He leaned his head against Ashton’s, inhaling her scent and smiling. He almost felt sorry for Henry, hearing about his daughter’s sex life with a man closer to his own age than hers. Lucian wondered if he would ever have cause to feel like an over-protective dad. Damien was discreet—perhaps overly so. If Lucian had to hazard a guess, Gregory would be of the same mold. If he and Ashton had daughters in the future, maybe he’d regret antagonizing Henry now. But Lucian doubted it. Even then, he would want his daughters—and his sons, for that matter—to know their parents were in a secure, loving marriage. Damien had been denied that that security. It had taken a toll on him. Chickening out now with Henry watching would ensure that Lucian and Ashton’s future children would think that sex between married couples was somehow shameful, or worse, that love between married couples was sinfully secret. He wasn’t messing that up just to make Henry happy.

“If you wouldn’t mind, Lucian,” said Ashton, gesturing at the disassembled baby gate.

“You know,” Henry interjected. “When you and Delilah were growing up, we never had baby gates.”

“Yes, I know. And I got my head stuck in the railing how many times?”

Lucian picked up the pieces of the gate and tried to fit them together, ignoring the brewing argument as best he could. Damien hadn’t had baby gates, either, until he was too old for them and Natalie installed them to keep him out of the kitchen while she was cooking. At six years old, Damien had figured out how to unlatch them. By the time he was eight, Damien could unlatch them or climb over them to get where he wanted to go—and he didn’t care who saw. Lucian had to take down the baby gates that year. That was the last time he’d touched one of these things and for a fleeting second, he almost agreed with Henry. Babies survived into adulthood without baby gates. Curious toddlers were the ones who most needed them and children older than four were humiliated by their existence. And these things were a pain. Lucian wrestled with the gate.

“You deserved that, Ashton,” Henry said, killing Lucian’s desire to take his side. “You threw a fit because you didn’t like the nanny and rammed your head and stuck.”

“That was once. I also got it stuck while playing.” She smiled sheepishly at Lucian. “Anyways. That’s not the point. The point is Lucian and I want the best for our son and his safety. Gregory’s going to be set by the time Lucian and I are done with these gates… well,” Ashton laughed, taking Lucian’s hand in hers, “for the most part.”

“Gregory?” Henry asked, moving as if he would stand, but changed his mind, sitting back down. “You named him?”

“Typically, dad,” Ashton said, playing with the inside of Lucian’s thigh absently, “people like to name their children. Otherwise, we’d all have to go by our social security number, and those are just too long.”

Lucian laughed, stiffening up at Ashton’s touch, shocked by it. He shook his head.

“I didn’t think you were the superstitious sort, Henry,” Lucian said coolly. “It’s a bit old fashioned to keep your baby’s name a secret until he or she is born. It’s something I’d expect from my grandfather, maybe, but we’re a thoroughly modern family. Progressive.”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Ashton Greene

“I didn’t think you were the superstitious sort, Henry,” Lucian said coolly. “It’s a bit old fashioned to keep your baby’s name a secret until he or she is born. It’s something I’d expect from my grandfather, maybe, but we’re a thoroughly modern family. Progressive.”

Ashton smirked, biting her lip to cover up a laugh. Henry spoke again, his voice a gruff cough. “I’m not superstitious, Michaud,” Henry said, sitting up against the pillows, fluffing them up so they were just as puffed out as his chest. “But surely adoption agencies wouldn’t approve…”

Ashton’s mouth fell open. “…Thank you for the information, but who said anything about adoption agencies?” Ashton asked. “Lucian and I are keeping our kid and any and all kids to come.” She looked to Lucian with an assuring smile, taking his hand in search for some comfort and support there.

“I don’t think Damien would like that very much.”

“Dammit, Henry, I’m not marrying Damien. I’m marrying Lucian. I know that’s not what you want, but I don’t care. I love Lucian. I love Gregory. I love what we have and I’m not giving that up because you tell me to.”

“You’re so bloody stubborn, Ashton Rae.”Henry looked to Lucian, the same mantra reflecting in his light eyes Back me up, Michaud.

[The Exodus]

Lucian Michaud

For a minute, Lucian felt vindicated. A cool, calm zinger had gotten Henry to shift on the couch, coughing awkwardly. He allowed himself a smirk and gave the baby gate a tug. It rattled a little, but wouldn’t unsnap.

“I’m not superstitious, Michaud,” Henry said, sitting up against the pillows, fluffing them up so they were just as puffed out as his chest. “But surely adoption agencies wouldn’t approve…”

The baby gate fell from Lucian’s hands and clattered on the ground. Who had the gall to say that? What kind of awful, sick--

“…Thank you for the information, but who said anything about adoption agencies?” Ashton asked. “Lucian and I are keeping our kid and any and all kids to come.”

Ashton smiled at Lucian and he returned the look, albeit sheepishly. Ashton to the rescue, thankfully. She took Lucian’s shaking hand into hers.

“I don’t think Damien would like that very much.”

“Dammit, Henry, I’m not marrying Damien. I’m marrying Lucian. I know that’s not what you want, but I don’t care. I love Lucian. I love Gregory. I love what we have and I’m not giving that up because you tell me to.”

“You’re so bloody stubborn, Ashton Rae.”

Henry made eye contact with Lucian, who frowned back.

“Pot calling the kettle black, isn’t it?” Lucian said. “I won’t ask you again: don’t demean my family. Ashton’s your daughter; Gregory is your grandson. I understand. But Ashton is my wife—or as good as—and Gregory and Damien are my sons. You’re a guest in our home and you’d be wise to remember that.”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Ashton Greene

Since day one, even through the sneaking around and secret kisses, she and Lucian had stood as a solid foundation for each other, a unit of support, an unshakable pillar. They battled adversity for their age gap, the odd start to their relationship, but all of it was a warm-up to dealing with her father. He could throw a fit, yell, throw insults, but it wouldn’t change anything as long as she held Lucian hand and he held hers.

After blowing up and crying, Ashton was emotionally drained. The comment angered her, but a sort of sleepy cloud surrounded her and she felt too numb to fight back. Civility spilled from her mouth as she held to the little life inside her, precious and new, reminding her that everything was going to be okay.

“Pot calling the kettle black, isn’t it?” Lucian said. “I won’t ask you again: don’t demean my family. Ashton’s your daughter; Gregory is your grandson. I understand. But Ashton is my wife—or as good as—and Gregory and Damien are my sons. You’re a guest in our home and you’d be wise to remember that.”

Don’t tell me,” Henry growled back, “how to raise my children. If Delilah as able to turn out well, that shows that it’s not my fault, but Ashton’s that she turned out the way she did, that her life became this sad mess. I’m just trying to sweep up the pieces for her, like a real father would, Michaud. Which is why I’m giving you this option.” He turned to Ashton now, “Ashton, you could start fresh, with a clean slate. No one would know.”

Suddenly, a clean, pearly white slate, the thing she wanted for so long, became the most disgusting thing to her. “No. I’ve told you once, I’ve told you several times before, and I have no idea how else to get it into that thick skull of yours—this is what I want. This family, this man, this house, this life. If that means you cut me off, then you cut me off. I’m an adult, you don’t make my decisions!”

There was a silence as Ashton’s words sounded back at her as they bounced off the walls. She sat there, slumped against the stair-rail, her hands shaking against Lucian’s own.

“Looks like I have. I already called the agency.” Henry’s stern voice said. But suddenly, it melted into a softer, sweeter sound that Ashton hadn’t heard since she was sixteen and they held each other amongst the carnage of the birthday party, both of them crying. “But the number is in my phone if you want to cancel your consultation by Wednesday.”

It wasn’t an apology, but it was the closest she was getting from him any time soon.

They were taking baby steps.

[The Exodus]

Lucian Michaud

By nature, Lucian was a peaceful man. He was raised to be a diplomat—by a diplomat—and even in the political ring was known for a distinct lack of inflammatory rhetoric. But there was one thing that could not escape Lucian’s ire: messing with his family. Henry Greene was a father, too. He’d have to understand, defer to Lucian on this.

“Don’t tell me,” Henry growled back, “how to raise my children. If Delilah was able to turn out well, that shows that it’s not my fault, but Ashton’s that she turned out the way she did, that her life became this sad mess. I’m just trying to sweep up the pieces for her, like a real father would, Michaud.”

The vein in Lucian’s jaw threatened to explode. He could feel it ticking. Ashton was an adult. Henry was done “raising” her; this was no longer his place. Nor was it his place to deem her life a “sad mess”. Lucian gave her everything—everything—she could want, didn’t he? He was suddenly wondering who Henry talked to—if he still talked to Natalie—in order to get this warped version of Lucian and Ashton’s life. Sad mess. Like Lucian had come in and smashed all of Ashton’s plans and left her to glue them together alone. Like Lucian ruined her. Like there was something not quite right—not quite whole—about them. Lucian shifted his jaw and breathed steadily as he could.

Don’t be rash…

“Which is why I’m giving you this option,” Henry said, turning to Ashton. “Ashton, you could start fresh, with a clean slate. No one would know.”

“No. I’ve told you once, I’ve told you several times before, and I have no idea how else to get it into that thick skull of yours—this is what I want. This family, this man, this house, this life. If that means you cut me off, then you cut me off. I’m an adult, you don’t make my decisions!”

Grateful pride coursed through Lucian as he looked at his fiancée. She was the one who mattered in this and if she didn’t think of this life they were building—that they’d been building towards for nearly a year now—was a sad mess, then it wasn’t. She trembled against Lucian, who put an arm around her shoulders carefully.

“Looks like I have. I already called the agency. But the number is in my phone if you want to cancel your consultation by Wednesday.”

“How dare you,” Lucian hissed. He gripped Ashton’s shoulders tightly—maybe too tightly. “How dare you try to foist our child on some adoption agency? How do you look yourself in the mirror and think for one second that you’re a good father? You sick, twisted pig! You’ve done nothing but complicate—needlessly complicate—your daughter’s life and my sons’. Get out of my house or I swear, I will have you escorted out.”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Ashton Greene

Ashton moved to stand, but a heavy weight on her shoulders held her fast. Lucian’s nails turned white against her peach skin as he gripped to keep himself steady. “Lucian…” She said softly, touching at his pale fingers to loosen them gently.

“How dare you,” Lucian said in a voice Ashton had never heard, causing her to jump in shock at the poisonous hiss, deadly venom dripping off every staccato of his voice. ”How dare you try to foist our child on some adoption agency? How do you look yourself in the mirror and think for one second that you’re a good father? You sick, twisted pig!” Every word was an articulated violent punch, and each syllable sent Lucian’s fingers deeper into her arm.

“Lucian!” It didn’t matter how much she agreed with him, Lucian was still sending these words that were low and dangerous at her father, a man who wasn’t all bad, but hid the good beneath a mile thick layer of bitter grief and regret, the man who gave her life.

“ You’ve done nothing but complicate—needlessly complicate—your daughter’s life and my sons’. Get out of my house or I swear, I will have you escorted out.”

“Lucian!” Ashton said, wrenching free. “We can’t just throw him out. He’s my father and he had a heart attack. You two need to just lay off each other!” She stood, brushing herself off. “Dad, I love Lucian, I’m marrying him and you have no say in that.” She crossed to him. “Give me your phone. I’m calling the agency.” She turned to Lucian. “Don’t kick him out until I get back.”

She yanked the silver mobile from the cracked, large hand of her father and took it upstairs as fast as her feet, swollen from her pregnancy, could manage.

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Ashton Greene

Ashton hadn’t seen this many bags clutter the floor of 1881 Hameau des Artistes since the day Damien and Madeline took her on that maternity clothes shopping spree (from which several of the clothes were politely moved to the back of closet these days now that she had expanded exponentially as she reached the final months of her pregnancy). But it wasn’t clothes that filled these bags, nearly busting at the seams from their load, but holiday decorations.

Ashton had never seen this house as bare, but now as elaborate Christmas lights lined neighbourhood houses, and fake reindeer cropped up with matching sleighs. The entire block looked like a frosty village of gingerbread houses. And there stood the Greene-Michaud residence, undecorated, non-festive: a three floored, art deco Ebenezer Scrooge of a house that seemed to say “Bah! Humbug!” to the adjacent homes. And Ashton didn’t like that. Ashton always decorated her home, her apartment, her dorm room with festive garnish for any and every holiday. She even decorated her dining room for the Queen’s birthday one year. But this year, time flew by and life got busy and all the days ran together. Ashton didn’t even know it was December until her doctor’s appointment last week. So Christmas shopping took a backseat until yesterday when she and Lucian set out together to buy the Christmas decorations that would be the start of the life they were building together. They would take out these ornaments, these strands of garlands, these mistletoe berries years from now and remember when they bought them and marvel at how things have evolved since then, how their life together had shaped. And finally, her home was filling out to actually look festive and merry this season.

Ashton smiled as she reached to string red and green lights around their window. Giving up, she set down the lights and wrapped her arms around Lucian’s waist. “Put that down a second,” she said. They had, after all, been working at this for an hour now. “Come here,” she sat him down amongst the bags and boxes of their Christmas shopping execution, among the carnage of bubble wrap and packing tape. She sighed as she nestled into a spot just big enough for her between Lucian and a large bag of decorations. She sighed happily as she snuggled into him. “I like it. I mean, we’re not done yet, but I like it so far.” Ashton smiled at the thought that entered her mind next. “And I think Gregory will, too. Just think: when he’s born, all of this stuff will be here for his first Christmas, and it’s here now for our first Christmas together.” That wasn’t true. They spent last Christmas together, but that was far from the warm, cheerful atmosphere Christmas was supposed to have. “I mean, our first Christmas as a couple.” She rested her head on his shoulder, feeling him warm against her. “This is the first time in a long time Christmas has felt like Christmas.”