Waltz in the Moonlight
Evening settled gently over Nott Manor, drawing a veil of quiet across the old estate. The stone walls, heavy with age and history, held the fading warmth of the day, and the ivy climbing their surface stirred softly in the cooling air. Open windows carried the scent of jasmine and damp earth through the halls, a late summer perfume that softened the sharp edges of the house and made it feel almost tender.
A breeze moved through the hedges in the garden, leaves brushing together in low murmurs that sounded like memories speaking to one another. The manor had always been a place of retreat for Theo, a stronghold where he could disappear from the world and the consequences that followed him. Tonight, that familiar solitude felt altered. It rested differently on his shoulders, lighter, as though the estate itself had learned a new way to breathe.
He stood near the edge of the garden, hands tucked into his pockets, watching the last light drain from the sky. Purple and blue spread slowly above him, deepening as the sun slipped away. Soon the stars would appear, patient and distant, watching as they always had.
Theo let out a slow breath, trying to allow the calm to settle into him. It brushed against his skin, warm and inviting, yet his thoughts refused to follow. They pressed in close, dense and persistent, carrying the same familiar weight he had learned to live with. The quiet around him felt delicate, something that might fracture if he shifted the wrong way.
This garden had always belonged to her. Luna had carved life into the grounds with her hands, planting wildflowers where the soil had been left untouched, coaxing herbs into bloom along forgotten paths. She had wanted color, movement, growth. Against the cold symmetry of the manor, she had built something living. In doing so, she had reshaped the place, and him with it.
He pictured her inside now, moving through the rooms with Lysander tucked against her hip or curled beside her with a book. She existed in his life with a steady gentleness, smoothing places he had never known were jagged. Her presence filled the manor in ways stone and silence never could.
That thought should have brought comfort. Instead, his chest tightened.
The truths he kept locked away were stirring. They felt closer to the surface lately, pressing upward, testing the strength of the walls he had built around them. He had survived by keeping those parts of himself hidden, by making certain that no one, especially Luna, ever saw what lived beneath the control and the quiet devotion.
Standing in the garden she had made, surrounded by peace she had invited into his life, he wondered how much longer that concealment could last.
He clenched his jaw and kept his eyes on the moon as it lifted itself higher into the sky, its pale light spilling across the garden. The glow traced the paths Luna had designed, winding gently through the greenery, drawing the eye deeper into the quiet sanctuary she had made with her hands and her patience. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to imagine that this could last. That the stillness might hold. That the life they had built here could remain untouched.
The truth waited anyway.
It lived in the back of his mind, steady and relentless. He knew the questions would come eventually, that the weight of what he carried would grow too heavy to hide.
He was not only the man who had married Luna, who held her close beneath the stars and laughed with her in this garden. He was also the man who had taken lives, who had learned how to move through darkness without leaving a trace. That version of himself followed him everywhere, even here.
The thought of her learning the truth tightened something deep in his chest. He wondered how she would look at him then. Whether the warmth in her eyes would remain, or whether it would give way to something colder, something that could never be taken back.
He dragged a hand through his hair, trying to shake the spiral of thoughts loose, but they clung to him all the same.
Footsteps brushed softly against the path behind him. He turned and saw Luna stepping out through the open doors, her dress trailing lightly over the stone. She moved with an ease that always caught him off guard, as though she belonged to every space she entered.
Moonlight touched her skin and her hair, turning her into something almost unreal, like she had stepped out of a dream he was afraid to wake from.
She smiled when she saw him. It was the same calm, knowing smile that had always undone him, the one that made him feel seen in ways he never knew how to defend against.
"You came out here again," she said gently, slipping her arm through his and resting her head against his shoulder. Her gaze drifted over the garden. "It's beautiful tonight."
He nodded, though the beauty barely registered. "It is."
They stood together without speaking. Leaves whispered in the breeze. Somewhere in the distance, a nightbird called out. Luna's presence soothed him, yet the unease in his chest refused to ease.
After a while, she spoke again. Her voice remained soft, careful. "You've been restless."
His shoulders tightened. He had always known she noticed more than she let on, but hearing it spoken aloud made him feel exposed.
"I'm fine," he said, and the lie tasted bitter even to him.
She did not challenge him. She did not ask for explanations. She stayed, close and steady, offering space without leaving him alone. That was the part of her that frightened him most, and the part he loved with everything he had.
His thoughts churned. He wanted to tell her. The need sat heavy in his throat. Fear held him silent. Fear of what the truth might do to her, to the life they shared.
He imagined her leaving. Taking Lysander with her. Walking away from the only future he had ever wanted. The image hollowed him out.
She tilted her head to look up at him, her eyes open and gentle. "Theo," she said quietly, "you don't have to carry everything by yourself."
The words struck deep. For a moment, he forgot how to breathe.
"I can't…" His voice faltered. He swallowed, tried again. "My love, I…"
She placed her hand against his chest, right over his heart. The simple touch unraveled him more than any accusation ever could. "It's all right," she said. "When you're ready."
He closed his eyes. His heart pounded hard enough to hurt. He was not ready. He knew that. Yet standing there, wrapped in moonlight and the garden she had made, something inside him shifted.
She stepped closer, her gaze drifting down to Lysander, cradled securely in her arms. His tiny fists were curled into the fabric of her robe, his breathing slow and even, the soft weight of him steady against her chest. A small smile touched her lips. The sight of their child always settled something inside her, smoothing the restless edges she carried without realizing it.
"It's a beautiful night," she murmured, her eyes lifting toward the garden washed in moonlight. Her voice barely rose above the breeze. "Would you like to take a walk?"
Theo hesitated. The familiar pressure returned to his chest, sharp and insistent, a reminder of everything he still carried unsaid. The truths he kept hidden pressed close, eager and heavy, though he knew this moment could not hold them. And yet Luna stood there, calm and sure, her presence easing the storm inside him simply by being near. After a beat, he nodded.
She laid Lysander down in his crib with careful hands, her fingers brushing his cheek as she lingered, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest. Then she turned back to Theo and slipped her hand into his. Their fingers fit together with an ease that made his heart ache. "Come with me," she whispered, the quiet certainty in her voice drawing him forward.
They passed through the French doors and down the cool stone steps into the garden. Night wrapped around them, crisp and clean, carrying the scent of damp earth and night blooming flowers. This place carried Luna's imprint everywhere. Every path, every plant bore the mark of her patience and care, shaped into a living sanctuary.
Gravel crunched softly beneath their feet as they walked. The silence between them felt full rather than empty, thick with feelings that did not need words. Moonlight poured over the garden, turning leaves and stone into silver and shadow.
She led him along the winding paths until the fountain came into view at the garden's heart. Water slipped over marble in a steady, soothing rhythm, catching the moonlight as it pooled below.
Theo stopped. His breath caught as he looked at her standing there, framed by the glow of the moon. Light threaded through her hair and softened the lines of her face, giving her an almost unreal quality. Calm seemed to radiate from her, filling the space between them. In that moment, she felt distant from the world and impossibly close to him all at once.
His chest tightened. A sense of unworthiness washed over him, sharp and sudden. She had stepped into his life and brought warmth where there had only been darkness. She had given him a family, a future, a reason to believe in something better. And still, he carried the weight of what he had been, of what he had done, hidden behind careful silence.
She turned toward him as though she felt the shift inside him. Her eyes held understanding before he spoke a word. She closed the space between them and placed her hand against his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath her palm. "Theo," she said quietly, "you do not have to carry everything by yourself."
The words struck deep. He swallowed, his throat tight, his breath unsteady. He could not bring himself to meet her eyes, afraid she might see too much.
"I don't know how," he admitted, his voice thin and fragile.
Her hand stayed where it was, steady and warm. She did not waver. "You are not alone, my Sun," she whispered. "You have not been alone since I found you."
Emotion rose fast and fierce, stealing his words. How could he tell her how afraid he was of losing her, of losing Lysander, of watching this life fall apart if she ever learned the truth of his past? He had lived with violence and secrets for too long. He did not know if love could survive them.
"I don't deserve you," he said at last, the words rough as they left him.
She smiled, small and sad, her eyes bright in the moonlight. "You give yourself too little grace," she said. "Everyone carries something heavy. It becomes easier when it is shared."
Her words settled into him slowly, sinking past fear and guilt. He had believed his strength lay in shielding her from his darkness. Standing there with her hand over his heart, he wondered if true strength might ask something else of him. Trust. Honesty. The courage to let her see him fully.
Without thinking, he pulled her into his arms and held her close, as though she were the only thing keeping him grounded. She did not pull away. Her arms came around him, natural and certain, her head settling against his chest. They stayed like that, breathing together, the garden quiet around them as the night stretched on.
"I love you," he whispered into her hair. The words slipped free before he could weigh them or soften them. He had said them before, yet tonight they carried a different weight. They felt deliberate, shaped by choice rather than habit, carried by the gravity of everything he had yet to say.
She lifted her head and met his eyes. There was no surprise in her gaze, only recognition, calm and deep, and it made his chest ache. "I love you too," she said. Her voice held no doubt.
For the first time in a long while, Theo let himself believe it. He let himself accept that the love she offered was real, steady, and given freely. Under the moonlight, in the garden they had grown together, something unfamiliar settled inside him. Hope took root, quiet and fragile, yet alive.
"Dance with me," she said, turning toward him with a smile that caught the moonlight. Her eyes shone, soft and inviting, and the simple request wrapped around his heart.
"Luna, I…" He faltered, thoughts colliding all at once. Warnings rose in his mind, sharp and insistent. He was meant to shield her. He was meant to stand between her and everything he carried. How could he allow himself this closeness when so much remained unsaid?
She stepped closer, her hands resting on his shoulders. The lightness of her touch sent a shiver through him. "We are safe here," she murmured. Her voice was calm, certain, anchoring him in the present. "Tonight belongs to us."
Her certainty steadied him. Slowly, he slid his arms around her waist. She fit against him with an ease that felt instinctive, as though this closeness had always existed, waiting for them to claim it. The world beyond the garden faded as they began to sway.
There was no music, only the soft murmur of the fountain and the movement of leaves overhead. It was enough. Their bodies found a rhythm guided by breath and heartbeat rather than sound.
They moved together, unhurried and close, the night wrapping around them in cool stillness. Stars glimmered above, and the garden seemed to hold its breath. Time felt distant, as though it had loosened its grip.
Yet beneath the calm, his thoughts churned. The truths he carried pressed close, heavy and restless. His grip tightened slightly, a reflection of the tension he could not fully release.
Questions surfaced again, sharp and persistent. What would happen if she knew everything? Would her eyes change if the past he buried came into the light? Could her love survive the weight of it?
His heart beat hard against his ribs, a reminder of the walls he had built long ago. They had kept him safe once. With Luna, those walls were thinning, and vulnerability followed close behind. As they swayed beneath the moon, he felt both fear and longing intertwine, knowing that love had already begun to reshape him.
Luna seemed to feel the storm moving through him before he ever spoke. She lifted her head, silver eyes searching his face, and for a moment he had the unsettling sense that she saw straight through him. Not past him. Through him. Through the guilt, the fear, the things he kept folded tight inside himself.
"You're thinking again," she said softly. Her voice was calm, almost musical, the way it always was when she was trying to pull him back into the present. "You don't have to do that right now. You can just be here with me."
Something in him loosened at the sound of it. Here, in the quiet of the garden, he did not need to plan or guard or calculate. He could stand with her and breathe. Still, the weight he carried refused to disappear. It pressed against his ribs, heavy and insistent.
"I don't deserve this," he murmured. The words escaped before he could stop them, scraped raw from somewhere deep in his chest. His voice sounded rough to his own ears, like it belonged to someone older and more tired than he felt.
She did not pull away. She did not look startled or disappointed. Her hand rose instead, fingers warm against his cheek, steady and grounding. "Theo," she said quietly, and the way she said his name made his chest ache. "You deserve this. You deserve every good thing we share."
He shook his head, barely. The feeling in his throat made it hard to breathe. "You don't know," he whispered. "You don't know what I've done. Who I was."
Her eyes never left his. There was no hesitation in her expression, no flicker of doubt. "I know enough," she replied gently. "I know you. I know the man standing in front of me. That is the man I love."
The certainty in her voice struck him harder than any accusation ever could. He wanted to argue. He wanted to tell her everything, to spill every ugly truth and let it fall between them like broken glass. The words rose and tangled, caught somewhere behind his ribs, heavy with fear.
She did not rush him. She did not ask questions. She stayed where she was, close and solid, her body warm against his, her presence quiet and unwavering. It felt like an invitation given without pressure, without expectation.
Maybe one day he would speak. Maybe one day he would trust her with all of it. Tonight was not that day.
So he held her instead. He drew her closer, pressing his face into the curve of her neck, breathing her in as they swayed together beneath the moon. His arms tightened around her waist, as though he could anchor himself there, as though holding her might keep the darkness from closing in.
"I love you," he whispered against her skin. The words carried everything he could not yet say.
Her breath caught. She pulled back just enough to look at him, her eyes bright with unshed tears, steady even in their shine. "I love you too," she said. "Forever."
He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers. They stood there like that, wrapped together, the night holding them in its quiet. The shadows were still there, lingering at the edges of his thoughts, waiting their turn. Yet for the first time in a long while, Theo let himself believe that love might be enough to carry him forward.
And in that moment, under the stars, Theodore Nott found a fragile pocket of calm in her arms.
He was a man shaped by war and loss, marked by memories that refused to loosen their grip, yet here he stood, breathing a little easier because she was holding him.
Her brow creased, just slightly, as if she felt the weight shifting inside him. She did not step back. She lifted her hands instead and framed his face, her palms warm against his skin.
The touch sent a quiet shiver through him, steadying him, anchoring him to the night and the soft hush of the garden. "Theo," she said, and her voice carried both gentleness and resolve. "You deserve love. You deserve peace. We all carry things with us, but that does not mean we are meant to suffer forever."
The words broke through him. Years of careful distance, of walls laid brick by brick, seemed to fracture under the certainty in her gaze. For a heartbeat, he let himself believe her.
He let himself imagine that this life was real and lasting, that the warmth of her hands and the quiet safety of their home were not something waiting to be taken away. He let himself imagine becoming the man she already saw when she looked at him.
He studied her face as though he might need to remember it later, every freckle softened by moonlight, every familiar line etched into his heart. He could not understand how someone so open, so untouched by cruelty, could love him. The thought lingered, painful and reverent all at once.
Still, she stood there, looking at him as if he mattered more than the ghosts crowding his mind.
They moved together again, slow and unhurried, bodies swaying as if the night itself had set the pace.
Cool air brushed their skin, carrying the scent of flowers and water, the fountain's quiet murmur threading through the silence.
Moonlight spilled across the garden, turning leaves and stone and skin into something soft and unreal.
For a while, nothing followed him. No threats waited in the dark. No past demanded his attention. He allowed himself the small mercy of believing this peace, even knowing how easily it could slip away. He focused on the steady rhythm of her breathing, the closeness of her body, the way their steps matched without effort.
He still believed he did not deserve her. That belief sat deep and stubborn in his chest. Yet as they turned beneath the stars, her words returning to him again and again, another thought began to take shape.
Maybe this was not about worth or punishment. Maybe it was about choice. About choosing the light even when darkness felt familiar. She had chosen him. And in this quiet, suspended moment, he chose her too.
Her fingers traced the line of his jaw, her thumb brushing the roughness there until he had no choice but to meet her eyes. They were bright and steady, reflecting moonlight and something stronger. "You are not alone," she whispered. "You never have to be alone again."
The weight of it settled into him, heavy and tender at once. It frightened him, this idea of being truly seen and still loved. It also soothed something raw and aching inside him. Loving her meant opening himself in ways he had never dared. Luna knew this. She gave him time. She always did.
They kept dancing, wrapped in silence and silver light. Leaves stirred overhead. The garden seemed to breathe with them, the world slowing to grant them this fragile gift.
And for the first time in longer than he could remember, Theo let his shoulders ease. He let the tension drain from his body. He let himself exist, held in her arms, with nothing demanded of him except to stay.
With Luna in his arms, the world felt smaller in the best way. The edges softened. The danger that usually lived just beneath his skin eased its grip, if only a little. Holding her, he could almost picture a future that did not end in blood or secrecy. A future where mornings came quietly, where their son grew up laughing instead of listening for footsteps in the dark. The thought was so close it hurt, a sharp, unfamiliar ache that felt a lot like hope.
Her voice broke the stillness, gentle and curious, as though she was asking something sacred. "What do you see, when you think of us?"
Theo blinked, startled by how much the question mattered. He had trained himself to imagine loss, to prepare for it, to survive it. He had never practiced dreaming. Not like this. Not with her heartbeat steady against his chest and the garden breathing around them.
"I see…" He stopped, swallowing past the tightness in his throat. Saying it out loud felt dangerous. Still, he went on. "I see us here. Together. Lysander running through the grass, laughing, chasing butterflies like they owe him something. You sitting under that tree with a book, pretending to read while you watch him. And me…" His voice faltered, honesty pressing hard against his ribs. "Me nearby. Making sure you are both safe. Always."
She smiled, slow and tender, her eyes shining. She held him a little closer, her arms firm and certain. "That is beautiful," she said softly. "And you are already part of it. You are not meant to stand apart, Theo. You belong with us. Right here."
Something shifted inside him then. A belief he had carried for years, that he was meant to hover at the edges, began to loosen.
He had lived so long convinced that light was something other people were allowed to have, something he could guard but never touch. Hearing her say otherwise made his chest ache in a new way.
They kept moving together, slow and steady beneath the stars, and he let the idea settle. He was not brave enough for that. Still, for the first time, he wanted to try. He wanted to step forward instead of watching from a distance. He wanted to become the man she already believed he was.
So he held her and let the night hold them both. He let himself imagine peace without immediately tearing it apart. He let himself hope that his past would not be the only thing that defined him.