“Look at us, talking about our friends’ marriages like we have a say.” She said, her voice laced with amusement.
“It is nice to create these imaginary scenarios sometimes, don't you think?”
Juliet stifled a chuckle. “My father hates to deal with things revolving around fantasy. He preferred cold, hard facts.”
“I remember his face on the day of the wedding.” Weston said. “He could have swallowed me whole if he wanted to.”
Juliet threw her head back and let out a light laugh. Weston smiled. She still had it. The very thing that had drawn him to her in the first place.
“He probably would have done the same to me if it makes you feel any better.”
“It does.” Weston said.
Juliet grabbed the last rose bulb and carefully placed it in the new hole she had dug. “And that's the last of the roses.”
“Do not fret. I shall ask Mr. Brown to get the fresh roses delivered as soon as possible.”
Juliet smiled. “I know you will.”
Weston reclined further on the bench and watched Juliet start to cover up the base of the plant. He watched her hair slowly blow through the wind and her previous work. The garden had become a completely different place. She had managed to transform it from the giant heap of thorns and dirt it used to be to a thing of great beauty. He could hear bees slightly buzzing in the background. His eyes were beginning to catch even more color than before. His heart had grown lighter, and smiles were lingering on his face.
Just like the garden, Juliet was beginning to transform him as well.
Chapter Seventeen
When Weston asked to follow her to the garden on the third day, Juliet countered with an idea of her own.
“Is this about the roses? I already sent word to Mr. Brown.” Weston asked, his brows furrowed in worry.
“No.” Juliet responded. They were both sitting beside each other on the bed. Estelle excused herself only a few minutes later after ensuring Juliet's bath was ready. As usual, Weston was in his usual wear, and Juliet was still in one of her inner wears, a shiny green silky gown.
“I thought you were planting lilies today.” Weston asked again, his worry not subsiding.
“The lilies can always wait.” Juliet said, her voice soft and alluring.
Weston nodded, a wave of realization crashing into him like a pile of bricks. “It is me, is it not?”
Juliet cocked her eyebrows in confusion. “What?”
“I have become overbearing.”
“Weston—”
“I knew it would happen soon.”
“Weston—”
“It is fine. I shall leave you to your usual—”
“Weston!” Juliet raised her voice, reaching for his hands. He let her grab them and squeeze them. He could see the reassurance in her eyes.
“I just thought— We were always doing things I liked. We were always in my safe space.”
“I enjoy being in your safe space, Juliet.”
Juliet let out a hearty laugh. “I know that.”
Weston frowned. “So what is the problem?”
