Maximilian followed without hesitation, concern replacing everything else. "Is something wrong?" he asked, watching her as she moved to her drawer, searching for something.

"No... it’s..." she trailed off, still rummaging, before finally pulling something out.

She turned, holding it up with an awkward, almost embarrassed smile.

"Sorry..."

For a second, he simply blinked, the situation settling in.

Her monthlies had arrived.

And then he exhaled, a quiet, amused breath leaving him as the tension in his shoulders eased.

"What are you apologizing for?" he asked, the corners of his lips lifting despite himself.

There was disappointment, yes. He wouldn’t pretend otherwise, but it was fleeting, softened by the absurdity of the moment, by the way she stood there, flushed and apologetic for something so entirely beyond her control.

She mumbled another apology under her breath before quickly retreating into the bathroom, clearly too embarrassed to linger.

Maximilian remained where he was, running a hand through his hair before letting out a low chuckle.

A smile spread slowly across his face, unrestrained this time, lingering in a way that had nothing to do with the interruption.

His hand lifted, pressing lightly against his chest as he leaned back slightly, as though grounding himself in the feeling that still lingered there.

That warmth.

That quiet, overwhelming contentment.

It settled deep, steady, and real, and for a moment, everything else faded.

If this was what it felt like...

Then, truly, he had already been given more than enough.

-----

Catherine sat on the closed lid of the toilet, her face buried in her hands, heat still lingering in her cheeks long after she had stepped away from him. Of all the moments... of all the times her body could have chosen to betray her, it had to be now.

After everything, after letting herself fall into him without restraint... this had been the moment she thought everything would change. Not just in feeling, but in something deeper, something complete.

She let out a quiet groan, pressing her palms harder against her face.

"I could have been his... completely..." she muttered under her breath, the thought slipping out before she could stop it. It was an old-fashioned way of thinking, perhaps, something shaped by memories of another life, another time, but it was still hers, still something she felt with an intensity she couldn’t dismiss.

And now she had to walk back out there and face him.

The embarrassment alone was enough to make her want to stay hidden a little longer.

Eventually, she forced herself to move, cleaning up and composing herself as best as she could before stepping out. Her fingers drifted to the back of her neck, scratching lightly.

He was in the kitchen.

"You took long," Maximilian said, glancing over his shoulder at her, his tone easy, as though nothing had shifted between them. "Are you feeling okay?"

That only made it worse.

Catherine gave him an awkward smile, unsure of what to say, how to act, whether to pretend it hadn’t happened or acknowledge it somehow.

"Sit," he said, already placing a plate in front of her.

She blinked, her gaze dropping to the neatly prepared meal—meat, vegetables, balanced and warm, the kind of food that felt intentional rather than rushed.

"Want milk?" he added casually. "I also have dark chocolate."

Catherine looked from the plate to him, something in her expression softening despite herself.

This man...

In her past life, he had been a prince, then a king. Even in this life, with all his knowledge and experience, she had never once imagined him like this—quietly attentive, taking care of her in ways that felt... domestic, almost ordinary.

And yet, it didn’t feel out of place on him.

"Where did you learn this?" she asked, genuinely curious.

Maximilian shrugged lightly. "Is this too much?" he countered, studying her face instead of answering directly.

Catherine hesitated.

She had lived with this for two lifetimes—had accepted the discomfort, the pain, the inconvenience as something she simply had to endure on her own. It had never occurred to her that it could be shared, that someone could step in without being asked.

"I don’t know," she admitted quietly.

But it didn’t feel wrong.

If anything... it felt unfamiliar in a way that made her chest tighten just slightly.

Maximilian’s lips curved into a small, knowing smile. "Get used to it," he said, his tone light but firm in a way that left little room for argument.

He had waited too long for this: to care for her openly, to stand beside her without distance or restraint. He wasn’t about to hold back now.

Catherine let out a soft laugh, shaking her head as she picked up her fork. "Maybe I will," she said, glancing at him. "That doesn’t sound like a bad thing."

She took a bite, then paused, something playful returning to her expression.

"What next?" she asked, raising a brow. "Are you going to hold my hand while I give birth too?"

It was said lightly, teasing, but there was a real question beneath it, shaped by her past, by the way things had once been.

Maximilian didn’t laugh it off.

"You don’t want me to?" he asked instead, his gaze steady, searching her face for the answer beneath the joke.

Catherine blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone.

She looked away for a moment, considering it.

In her past life, she had never wanted anyone there. It had been something private, something endured, something she had faced with only those necessary beside her.

But this was different.

This life was different.

"Let’s decide that when the time comes," she said finally, her voice softer now.

Maximilian nodded easily. "Sure."

There was no pressure in it, no insistence; just quiet acceptance.

After finishing her meal, Catherine stood, already reaching for the plates. "I’ll wash," she said quickly, almost too quickly.

It wasn’t something she had to announce, but she did anyway.

Maximilian leaned back slightly, watching her with mild amusement as she moved about the kitchen, a little too determined, a little too deliberate in her actions.

She didn’t want to be treated like she was fragile.

He could see that clearly.

So he let her.

For now.

There was something endearing about the way she tried to maintain that independence, even now, even with him standing right there, more than willing to take care of everything for her.

He smiled to himself, shaking his head faintly.

She would get used to it.

Slowly.

His gaze lingered on her a moment longer than necessary, warmth settling in his chest again as the thought surfaced, uninvited but impossible to ignore.

She told me she loves me.

It filled him with a quiet, almost boyish sense of satisfaction, which he made no effort to hide from himself.

By the time she finished and turned back, he was already standing, waiting.

He guided her to the couch, his hand brushing lightly against her arm. "I want to discuss something," he said, his tone more focused now, though the warmth in it hadn’t faded.

And just like that, the moment softened into something quieter, no less intimate, just... different.