Losing Control : His Madness, His Cure Chapter 218

I volunteered to make something when we got back. Everyone wanted to order in, even though the kitchen’s stocked and beautiful.....warm light, wooden counters, a vintage charm that makes you want to slow down. I cooked breakfast here this morning, and maybe that’s what made me want to do it again. Or maybe it’s just easier to focus on chopping and stirring than on conversation.

I didn’t expect everyone to hang around while I cooked, though. But it makes sense, they’re here for Xander. We're leaving tomorrow, and they’re trying to squeeze the hours dry. And since he's barely leaving my side.....

Alyssa and Erin offered to help. I told them it was fine, but they insisted, so now they’re beside me......one slicing peppers, the other stirring like her life depends on it. I’m making a chicken and chorizo paella, something easy enough to let my hands work while my mind drifts, and for dessert, baked apples with cinnamon and honey.

Once the food is ready, everyone moves to the dining. There's a piano in the corner. Xander’s mum sits across from me, she takes a bite, her eyes widening.

“Xander!” she says, dramatically clutching her chest. “You have to keep him! If you two ever break up, I’m disowning you.”

Everyone laughs. His mum turns to me, eyes full of light. “Where did you learn to cook like that?” she asks, eyes bright, voice lilting with that dreamy edge she always has. “It reminded me of the first time I watched William play the violin on our first date. He was completely lost in it, like the world had melted away and only the music existed.”

Alyssa, beside me with Heather in her lap, nods. “She’s right. Seriously, where did you learn?”

I swallow, the taste of saffron and smoke lingering on my tongue. Before I can answer, Xander cuts in. He’s close enough that I can feel his knee brush mine under the table.

“He worked at a restaurant for a while when he was younger,” he says. “He can make anything. And it’s always good.” Pride laces his tone

I turn to him. He’s already looking at me, smiling, eyes warm. Then he just keeps eating like it’s nothing, feeding Gabriel who's still glued to his side with Xander's phone in his hand.

Alyssa grins. “That sounds exciting.”

Across the table, Damien’s mouth is full when he points his fork at Xander. “Lucky son of a bitch.”

William doesn’t even look up from his plate as he says, in that calm, warning dad-voice, “Careful with your language, son, that’s my wife you’re talking about.”

Apart from those restaurant years, I've hardly cooked for anyone else. Xander’s had more of my food than anyone else ever has.....and when he compliments it, even offhandedly, I feel it somewhere deep.

I never show it, but I like it when he does. When he says it like it’s obvious. And now, with all of them here, their sincerity wrapping around me, it feels like maybe I’ve been starving for this kind of quiet, ordinary praise my whole life.

They’re all nice. And it’s not the forced kind of nice that comes with politeness and long silences. It’s the real kind that doesn’t ask for anything in return. They talk like they’ve known me for years, but not in that invasive way. Just easy, curious and casual.

Damien leans back in his chair, his arm slung around Erin’s shoulders. “You’re coming to the wedding, right? Two months. No excuses.”

I blink, caught off guard. “Yeah,” I say, after a beat. “Yeah, I’ll come.”

He grins, satisfied, and everyone seems to take that as the cue for stories. Somehow, it spirals into Xander’s parents recounting their own wedding.

“At night,” his mum says, eyes going soft and dreamy. “In that old church near the lake, the one everyone swore was haunted.”

William chuckles under his breath. “Half the guests didn’t even stay till the vows. Said they saw shadows in the windows.”

She waves him off. “I didn’t care. I’d bought this fabric....cheap, but it had the most beautiful shimmer. Made the whole dress myself based on a cover from one of those old historical romance novels.” She sighs dramatically. “Turned out dreadful, but your father was too lovesick to notice.”

William looks at her like she hung the moon. “That’s because you were, and still are, the prettiest bride ever to have set foot on this often wretched planet.”

Alyssa groans, grinning. “Oh my God, take it down a notch you two.”

Her mum laughs, the sound light and nostalgic. “Do you remember how we danced after everyone left? Just the two of us in that empty church?”

“Of course,” he says softly, reaching across the table to take her hand. “How could I forget?” Then he turns to Alyssa, his voice gentling. “Ma petite étoile, play something for us?”

Alyssa sighs with the long-suffering patience of someone who’s done this before. She turns to me, eyes glinting with humor. “Knew this was coming,” she mutters. Then, without asking, she stands, lifts Heather....small, warm and half-asleep, and sets her carefully on my lap before moving toward the piano.

The little girl curls against me like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Tiny hands bunch in the fabric of my shirt. I freeze, every muscle unsure of what to do with this fragile, breathing thing now clinging to me. Her hair smells faintly like shampoo and something sweet. Her small weight on my lap somehow reminding me that I’m real.

I can feel his eyes on me.....scorching, heavy, impossible to ignore. And I don’t need to look to know what’s written all over his face. That look of quiet awe that always hits me where it hurts most. The kind that makes my chest ache with something that feels too much like hope.

So I don’t meet his gaze.