It's strangely peaceful, walking back to the car with Cecelia in tow and a sleepy Felix in his arms. There's the muffled chatter of other attendees as they so eagerly unpack the outcome of the match en-route to their own vehicles, the copper sun starting its slow, springtime descent towards the horizon, the rhythmic crunch of gravel beneath their feet before they cross onto the tarmac. She is blessedly quiet for once as well, so the constant overthinking whir in Gideon's head whenever he's around her begins to taper off, too, nothing but a low hum in the background.
Still, it's a strange mirror. Just last month, he was entering a different parking lot with her, but the very last word to describe that scene would be peaceful. She had been in a flurry, then, he'd hardly been able to keep up with her frantic steps, and they'd had an audience staring at her illicit photo-littered vehicle with the sort of horrified glee that's gunpowder for gossips.
Of course, Cecelia's given no indication whatsoever that she remembers it — let alone that it's left any mark on her whatsoever. There's some part of Gideon that can't help but marvel grimly at her resolve, at the self-certain way she continues to carry herself; head held high and shoulders pin straight. But another part of him suspects it's all for show. He knows what the scandal's cost her. Even if he would've preferred to remain ignorant as to media fanfare surrounding her family, he's caught wind of the fact that divorce is wagging on everyone's tongues again, and that Adam hasn't been seen with her for weeks now. He can't blame the man, not when he knows intimately well how it feels to be on the humiliating end of a wife's infidelity — but he can't find it in himself to hate Cecelia for it either... Not as much as she maybe deserves.
... Not as much as he maybe should.
'I- I know you're too polite to bring it up, but the other night… that wasn't me.'
He is buckling the stiff belt on Felix's car seat when the words tumble out of her, strained on a single breath. There's faint gratitude that he's facing away when she comes out with it, ducked into the car, but a sinking feeling, too, in knowing the elephant in the room is finally, inescapably, being addressed.
The father takes longer than he needs to get the child comfortable, sticking his stuffed dinosaur in one limp fist before straightening to meet Cecelia. She's turned away from him now, having uncharacteristically run out of words to say, and sniffling in a manner that only drops the pit of his stomach down further. 'I've lost everyone, Gideon.'
"Oh, give it a rest, Cecelia." Does it annoy him that she's playing the victim? Does it scare him that even a woman as formidable as she can be torn down so easily, in a span of weeks, by a voracious crowd?... All he knows is that it feels wrong, that he wants it to stop. "Just get in the car, ok? I'll take you home. The last thing you need right now is to get behind the wheel. Just get in, and whatever you think, this isn't some Shakespearean trage-" He cuts off abruptly, having spared her only a glance — but that's long enough to catch the sight of blood trickling down her pallid temple.
"Hey, wait... Stop." He's cut the distance between them in seconds, the annoyance in his expression suddenly replaced with concern. A finger rises to swipe it away, leaving a crimson smear that confirms it's exactly what it looks like.
"What the hell's happened to you??... Who did this?"
Cece's breath catches as she tries to steady herself, her fingers trembling slightly as they brush against his, lingering on the spot where his finger had just been, catching the end of its warmth... the blood or his touch? She's not sure it should matter right now.
Her voice wavers, a mix of exhaustion and defiance. "I... I don't know. It was all so fast. One minute, I was supposed to meet... someone, and the next, I was hit by something. I didn't see who did it." At least part of that was true. Part of it. But what could she possibly tell him? That since her return to London, she'd been haunted… hunted? Mocked, blackmailed, and tortured? Those were her burdens to bear, not his. No, these were her sorrows, hers alone, to cradle in the dark. How wretched it felt, yet she would not become her sister, casting her troubles onto another's shoulders, spreading her suffering like a contagion.
She could trust Gideon, couldn't she? Here he was, offering her a ride, offering her safety and genuine concern for her welfare. This was the same man who, only a few weeks earlier, had told her to be less intrusive in his life. Did this mean he was starting to trust her? The thought gnawed at her, bittersweet and uncertain. She’d have to try again with Spencer, to convince him that Gideon truly had their best interests at heart. That he wasn't the villain the papers had once painted him to be. Not that she had ever believed those lies, but the people in her circle certainly had.
Her mind was a chaotic swirl of conflicting emotions. Adam had left her, and her world had been spiraling ever since. Now, with blood trickling down her temple and her thoughts disjointed from what was likely a concussion, Gideon's presence felt like the only anchor she had. His genuine concern, the way he moved with purpose, etched with protectiveness—it all stood in stark contrast to the abandonment she had felt so acutely.
As the seconds (or was it minutes now?) passed, the realization crept in, almost against her will. This wasn't just gratitude or a desperate need for stability in her tumultuous life. It was something deeper, born from the chaos of her recent experiences. She recalled the warmth of his touch, the way his presence seemed to calm her, even now when everything else felt like it was falling apart. This wasn’t just about trust; this was something far more profound and unexpected. Her breath hitched as she faced the truth she had been avoiding. She liked Gideon. Not just as an ally or a source of safety, but in a way that made her heart race and her defences weaken.
Cece's mind raced as she felt the irresistible urge, a primal pull, to close the distance between them. In a moment of reckless abandon, she pressed her lips against his, a fleeting connection fraught with a tumultuous blend of desire and trepidation. The kiss was over before she could fully grasp its significance, leaving her breathless and bewildered, her eyes wide with disbelief at what she had just done.
"I-- Bye." With that, she swiftly turned on her heel and dashed off, the sound of her quick steps echoing in the cacophony of passing cars and bustling fans. If Gideon were inclined to call out after her, it would be lost amidst the noise of it all. The air crackled with tension, pregnant with unanswered questions that lingered in the empty space she left behind—a haunting reminder that she embodied the very chaos everyone had labeled her with: a tangled mess.
With a sense of urgency, Cece reached her car. The keyless entry proved to be her saving grace, and she swiftly got in, shutting the door behind her with a thud. With her departure, she took with her a whirlwind of unanswered questions and tangled feelings, leaving him standing alone, perhaps also pondering the fleeting moment that had just passed between them.















