Morning arrived gently at the Prescott mansion.The space felt warm enough to linger, quiet enough to think. Elizabeth sat alone at the small wrought-iron table near the center of the verandah, a shawl draped over her shoulders, a cup of tea cooling slowly between her hands.
She hadn't come out here for the tea.
She'd come for the silence.
The house behind her was still half-asleep. Amy and Jace hadn't come down yet, and Rebecca had announced quite dramatically the night before that she would be sleeping in "until noon, minimum." For the first time since everyone arrived, Elizabeth had allowed herself a moment that was entirely hers.
She was staring at nothing in particular when she heard footsteps.
Jace appeared at the threshold, sleeves of his sweater pushed up, hair still slightly tousled from sleep. He paused when he saw her, as if he hadn't expected to see anyone at all.
"Morning," he said softly.
Elizabeth looked up and smiled.
"There you are," she said, warmth immediately coloring her voice. "Come sit with me."
He did without question, lowering himself into the chair beside her. For a few seconds, they just sat there, shoulders almost touching, the quiet stretching comfortably between them.
"I've missed you," Elizabeth said then. Not dramatically. Just truthfully. "I've missed this. Your company."
Jace smiled faintly. "I'm right here."
"I know," she said. "But it's different now that you're home and all grown."
He glanced at the glass garden, sunlight reflecting in his eyes. "What are you doing out here all alone?"
Elizabeth shrugged lightly. "Sometimes I like to start the day quietly. Before the house wakes up. Before...… everyone."
He nodded, understanding more than she'd said.
They sat like that for a moment longer before Elizabeth spoke again.
"I've been seeing you everywhere lately," she said, a hint of pride threading through her words. "Interviews. Articles. Your work being praised. People talking about you like you've always been someone special."
Jace shifted slightly, uncomfortable but touched. "I don't really read the comments."
She smiled knowingly. "I do."
He laughed softly. "Of course you do."
"I'm proud of you," Elizabeth said, turning to face him fully now. "So proud. You've built something on your own terms. You didn't let… everything shape you into something bitter."
Jace swallowed. "I had help."
"You did," she agreed gently. "But you still chose who to become."
A small, quiet moment passed between them,one of those pauses filled with years of shared history.
Then Elizabeth tilted her head, studying him.
"You haven't asked about your father," she said carefully.
Jace stiffened.
"I didn't want to," he replied after a beat. "I was happy to come home and not see him. And I wanted it to stay that way."
Elizabeth scoffed lightly. "I figured."
He exhaled, rubbing his hands together. "I don't want him hanging over this visit. I don't want him hanging over me and I definitely don't want him to ruin this visit for me or Amy."
She watched him for a moment longer before nodding. "Fair enough." Silence returned and it felt heavier now.
Elizabeth set her cup down.
"There's something I should tell you," she said.
Jace glanced at her, wary. "Go ahead."
She drew in a slow breath. "Your father intends to hand over the company to you."
Jace blinked.
Then he laughed. A short, incredulous sound.
"What?" he said. "Why?"
Elizabeth's expression tightened. "That's exactly my problem."
He leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. "No. Absolutely not."
"Jace...."
"No," he repeated, sharper this time. "Why would he even think that's something I'd want?"
Elizabeth hesitated, then spoke carefully. "He believes that if he gives you the company… you'll forgive him".
Jace stood abruptly, anger flashing across his face. "Forgive him?" His voice rose. "For what? He thinks a company replaces a life?"
Elizabeth reached for his arm instinctively. "Jace.."
"My sister is dead," he said, standing now, pacing a few steps away. "How does anyone think money, power, a legacy, whatever the hell that company is makes up for that?"
She stood too, her voice calm but firm. "I'm not saying he's right. I'm saying he doesn't know how to express remorse any other way."
Jace scoffed bitterly. "Then he doesn't know me at all."
Elizabeth stepped closer, placing her hands on his arms, grounding him. "Your father has always believed that providing was the same as loving. It's flawed but it's the only language he knows."
Jace shook his head. "I don't want the company. And I don't want anything from him. Especially not something wrapped up as an apology."
She searched his face. "You don't even want to consider it?"
"No," he said immediately. "I want nothing to do with him. Or what he built."
Elizabeth sighed softly, brushing a hand along his sleeve. "I thought you'd say that."
He looked at her then, conflicted. "I'm not trying to hurt you."
"I know," she said, cupping his cheek gently. "And I won't force you. I just didn't want you to hear it from anyone else."
He closed his eyes briefly, leaning into her touch.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I just… can't."
He kissed her forehead, the way he always did.. "
"I understand sweetie."
They stood there for a moment longer, mother and son, love steady even when everything else felt fractured.
And inside the Prescott mansion, some wounds remained untouched.
...
Jace took a steady breath before heading back inside. The faint hum of voices and clinking dishes drifting down the hallway. He climbed the stairs slowly, letting the noise pull him back into the present.
Amy was just slipping on her cardigan when he entered the room, her hair half-pinned back, cheeks faintly flushed like she'd been smiling at something before he arrived.
"Oh....hey," she said, turning. "I was just about to come find you."
Her eyes searched his face instinctively. "Everything alright?"
He didn't hesitate. "Yeah. Everything's okay."
She studied him for half a second longer, then smiled, satisfied or choosing to be.
"Good," she said brightly. "Because Rebecca and I are about to make something in the kitchen."
Jace blinked. "Make something?"
"Yes," Amy nodded, already halfway excited. "Something festive. I don't know what yet, but it involves flour and probably chaos."
He chuckled. "You know there's a cook, right? You won't actually be doing much."
Amy narrowed her eyes at him. "Don't spoil this for me."
"I'm just being realistic."
"I am choosing delusion," she said sweetly. "Let me have this."
He laughed, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. "Fine. Enjoy your culinary session with my sister."
She stepped closer, hands brushing his sleeves as she rose onto her toes. "You better behave while I'm gone."
He smiled. "I make no promises."
She kissed him, soft, familiar, unhurried. Just lips, warmth, reassurance.
When she pulled back, she was still smiling.
"See you downstairs, Prince," she teased lightly.
He groaned. "Please stop calling me that."
"Never," she said, already backing toward the door.
She gave him one last grin before slipping out, the door closing gently behind her.
Jace stood there for a moment after she left, the echo of her presence lingering in the quiet room.
...
The kitchen was already alive when Amy walked in.
Rebecca was at the counter, sleeves rolled up, hair tied messily at the nape of her neck, talking animatedly to the cook while pretending to read a recipe she clearly didn't need.
"There you are!" Rebecca exclaimed. "I was just telling Mrs. Collins that we're adding cinnamon whether she likes it or not."
Mrs. Collins smiled indulgently. "I like cinnamon."
Rebecca gasped. "See? Validation."
Amy laughed, slipping off her cardigan. "What are we making?"
"Apple crumble," Rebecca said. "Or something inspired by apple crumble."
"That sounds dangerously vague."
"It's festive" Rebecca corrected.
Amy moved closer to the counter, peering into the bowl. "Can I help?"
Mrs. Collins handed her a wooden spoon. "You can stir."
Amy accepted it like an honor. "I knew it."
Rebecca smirked. "You should've seen Jace earlier. He tried to warn me that we wouldn't be doing much."
Amy groaned dramatically. "He said the same thing to me."
"He always does," Rebecca said, rolling her eyes. "Thinks we're delicate."
"I am not delicate," Amy declared, stirring with unnecessary enthusiasm.
Mrs. Collins chuckled. "Just don't stir too hard."
Amy slowed instantly. "Sorry."
Rebecca leaned closer, lowering her voice. "Ignore him. This is tradition. Sort of."
"What kind of tradition?"
"The kind where we pretend to help so we can steal tastes and talk nonsense."
Amy smiled. "I like this tradition."
They worked like that for a while. Rebecca chatting about childhood mishaps in the kitchen, Amy sharing stories from the bookstore, Mrs. Collins occasionally stepping in to fix something they'd nearly ruined.
At one point, Amy tasted the mixture and her eyes widened. "Oh wow."
Rebecca grinned. "Right?"
"jace has been gatekeeping this kitchen experience his whole life."
"Typical," Rebecca said. "He grew up with everything and still acts like fun is dangerous."
Amy laughed. "I keep telling him he lived like a prince."
Rebecca paused. "Oh, he absolutely did."
Amy pointed the spoon at her. "Thank you."
"Private schools, fancy holidays, chefs...."
"...drivers," Amy added.
Rebecca laughed. "Don't remind him. He gets defensive."
"I noticed," Amy said fondly.
Later, when Amy finally stepped back out into the hallway, the house felt quieter. She spotted Jace near the staircase, scrolling through his phone.
He looked up. "So?"
"So," she said, proudly, "I stirred."
He raised an eyebrow. "Only stirred?"
"And tasted."
"Criminal."
She stepped closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "Don't worry. I defended my right to be there."
He smiled, slipping an arm around her waist. "I knew you would."
She leaned into him. "You don't get to scare me away from warm kitchens and happy chaos."
"I wouldn't dare." Jace said as he leaned in to kiss her.