Page 80 of Unravelling: Aria & Crispin
One morning, as Aria chopped vegetables in the sun-dappled kitchen, the couple laughed gently over their twin boys-affectionately dubbed "the little terrors"-who were playing with a rolling pin and a measuring jug near her feet.
"You've tamed them better than we ever could," Dana remarked, stirring a pot on the stove.
Aria smiled. "They remind me of my sister when she was small. Mischief with a halo."
Treveo chuckled. "That's about right. Honestly, we weren't sure if hiring someone pregnant was wise, but you've been a godsend. The inn feels steadier with you here."
In the evenings, after the kitchen quieted and the guests retreated to their rooms, Aria sat at her little worktable in her corner room, working on quilts. True to her word, Catherine had launched the web page. Once it was advertised, Aria received twelve orders in just a few days. Each customer submitted personal stories, anniversaries, or dates to be stitched into the fabric. Each quilt sold for around six hundred pounds, and a few complex commissions brought in more. She had even found a local shop willing to supply leftover fabric at a discounted rate. Catherine promised she would soon connect her with a more permanent supplier.
She was working on a quilt of blue, ochre, and turquoise tones-each square rich with memory and meaning. It was a commission from a young woman who wanted to gift it to her nana. The woman had shared snippets about a garden filled with bluebells, seaside summers in Pembrokeshire, and an anniversary dance under fairy lights. Aria sewed these impressions into the fabric with careful stitches.
It had been two weeks since she got off the train. The hearty food and peace had slowly improved her appetite. She had the strangest cravings-pickled beetroot and onion in vinegar, spicy tamarind rice from the local Indian place, pan fried cod marinated in pepper, chilli flakes, and salt. She had put on weight and her face was fuller. The baby's movements were stronger and kept her awake at night.
By the window stood a cosy sherlock chair, its cushions slightly faded but plush. A small footstool sat in front, just large enough for Aria to rest her feet or balance her knitting basket. She often sat there in the late afternoons, a warm shawl around her shoulders, her hands moving rhythmically as she dreamed. Vaguely, she thought she should invest in a sewing machine, but there was something comforting about doing it all by hand.
Harlech, perched between mountain and sea, was quaint and breath-stealing. The grey-stoned Harlech Castle loomed dramatically above the Irish Sea. The air smelled of salt and turf, and the hills rolled in endless hues of green and gold. Most locals spoke Welsh, and Aria, to her delight, began picking up words from the children at the inn who proudly tried to teach her.
One day, wrapped in her cardigan, her thick hair in two loose braids, Aria visited Harlech Castle. She wore her favourite white maternity dress dotted with small blue flowers, soft against her skin. At twenty weeks, her belly was gently rounded, and her anomalies scan was booked for later that afternoon.
There was no reception on her phone as she wandered the ancient stone paths. Lule had called her earlier, but the reception was awful, and despite shouting at each other, she couldn't hear a thing. The sky was briskly blue, the wind whipping around her ears and winding into her hair like a flower crown, the sea glinting far below. She had calmed a little these past weeks. Lule had tried to mention Crispin once or twice during their calls. Frustrated, Aria had snapped, "If you don't want to talk about anything else, don't call." The line had gone quiet. She could sense Lule's hurt from the distance and regretted it immediately.
She missed Crispin more than she admitted. It was like a wound that wouldn't heal...your fingers reached for it without your consent or will. She wanted to share the baby's movements, the cravings, the dreams. She didn't want to cheat him of it, just in case he wanted to be part of it all. And most of all, she missed his warmth. At night, lying curled on the narrow single bed, she often stared out at the sea through the picture window, the glow from her bedside lamp casting a soft halo across the room. In those quiet, lonely hours, her body ached with the memory of his touch. She longed for it more than she was willing to confess, even to herself. Doubt had begun to creep in like a thief in the night. What if she'd overreacted? He had explained about Helga once and how things had been misinterpreted before. And he loved his sister so much. After what Helga put her through, was there any chance Crispin would go back to her? Could he have been forced into something? But then why hadn't he messaged? Why did he not open up to her?
She sighed and tried to set it aside.
Standing at the castle's edge, the wind combing her dress and braids, she imagined princesses peering out for lost lovers or raiders storming the hills. She smiled faintly at her own romantic foolishness.
A muffled whisper in the wind pulled her back from her reverie.
"Ari!"
She turned, startled. The wind roared, and for a second, she thought she had imagined it.
"Ari!"
Again. She pivoted slowly. A fine mist had descended, and the light drizzle sent shivers through her.
And then, like she had conjured him from her wildest dreams, he emerged in a run from within the greyness.
Crispin.
He was tearing towards her, a bag forgotten on the path behind him. He looked so different from the man she remembered. Exhaustion clung to him like a second skin. He was leaner now, not in the athletic way he used to be, but in a way that spoke of sleepless nights and missed meals. His broad frame seemed slightly gaunter, his shoulders a little thinner. The hollows in his cheeks gave his sharp cheekbones a raw prominence, and his skin had lost its usual healthy sheen. His cobalt blue eyes were dulled by dark circles and shadowed by something deeper, as though sorrow had settled permanently in the hollows of his gaze. New lines bracketed the corners of his mouth and were etched under his eyes.
He stopped just a few paces from her, breathless.
They stared at each other for a long moment.
"I came as soon as I could," he said, the words running into each other. His voice cracked. "It's not true. Whatever they told you...it's not true."
Aria said nothing, too stunned to speak.
He took a hesitant step closer, eyes locked on hers. "If you believe nothing else, believe that I have not betrayed you. I have been searching for you for what seems like forever. At least let me explain."
Chapter 44
Crispin
Time barely registered to Crispin for the two weeks leading up to his birthday. Every waking minute was spent strategizing his every move to counter his father. Their great-grandfather had established the company more than a hundred years ago, so he knew what was at stake. He'd spoken to the stakeholders-coaxed, threatened, bribed, whatever it took. He would be damned if he let it go without a fight...even to his own father.
