Chapter 3 A Goat

Chapter Three: "A Goat?"

The laughter still lingered in Naomi's chest as she tossed her phone onto the bed. Rachel had spent the past fifteen minutes teasing her about newlywed life - dropping dramatic sighs and calling her "Mrs. Everhart" every other sentence. Naomi hadn't laughed that hard in days.

Married life, she thought, stretching her arms over her head.

It sounded so official when Rachel said it. Heavy, almost.

But here, in this quiet mansion wrapped in morning light, it just felt peaceful.

She slipped on a robe and padded down the hallway, letting her fingers trail over the cool marble walls. The place was beautiful, of course - Damien wouldn't have settled for anything less - but it was also huge. Too big for just the two of them, really. Naomi smiled to herself, thinking maybe she could get lost and no one would find her for days.

At the end of the hall, a door sat slightly ajar. She nudged it open and stepped inside.

The study smelled of old books and polished wood. A heavy desk sat in the center of the room, the walls lined with bookshelves reaching all the way to the ceiling. Everything looked curated and perfect - so very Damien.

But it wasn't the room that caught her attention.

It was the painting above the fireplace.

Naomi tilted her head, unable to stop the smile that tugged at her lips.

The memory slid in without warning.

---

It had been a crowded art gallery, full of glittering people and confusing art. Naomi remembered standing there, staring at a wild mess of colors that was supposed to be something meaningful.

She had squinted at the canvas, muttering under her breath, "It's a goat. Or... maybe a cloud? A very angry cloud."

A voice beside her had chuckled. "It's abstract. Supposed to make you feel something."

She turned to find a tall man, impeccably dressed, with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Well, it's definitely making me feel confused," she replied, arching an eyebrow.

He laughed. "Confusion is a feeling."

They'd spent the rest of the evening debating the merits of modern art, their banter easy and unforced. That night had been the beginning of something neither of them had anticipated.

-

Back in the study, Naomi's smile deepened. She hadn't thought about that night in so long, but now the memory unfurled easily in her mind.

"You're staring at it like you still hate it," Damien's voice cut in, warm and teasing.

She turned to find him standing in the doorway, watching her.

"I don't hate it," Naomi said. "I'm just trying to figure out if it's still a goat."

Damien laughed as he walked closer, the sunlight catching in his hair. "Bought it because of you."

Naomi blinked. "You what?"

He shrugged easily. "Every time I saw it, I remembered that night. You. How you didn't care who I was, how you just..." He smiled, a soft, genuine thing. "Made fun of a painting and stole my attention."

Her cheeks warmed. "You're unbelievable."

"And you married me anyway," he said, stepping in closer.

Before she could fire back a witty retort, he leaned down and kissed her - a slow, lazy kiss that made her toes curl slightly against the rug.

When he pulled back, his voice was lighter, easy. "My parents are around. They're hoping we can have lunch together later."

Naomi grinned. "Already being paraded around as the new Mrs. Everhart, huh?"

"Perks of the title," Damien said with a wink. "I'm gonna get cleaned up. You good here?"

She waved him off, her smile lingering even after he left the room.

For a moment, Naomi just stood there, soaking in the quiet.

Her gaze drifted toward the desk-specifically, a messy stack of papers shoved into one corner. Something peeking out from underneath caught her attention.

Curious, she wandered over and gently tugged it free.

It was an old photograph.

She blinked, confused. Several faces smiled up at her, dressed in what looked like fancy event clothes.

Her breath caught.

There, clear as anything, was her mother. Young, vibrant, laughing at something just out of frame.

And standing not far beside her were two unmistakable figures: Damien's parents.

Naomi stared.

Maybe it was some big gala. Maybe they didn't even know each other.

Maybe Damien's parents had no idea who her mother was, and vice versa.

Still, the sight of them together - in the same photograph - made something uneasy stir in her chest.

Why hadn't her mother ever mentioned this?

Why had no one?

She set the photo down carefully, her mind already racing.

Maybe it was nothing.

Maybe it was something.