Modern Day (set after the events of Changes, but before Gideon and Jason's wedding)

Isabeau Aguillon reclined on her bed, and waited for her freshly painted toenails to dry. Even though she never went barefoot in Belle Morte, or even wore open-toed shoes, nail varnish was one of the life's little luxuries, and Isabeau hated to see her toes unpainted.

A quiet knock came at the door, and Isabeau sat up, a smile breaking across her face. She knew that knock.

"How many times do I have to tell you – you don't need to knock," she called.

Ysanne came into the room. She was dressed as impeccably as ever, in a navy pencil skirt and ivory blouse, her diamond pendant glittering in the hollow of her throat, and her skyscraper heels adding a few inches to her height.

Decades had passed since Isabeau had first caught sight of this woman, in a crowded London bar, and the sight of her still made Isabeau's heart flutter, like she was seeing her that first time, again and again and again.

Twice she had lost her, and twice they had found their way back to each other.

"What do you think?" Isabeau asked, pointing her toes.

"Lovely," Ysanne said, though she barely looked.

Isabeau narrowed her eyes. Ysanne never looked nervous, but there was something tense about the way she held herself now, as if she was bracing herself for some reason.

"What's wrong?" Isabeau said.

Ysanne walked around Isabeau's bed, each step measured and precise, then she paused and walked back the way she'd come. Her high heels made almost no noise on the thick carpet.

Isabeau's stomach gave a little twist.

A few months ago, vampires had gone through the worst period since they'd revealed themselves to the world. Power coups, betrayals, murders, abductions, and more had plagued Belle Morte and the other houses in the UK and Ireland, leading to violent protests at the mansion's gates, the revelation that vampires weren't entitled to protection under the Human Rights Act, and the very real possibility that they'd lose their homes, their donor system, and would be forced back into the shadows. In the months that had followed, the wounds that Etienne and Jemima had caused had begun to heal, and Isabeau couldn't stand the thought that another threat might have cropped up.

"There's something I'd like you to think about," Ysanne said.

"I'm listening."

But instead of saying anything, Ysanne walked around the bed again, tracing the steps she'd taken before.

"Ysanne?" Isabeau climbed off the bed. "Tell me what's going on. Whatever it is, we can handle it."

"It's nothing bad," Ysanne said.

"Alright," said Isabeau slowly. Confusion was replacing the hollow feeling of dread in her stomach.

Ysanne clasped her hands in front of her and briefly looked up at the ceiling. "Isabeau, I'd like you to consider moving in with me," she said.

Isabeau blinked. That was not what she'd expected.

"You mean, in your room?" she said.

"Or yours, if you prefer," Ysanne said.

Isabeau grinned. "Yours is bigger."

Ysanne acknowledged that with a small smile and a tilt of her head.

"Do you mean it?" Isabeau asked.

In the technical sense, she and Ysanne had already lived together these last ten and a half years, but for most of that time, their relationship had been conducted in secret. It was why Ysanne always knocked – because she couldn't be seen to treat Isabeau any differently. Isabeau had assumed that that was how things might always be, and she'd accepted it as the price to pay for being with the woman she loved.

Things were different now. Everyone knew that Isabeau and Ysanne were together, and under any other circumstances, Isabeau might have considered how that would change the arrangement they'd had up until now. But everyone in the house had been focused on rebuilding everything that Etienne and Jemima had tried to destroy – and nearly succeeded – and Isabeau had been too busy enjoying the slow return to normality to wonder how recent events would reshape her relationship with Ysanne.

Ysanne tucked a stray curl behind Isabeau's ear, her fingertips lingering on Isabeau's skin. "I've never meant anything more."

Isabeau struggled to control the great swell of excitement in her chest. "What happens if people think that you're prioritising me over Belle Morte?" she said.

This house meant everything to Ysanne; Isabeau understood that.

Ysanne pursed her lips slightly. "What if I am?"

Isabeau blinked again, trying to process that. "What are you saying? You're not stepping down, are you? Because –"

"I have no intention of relinquishing my position as Lady of Belle Morte," Ysanne said. "Equally, I have no intention of putting you second. For all these years, you have been willing to linger in the shadow of this house, and I won't let that happen anymore. I love Belle Morte, but I love you too, and if ever I am forced to choose between you, then I will choose you, Isabeau."

Tears blurred Isabeau's eyes.

"So what do you think?" Ysanne said.

Isabeau pretended to consider it, drawing out the moment, because it was so rare that she got to see Ysanne looking even the slightest bit uncertain. "Yes," she said at last. "I'd love to move in with you."

Relief flashed through Ysanne's eyes, before she kissed Isabeau. Isabeau wound her fingers in Ysanne's hair, tousling it in that way only she was allowed to.

"How would you feel about redecorating?" she murmured.

Ysanne stiffened. "Redecorating?" she repeated.

Isabeau feigned an innocent expression. "Of course. If your room is going to become our room, then maybe we should celebrate that by changing it a bit. Maybe a fresh coat of paint, or some new furniture."

There was a long pause.

"What did you have in mind?" Ysanne asked.

Isabeau tapped her chin with her fingernail. "Maybe pink? Something bright and fun."

Ysanne's jaw was tight, but she managed a smile while Isabeau fought to hide her own grin. Ysanne was very particular about how things looked in her house, and no one was allowed to move a single piece of furniture without her express permission.

"If that's what you'd like," Ysanne said.

"But you hate pink," Isabeau said.

Ysanne didn't deny it.

Isabeau leaned in and pressed her forehead to Ysanne's. "I'm teasing you. I would never make you paint your room pink."

"I'm very glad to hear that."

"However," Isabeau said, taking Ysanne's hand and tugging her towards the bed. "I am going to make you paint your nails pink to match mine."

"I suppose I can allow that."

Isabeau pulled Ysanne's shoes off, then urged her onto the bed. Once Ysanne had settled with her back against the headboard, Isabeau pulled Ysanne's feet into her lap. Most people didn't realise how small Ysanne was without those high heels, and perhaps they wouldn't have fully registered even if they'd seen her barefoot, because the size of her presence made up for her shorter stature. When she wore heels, she was level with Isabeau. Without them, she had to tip back her head to look up at Isabeau. Her feet were small and delicate, and Isabeau took the time to rub her thumbs along Ysanne's arches, revelling in the soft noise that Ysanne made.

Isabeau loved everything about Ysanne, but this was what she loved the best – the soft, vulnerable parts that almost no one got to see.

"When do you want me to move in?" she asked, reaching for the nail varnish.

"Whenever you want," Ysanne replied.

"So, soon?" Isabeau unscrewed the varnish lid.

Ysanne tilted her head, regarding Isabeau. Her blonde hair fell in a silken sheet over her shoulder. "You could move in today, if you wanted."

Isabeau almost spilled the varnish. "Really?"

"Whenever you want," Ysanne repeated, smiling.

They'd lived together before, back in the sixties and seventies, but it felt different this time. Isabeau had loved Ysanne then, and losing her had caused a wound that hadn't healed until they were reunited, but their relationship was stronger this time, despite the fact that they'd kept it secret. Ysanne was the woman that Isabeau wanted to spend the rest of her very long life with.

Isabeau looked around the bedroom that she'd lived in these last ten years. She'd grown fond of this space, and perhaps part of her would miss it once she no longer lived here, but the thought of living with Ysanne, of going to bed with her every night and waking up with her every morning, was like fireworks exploding in Isabeau's heart. It would be a new stage in their relationship – one that Isabeau couldn't wait to start.

She bent and kissed Ysanne's foot. "As soon as your toes are dry, we can start moving my things," she said.

"Should I prepare myself for regular nail varnish sessions?" Ysanne enquired.

"Absolutely."

"Will it always be pink?"

"I'll probably put you through every colour."

Ysanne pointed at her. "I draw the line at black."

"I'll paint your nails black in your sleep," Isabeau told her.

"Do it, and I'll get rid of your favourite shoes."

Isabeau pretended to clutch her chest. "Well played."

Ysanne smiled.

Twenty minutes and two coats of nail varnish later, Ysanne reached for her shoes, no doubt to hide the offending pink colour, but Isabeau caught her around the waist and pulled her back on the bed.

"Before we start moving, I feel like we need to say goodbye to my room properly," she said, trailing small kisses along the pale column of Ysanne's neck. "Specifically, my bed."

Ysanne arched against her, her eyelids fluttering shut. "You raise a valid point."

"I know," Isabeau murmured, her kisses trailing lower.

They'd made love in this room before, but there was something exciting about the fact that this was the last time. From this day on, everything would happen in their bed, in their room.

Isabeau couldn't wait.