Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Seb

As I walk alone in the chill of the early London morning, I replay every moment of last night with Elle, dissecting my mistakes in painful clarity. I thought I had it all planned, but it turns out I’m as clueless as they come. My intentions, as noble as they might’ve felt in my head, only seem to leave a trail of confusion and, if I’m being honest, hurt.

That dinner was supposed to be special. A celebration of all she’s achieved, not an impromptu auction win. Elle, sitting across from me with her usual scepticism, her confidence, and that quiet softness, had me thinking maybe, just maybe, I’d have the guts to ask her to be mine for more than just the night. The thought of anyone else sweeping her off her feet had twisted me into knots. I wanted to act first. I wanted to be the one she turned to.

But when I held the ring in my pocket, something felt wrong. A part of me still wonders if it’s some lack in me, something Elle deserves that I can’t quite give her. She deserves clarity, no half-hearted overtures from a man still figuring out his own life.

She knows we need to wed, it’s part of the deal, but last night, I almost wanted it to be real. And when the time came, I couldn’t do it.

When I look at her…the soft curve of her smile, that spark in her eyes, and the way she carries herself with that quiet confidence – it makes me want her more fiercely than I can justify. And perhaps that’s what unsettled me most: the fear that she saw right through me. That she’d know I was proposing out of more than just obligation to our deal.

I’m not ready. That’s the truth, isn’t it? I wanted to lay out my intentions, maybe catch her off guard with a proposal, but the truth is, I’m terrified. I felt the weight of our history, of the expectations I know her family has for her. And beneath it all, there’s that nagging question of whether she feels the same. Whether all this trouble I put myself through would even matter in the end.

Whether a marriage of convenience, acquired by shady means, could ever be something more.

Elle and I go back too far for me to risk throwing it all out on a gamble. But at the same time, I can’t deny what’s between us.

The potential.

I thought the solution was as simple as making a grand gesture. But as the night went on, I realised she needed more than words. She needed time, patience – qualities I don’t possess, as the urge to make her see things my way pressed down on me.

Maybe that’s where I went wrong. I pushed too hard, expecting her to follow along, assuming she’d want what I wanted because…well, because I want it so desperately.

A laugh escapes me, a bitter one, laced with regret. How typical. Me, the one who prides himself on reading people, blind to the fact that Elle might have her own dreams – dreams that don’t include a rushed proposal or a controlling hand.

My fingers close around the small box in my coat pocket, a reminder of my impulsive mistake. I could’ve waited. Planned a date that suited her instead of ambushing her with expectations. And yet, when I saw the barely concealed disappointment on her face, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was losing her to some unknown future, one that didn’t involve me.

A reality that feels entirely unbearable.

And now, here I am, pacing like an idiot in the cold, wishing I’d had the nerve to be honest instead of putting on some grand performance. Maybe next time, if she even gives me a next time, I’ll get it right. I’ll find the courage to show her what she means to me without forcing her into a corner.

That is, if she hasn’t already written me off as the insufferable, self-centred prick I’ve proven to be.

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